This thought might mortify our English pride, That foreigners have faithfully obeyed him, And none but Englishmen have e’er betrayed him. They have our ships and merchants bought and sold, And bartered English blood for foreign gold. First to the French they sold our Turkey fleet, And injured Talmarsh next at Camaret. The King himself is sheltered from their snares, Not by his merit, but the crown he wears. Experience tells us ’tis the English way Their benefactors always to betray. And lest examples should be too remote, A modern magistrate of famous note Shall give you his own character by rote. I’ll make it out, deny it he that can, His worship is a true-born Englishman, In all the latitude of that empty word, By modern acceptations understood. The parish books his great descent record; And now he hopes ere long to be a lord. And truly, as things go, it would be pity But such as he should represent the City: While robbery for burnt-offering he brings, And gives to God what he has stole from kings: Great monuments of charity he raises, And good St. Magnus whistles out his praises. To City gaols he grants a jubilee, And hires huzzas from his own Mobilee.[21] Lately he wore the golden chain and gown, With which equipped, he thus harangued the town. His Fine Speech, Etc. With clouted iron shoes and sheep-skin breeches, More rags than manners, and more dirt than riches; From driving cows and calves to Leyton Market, While of my greatness there appeared no spark yet, Behold I come, to let you see the pride With which exalted beggars always ride. Born to the needful labours of the plough, The cart-whip graced me, as the chain does now. Nature and Fate, in doubt what course to take, Whether I should a lord or plough-boy make, Kindly at last resolved they would promote me, And first a knave, and then a knight, they vote me. What Fate appointed, Nature did prepare, And furnished me with an exceeding care, To fit me for what they designed to have me; And every gift, but honesty, they gave me. And thus equipped, to this proud town I came, In quest of bread, and not in quest of fame. Blind to my future fate, a humble boy, Free from the guilt and glory I enjoy, The hopes which my ambition entertained Were in the name of foot-boy all contained. The greatest heights from small beginnings rise; The gods were great on earth before they reached the skies. B—— well, the generous temper of whose mind Was ever to be bountiful inclined, Whether by his ill-fate or fancy led, First took me up, and furnished me with bread. The little services he put me to Seemed labours, rather than were truly so. But always my advancement he designed, For ’twas his very nature to be kind. Large was his soul, his temper ever free; The best of masters and of men to me. And I, who was before decreed by Fate To be made infamous as well as great, With an obsequious diligence obeyed him, Till trusted with his all, and then betrayed him. All his past kindnesses I trampled on,