While the rude rabble bellow, "Down with Bute!" While villany the scourge of justice bilks, Howl on, ye ruffians! "Liberty and Wilkes." Let some soft mummy of a peer, who stains His rank, some sodden lump of ass's brains, To that abandon'd wretch his sanction give; Support his slander, and his wants relieve! Let the great hydra roar aloud for Pitt, And power and wisdom all to him submit! Let proud ambition's sons, with hearts severe, 260 Like parricides, their mother's bowels tear! Sedition her triumphant flag display, And in embodied ranks her troops array! While coward justice, trembling on her seat, Like a vile slave descends to lick her feet! Nor here let censure draw her awful blade, If from her theme the wayward Muse has stray'd! Sometimes the impetuous torrent, o'er its mounds Redundant bursting, swamps the adjacent grounds; But rapid, and impatient of delay, 270 Through the deep channel still pursues its way. Our pilot now retired, no pleasure knows, But every man and measure to oppose; Like Æsop's cur, still snarling and perverse, Bloated with envy, to mankind a curse, No more at council his advice will lend, But with all others who advise contend: He bids distraction o'er his country blaze, Then, swelter'd with revenge, retreats to Hayes: Swallows the pension; but, aware of blame, 280 Transfers the proffer'd peerage to his dame. The felon thus of old, his name to save, His pilfer'd mutton to a brother gave. But should some frantic wretch whom all men know To nature and humanity a foe, Deaf to the widow's moan and orphan's cry, And dead to shame and friendship's social tie; Should such a miscreant, at the hour of death, To thee his fortunes and domains bequeath; With cruel rancour wresting from his heirs 290 What nature taught them to expect as theirs; Wouldst thou with this detested robber join, Their legal wealth to plunder and purloin? Forbid it, Heaven! thou canst not be so base, To blast thy name with infamous disgrace! The Muse who wakes, yet triumphs o'er thy hate, Dares not so black a thought anticipate: By Heaven, the Muse her ignorance betrays; For while a thousand eyes with wonder gaze, Though gorged and glutted with his country's store, 300 The vulture pounces on the shining ore; In his strong talons gripes the golden prey, And from the weeping orphan bears away. The great, the alarming deed is yet to come, That, big with fate, strikes expectation dumb. Oh, patient, injured England, yet unveil Thy eyes, and listen to the Muse's tale, That true as honour, unadorn'd with art, Thy wrongs in fair succession shall impart! Ere yet the desolating god of war 310 Had crush'd pale Europe with his iron car, Had shook her shores with terrible alarms, And thunder'd o'er the trembling deep, "To arms!"