And Brave _Argile_, who's form'd alike to wield The Rhet'rick of the Senate and the Field, So tun'd whose Eloquence, whose Breast so Mann'd, None can the _Speaker_ or the _Chief_ withstand. Yet feign Methink's I'd hope that you were clear From this _high Charge_ that eccho's in my Ear; Trust that some Demon envious of my Rest With visionary Wrongs distracts my Breast, Or that this Blazon of enormous Crimes Springs from the wanton Licence of the Times. Therefore I put this _Question_ to your Heart,---- Speak, Culprit--_Are you Guilty_? Nay, don't Start, This is a Question all have right to ask, To answer it with _Honour_ is your Task; That, If you dare unbosom, I expect, Till when, _I'm Yours, Sir, with all_ due _Respect_. _FINIS_ [Illustration: Decoration] THE GREAT MAN's ANSWER TO Are these Things So? [Illustration: Decoration] (Price One Shilling.) THE GREAT MAN'S ANSWER TO Are these Things So? IN A DIALOGUE BRTWEEN His HONOUR and the ENGLISHMAN in His GROTTO. _Qui capit_---- By the Author of _Are these Things So?_ _LONDON:_ Printed for T. Cooper, at the _Globe_ in _Paternoster-Row_. MDCCXL. [Illustration: Decoration] THE GREAT MAN's ANSWER TO Are these Things So? _E.M._ HAIL blest _Elizium_! sweet, secure Retreat; Quiet and Contemplation's sacred Seat! Here may my Life's last Lamp in Freedom burn, Nor live to light my Country to her Urn: Die 'ere that huge _Leviathan_ of State Shall swallow all.--Who thunders at my Gate! See _John_--But hah! what Tempest shakes my Cell? Whence these big Drops that Ooze from ev'ry Shell? From this obdurate Rock whence flow those Tears? Sure some _Ill Power_'s at hand--Soft! it appears. _E. M._ What's That approaches, _John_? _J._ Why Sir, 'tis He. _E. M._ What He? _J._ Why He Himself, Sir; the _great_ HE. _E. M._ Enough. _G. M._ Your Slave, Sir. _E. M._ No Sir, I'm _your Slave_, Or soon shall be.--How then must I behave? Must I fall prostrate at your Feet? Or how-- I've heard the _Dean_, but never saw him _Bow_. _G. M._ Hoh! hoh! you make me laugh. _E. M._ So _Nero_ play'd, Whilst _Rome_ was by his Flames in Ashes laid. _G. M._ Well, solemn Sir, I'm come, if you think fit, To solve your Question. _E. M._ Bless me! pray, Sir, sit. _G. M._ The Door! _E. M._ No Matter, Sir, my Door won't shut: Stay here, _John_; we've no _Secrets_. _G. M._ Surly Put! How restiff still! but I have _what_ will win him Before we part, or else the Devil's in him. _E. M._ I wait your Pleasure, Sir. _G. M._ Why _Fame_, you say, Reports that I'm the Author of To-Day: I am--But not the Day that you describe, Black with imagin'd Ills--Your Patriot Tribe, Those growling, restless, factious Malecontents, Who blast all Schemes, and rail at all Events; Whom Ministers, nor Kings, nor Gods can please;