"Behold (he cried) 'tis Tyrie calls,
"Come from his gallows grave;
"Now let your fear confefs the man
"That fear refus'd to fave.
"Bethink thee, Charly, of thy guilt,
"Thy word and broken oath,
"And own at least that fate unkind
"Which did not take us both..
"Why did you promife life and place,
"And feed my last with hope?
"Why did you fwear to fave my neck,
"Yet leave it to the rope?
"But hark, the fweep has warn'd me hence!
"A long and late adieu !
"Come fee, falfe man, how low he lies
"Who died a dupe to you!"
The milkman bawl'd, the Welkin lour'd,
And smoke obfcur'd the morn;
Black Charley quak'd in every limb,
And forth he rov'd forlorn.
But ere he reach'd St. James's Place,
A Bow-ftreet gang appear'd;
Then more malignant met his brow,
And blacker look'd his beard.
And thrice he call'd on Tyrie's name,
And thrice he curft full fore!
Then rais'd a pistol to his cheek,
And word fpake never more.
In the Year 1741, the following Lines, faid to be written by Mr. NUGENT, were addreffed to the Independent Country Gentlemen.
OH! ever cheated, never taught;
Oh! often fold, tho' never bought;
Condemn'd in ceafelefs pother,
Now to pull down, and now to raise,
With fenfelefs hate, and fenfelefs praife,
One villain, then another!
So the dull Badger, from his birth,
Works for the wily Fox on earth,
In hopes of living warmer :
Stunk out by one, again he grubs;
Another comes, with all his cubs,
More ftinking than the former.
Sung at a late Meeting of Mr.'s Friends.
HERE'S to the patriot, of patriots the firft,
Who ftill in his principles hearty,
With qualms of damn'd confcience has never been curft,
But would plunder the world for his party.
Let the toaft pafs, I proclaim him an afs,
Who is not a friend to a visage of brass.
Here's to her Grace, who for fake of the caufe,
Condefcends thro' each alley to roam, Sir,
While her husband, contented, fits nibbling his claws,
And quietly dofing at home, Sir.
Let the toaft pafs, &c.
Here's to the patriot of every degree,
Who a friend to cheats, gamblers, and rooks is,
And thinks that no country can flourishing be,
"Till govern'd by Statefinen from Brookes's.
Let the toaft pafs, &c.
Here's to all thofe, who our foe to annoy,
(Secret Influence's fhameful promoter)
Are laudably bent its effects to deftroy,
Thirty guineas to give for a voter.
Let the toaft pafs, &c.
Here's to the noble and brave garretters,
Who form of our party the ftrength, Sir,
For those who in fwearing dare venture their ears,
Will for liberty go any length, Sir,
Let the toaft pafs, &c.
Here's to our glorious corps de referve,
Men who won't about perjury fhivel,
But when once engag'd, from their promife ne'er fwerve,
And langhs at death, hell, and the devil.
Here's to the chairmen, who freemen themselves,
For freedom have taken fuch pains, Sir,
As through a diflike to fome obtinate elves,
Moft justly to knock out their brains, Sir.
Let the toaft pafs, &c.
So here's to all friends who have lent their fupport,
Men with fhirts to their backs, or without, Sir;
Tho' fome may have fhone in King Addington's Court,
Yet all are unbiafs'd, no doubt, Sir.
Let the toaft pafs, I proclaim him an afs,
Who is not a friend to a vifage of brafs.
The PARADOX of the TIMES.
SEE modeft D*ch*ffs, no longer nice
In Virtue's honour, haunt the finks of Vice;
In Freedom's caufe the guilty bribe convey,
And perjur'd wretches pioufly betray.
See Fox alone (as G-d-n dares affure us)
Our laws, religion, property fecure us;
That Fox, who faith and law alike derides,
And to fubfift, the midnight fpoil divides.
Difpenfing priests explain away the laws,
To deal their Papift votes to G-d-n's cause.
G-d-n, whofe favage nature ftill the fame,
Still marks his victims to the sword and flame.
In vain thefe oppofites their force combine,
In vain their monftrous Coalition join;
A wider, warmer indignation glows,
And Pitt ftill guards the Crown on George's brows.
Addreed to the ELECTORS of WESTMINSTER.
THE TRUE STATE OF THE CASE.
HAIL matchlefs chief! undaunted in debate,
Pursue thy blow, and fcorn a mean retreat.
Hail chief! how well thou doft thy task perform,
Beftride the whirlwind, and direct the ftorm.
No flaming angel fent by heav'n in ire,
E'er urg'd the vengeance with more glowing fire:
Seduc'd by D-n, and the Paphian crew,
What cannot Venus and the Graces do?-
See at thy feet to greet their idol god,.
The flaves of Weftminiter obfequious nod;
See! to the pagod youth and age both run,
Pleas'd with their ruin, proud to be undone.
Not Ifrael's fons with more abandon'd will.
Bow'd to the golden calf on Horeb's Hill.
O! fatal beauty, oh! bewitching fnare,
See kingdoms fall to compliment the fair.
Old Priam thus, tho' well he saw the fall,
Of the devoted town, and heaven built wall,
O'ercome with Helen's captivating charms*,
Cry'd, let her ftay, and take the chance of arms;
The hoary fages all contented bend,
Let Helen ftay, and arms her caufe defend.
'Tis Beauty's mandate, Cupid's firin decree,
Tho' Britain perish, Charles fhall Member be.
D-n, not F-x, obtains the glorious prize,
Not public merit, but refiftlefs eyes:
Oh! hadft thou liv'd in thofe tempeftuous times,
When Charles was murder'd for imputed crimes,
How had thy foul with patriot ardour glow'd,
What deluges of fpeech from thee had flow'd?
How had thy foul its native worth difplay'd,
A rebel Parliament's black schemes to aid?
Old Bradshaw would have fhook thee by the hand,
And Lifle and Ludlow fmooth'd thy ruffl'd band:
Cromwell himself had fworn, beholding thee,
Behold a worthy fucceffor to me,
Like mine expands his vaft capacious foul,
Too big for King or kingdom to controul;
Hugh Peters would have cry'd, behold! a youth,
Mirror of Wifdom, paragon of Truth,
By Nature form'd to make Britannia great,
And cleanse the Augean ftable of the State.
Bleft, happy days, when Merit dar'd aspire,
When every bofom glow'd with patriot fire,
When Liberty with clear unclouded rays,
Shone undiminifh'd with a Monarch's blaze;
When free-born Confcience fo fublimely foar'd,
And God or Devil at her will ador'd:
But know, proud man, the canting day is o'er,
The politician faint can charm no more,
Behind the affected patriot's borrow'd mien
A wily State Tartuffe is lurking feen,
Thro' the thin film of ill-difguiting art
Peers up the rancour of a factious heart:
What hath been, may be, faction feiz'd the helm;
See! proud Democracy ufurp the realm,
Both King and Conftitution felt the blow;
What scenes of rapine, and what days of woe!
Rouze Britons! rouze! defpife all fplendid knaves,
Nor be to King, or patriot chiefs, tame flaves;
Give to the three eftates the balance due,
And keep the point of Liberty in view.
* Old Homer pays the greatest compliment imaginable to Beauty, when he reprefents the fages of Troy, feduced by the irrefiftible charms of Beauty in diftrefs, advising the detenfion of Helen against their better judgments, against the predictions of Oracles, and against the evidence of their fenfes.
A full and particular Account of the wonderful and furprising APPARITION of a
GHOST, that appeared to the Widow of a certain Peace Officer, who was killed in the
Riot at Covent Garden: Giving a faithful Relation of what the Ghost said, and how
bis Body would not reft in his Grave till the Murderer fhould be found out and punished.
SHE.
AMIDST the livid lightning's dreadful glare,
While the loud thunder rolls through troubled air,
At midnight hour, no reft my bofom knows;
Nor could I, in calm hours, take fweet repofe;
For I have loft the partner of my bed,
And dreadful thoughts rend my distracted head.
-Ha! what is that, that fkims before my eyes?
Whence can this ftrange imagination rife?
My couch fhakes under me !-cold fweats invade
My trembling limbs, and mifts my eyefight fhade.
GHOST.
'Tis not imagination!-All is true,
The fpirit of your hufband dead you view;
Who, in the midst of thunders, takes his way,
To tell at night what is forbid by day,
Oh! I was fainting! but that voice well known
Recalls my fpirits.-Yes, 'tis he I own;
My much-lov'd husband, whom this night I fee,
Return'd with anxious care to vifit me:
But, gentle fpirit, fay, what wouldst thou have,
What brings the hither from thy peaceful grave,
Where I with decent funeral faw thee laid,
And thy friends wept and mourn'd to foothe thy fhade?
GHOST.
Alas! the grave on me beftows no peace,
Though from the toils of mortal life I ceafe;
For ftill my ghoft is troubled with the thought
Of crimes unpunifh'd, which my death have wrought.
For know that murder'd man knows no repofe,
While murd'rers live, and none their guilt difclofe,
'Tis this that brings me from my grave fo foon,
To" vifit thus the glimpfes of the moon."
If this be fo, curft is their caufe indeed,
For fure none yet have trac'd the bloody deed;
A bloody deed it was, and guilty ftrife,
That coft thee thus, alas! thy precious life.
Of politics and party much is faid;
Of candidates they make a great parade ;—
Of State affairs and liberty they prate,
Till fatal blows fucceed to ftrong debate.
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