Seventeen Hundred And Ninety-One[49]

Great things have pass'd the last revolving year; France on a curious jaunt has seen her king go,-- Hush'd are the growlings of the Russian bear, Rebellion has broke loose in St. Domingo-- Sorry we are that Pompeys, Cæsars, Catos Are mostly found with Negroes and Mulattoes.

Discord, we think, must always be the lot Of this poor world--nor is that discord vain, Since, if these feuds and fisty-cuffs were not, Full many an honest Type would starve--that's plain; Wars are their gain, whatever cause is found-- Empires--or Cats-skins brought from Nootka-sound.

The Turks, poor fellows! have been sadly baisted-- And many a Christian despot stands, contriving Who next shall bleed--what country next be wasted-- This is the trade by which they get their living: From Prussian Frederick, this the general plan To Empress Kate--that burns the Rights of Man,

The Pope (at Rome) is in a sweat, they tell us; Of freedom's pipe he cannot bear the music, And worst of all when Frenchmen blow the bellows, Enough almost (he thinks) to make a Jew sick: His Priesthood too, black, yellow, white, and grey, All think it best to keep--the good old way.

Britain, (fame whispers) has unrigg'd her fleet-- Now tell us what the world will do for thunder?-- Battles, fire, murder, maiming, and defeat Are at an end when Englishmen knock under: Sulphur will now in harmless squibs be spent, Lightning will fall--full twenty five per cent.

I have found this only in the edition of 1795.