Here it will not be amiss to introduce that worthy honest gentleman, the Elector's Earl of Oxford.[56] When a motion was made by some true patriots to bring him to give an account of his stewardship of the nation's money, did not his Elector solemnly declare that a hair of his head should not be [Sidenote: _fol._ 119.] hurt, conscious that he had acted by his direction in sending sums to aggrandize his poor, native, scrubby country, Hanover,--sums to engage the affections of the wavering Dutch, sums to biass the votes at elections? [56] Robert Harley, Earl of Oxford, the Lord Treasurer. These are facts the truth of which is too obvious. What soul inspired with the least grain of courage, the smallest spark of honour, or that sympathizes with the sufferings of his fellow-creatures, would tamely sit down or patiently acquiesce under such monstrous and unheard of grievances? When religion and loyalty, liberty and property call to arms! when a prince adorned with all the gifts of nature, and grace of education, endowed and enriched with every virtue, amiable and commendable (_maugrè_ all your vile reports, invidious reflections and slanderous aspersions; _maugrè_ all your pulpit harangues, stuff'd with downright falsities, gross calumnies and palpable absurdities), daily amidst the horrid din of war, risks and exposes his precious life to conquer and subdue the Lernæan Hydra, to deliver you from almost Egyptian tyranny, bondage, and slavery:--a prince whose title to the crown is indisputable, whose conduct and courage are inimitable and matchless, and whose virtue, mercy, and goodness none can parallel or equal! _Nil viget simile aut secundum!_ [Sidenote: _fol._ 120.] Such is your legal _jure-divino_, hereditary and lineally descended Prince, whose father you exiled and excluded, whose grandfather you rebelled against and banished, and whose head, conscious of your own demerits, you have set a price on! Seeing the heir, Come, say you, let us fall upon him and kill him, and the inheritance will be ours. Be not too secure. Your iniquities are almost compleated. The fulness of time is almost at hand, even at the door, when the Almighty I AM, with my Prince under the shadow of his wings, will pour out the vials of his wrath, fury and indignation on that cursed, perjured and abandoned people, on this guilty, perverse, wicked and adulterous generation. For the innocent blood of the righteous cries Vengeance! Vengeance! O my native country! my native soil! What pangs hast thou to endure! What throes to labour with! What misery and desolation is thy lot and portion!