The haughty prince that England owns, To make more room for royal sons, Has given the hint, I would suspect-- And are you one of his Elect? Ye busy tribe, of harpy face, In search of power, in search of place, Ye rancorous hearts, who build your all On royal wrongs and freedom's fall, This have we seen, and well we know, Each son of freedom is your foe, And these you would, unheard, convey To places worse than Botany Bay. Be cautious how you talk so loud-- Above your heads there hangs a cloud, That, bursting with explosion vast, May scatter vengeance in its blast; And send you all, on th' devil's dray, A longer road than--Botany Bay. Another threat alarm'd us much-- (Indeed, we hourly meet with such)-- A cockney said, but spoke it low, For fear the street his mind should know: "And is there no sedition act? ("'Tis almost time to doubt the fact,) "By which this gabbling crew are bound "The nearest way to Nootka Sound?" Can you but smile!--who would have thought That they who writ, who march'd, who fought For many a year, and little got But liberty, and dearly bought Must now away With half their pay, And seek on ocean's utmost bound Their chance to starve at Nootka Sound! This Nootka Sound, so far remote, Would make us sing a serious note, If it be true what travellers tell That there a race of natives dwell Who, when they would their brethren treat And give them a regale of meat Unchain their prisoners from the den, And scrape the bones of bearded men. God save us from so hard a fate! As to be spitted, soon or late; It is a lot that few admire-- So let us for a while retire; And live to see some traitors drown'd I' the deepest swash of Nootka Sound. [158] Text from the 1815 edition. REFLECTIONS[159] On the Mutability of Things--1798 The time is approaching, deny it who may, The days are not very remote, When the pageant that glitter'd for many a day, On the stream of oblivion will float. The times are advancing when matters will turn, And some, who are now in the shade, And pelted by malice, or treated with scorn, Will pay, in the coin that was paid: The time it will be, when the people aroused, For better arrangements prepare, And firm to the cause, that of old they espoused, Their steady attachment declare: When tyrants will shrink from the face of the day, Or, if they presume to remain, To the tune of peccavi, a solo will play, And lower the royalty strain: When government favors to flattery's press Will halt on their way from afar, And people will laugh at the comical dress Of the knights of the garter and star: When a monarch, new fangled, with lawyer and scribe, In junto will cease to convene, Or take from old England a pitiful bribe, To pamper his "highness serene;"