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Proud, profligate, to evil sold,

Their country's curse, reproach, and shame,
Their lust of power, and thirst of gold,

Cloking beneath the Patriot's name;
Shall these our liberties defend ?
Shall these, who caused, our troubles end ?

Who their own countrymen destroy'd,

Kindled and fed Rebellion's fire,
And all their hellish arts employ'd

To raise the civil discord higher;
Will these restore our happiness,
Or give us back a lasting peace ?

Order and government they scorn,

Forbid the slighted laws to reign,
And while their injured King they spurn,

The rabble's majesty maintain;
Those abject instruments of ill,
Those tools of every tyrant's will !

First for themselves the Patriots care,

And each sincerely seeks his own,
Eager the public spoils to share,

(Now they have pull'd their rivals down,)
And all into their hands to seize,
The meed of prosperous wickedness.

Through avarice and ambition, blind,

Their schemes, bewilder'd, they pursue,
Grasping at that they cannot find,

Still undetermined what to do,
Till some superior fiend appear,
And claim the sovereign character.

Daring as Charles's spurious brood,

Harden'd as Wilkes in wickedness,
As dissolute as Fox, and lewd,

Worthy of the Protector's place ;
Worthy the place by right his own,
Where Cromwell fills a burning throne !

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In lighter satire he was also successful, when he chose that style of composition, which indeed he rarely tried, as not according with his general cast of thought and feeling. The subjoined sketch of “The Man of Fashion ” shows with sufficient distinctness what he could have done, had popular literature been his profession

What is a modern man of fashion?
A man of taste and dissipation;
A busy man, without employment ;
A happy man, without enjoyment;
Who squanders all his time and treasures,
In empty joys, and tasteless pleasures ;
Visits, attendance, and attention,
And courtly arts too low to mention.
In sleep, and dress, and sport, and play,
He throws his worthless life away ;
Has no opinions of his own,
But takes from leading beaux the ton;
Born to be flatter'd, and to flatter,
The most important thing in nature,
Wrapp'd up in self-sufficient pride,
With his own virtues satisfied,
With a disdainful smile or frown
He on the riffraff crowd looks down;
The world polite, his friends and ne,
And all the rest are-nobody.

Taught by the great his smiles to sell,
And how to write, and how to spell,
The great his oracles he makes,
Copies their vices and mistakes,
Custom pursues, his only rule,
And lives an ape, and dies a fool!

“But say, thou criticising clown,
(If thou canst pull the ladies down,)
What is a woman nicely bred,
In every step by fashion led ?”
The proverb makes us understand her,
What’s sauce for goose is sauce for gander:
From which I rightly reason thus:
What's sauce for gander is for goose.
But here I for


faults atone, By letting the fair sex alone.

Had Mr. Charles Wesley practised himself largely in translation, there can be no doubt he would have excelled in that as much as in original composition. Various short specimens he has given in the prose writings of his brother; and these possess great merit. They are terse, and yet easy and poetical. The following is a beautiful imitation of the very tender Latin verses which Bishop Lowth wrote on the sudden death of his beloved daughter, who expired at the tea-table, in the family circle. Placing a cup of coffee upon the salver, she said, “Take this to the Bishop of Bristol.” The cup fell in an instant, with the hand by which it was held ; and she expired without a groan, in her twenty-sixth year. The Prelate for whom the cup was designed, was the celebrated Bishop Newton, the learned author of the elaborate and valuable “ Dissertations on the Prophecies.”

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Mr. Charles Wesley wrote several epitaphs upon his friends, all of which are of a thoroughly Christian character. A few of these may be properly introduced in this place. Mr. Charles Greenwood lived at Stoke-Newington. At his house Mr. Fletcher spent several months, during the severe illness which induced him to remove to Switzerland. His character and end are thus described :

The blessed, tempted man, who always fear'd,

Hath laid triumphantly his burden down;
Intrepid when the stingless foe appear’d,

He bow'd his head, and gain’d the victor's crown:
Exalted to a higher place above,

Who humbly chose on earth the lowest place,
His endless fears are lost in endless love,

His ceaseless prayers in never-ending praise.

Mr. Richard Boardman went as a Missionary to America, but returned to England when the war of independence broke out. Ile died suddenly. Concerning him Mr. Charles Wesley thus writes :

With zeal for God, with love of souls inspired,
Nor awed by dangers, nor by labours tired,
Boardman in distant worlds proclaims the word
To multitudes, and turns them to the Lord :
But soon the bloody waste of war he mourns,
And loyal from Rebellion's seat returns;
Nor yet at home, on eagles' pinions flies,
And in a moment soars to paradise.

Mr. Peter Jaco was one of the early Itinerant Preachers. He was originally a Cornish fisherman, but became an able Minister of the New Testament. Hence the allusion in the first line of his epitaph :

Fisher of men, ordain'd by Christ alone,
Immortal souls he for his Saviour won;
With living faith, and calmly fervent zeal,
Perform’d and suffer'd the Redeemer's will,
Unmoved in all the storms of life remain'd,
And in the good old ship the haven gain'd.

Mr. Richard Kemp was a London Methodist, the Steward of the society, and one of the excellent of the earth. His epitaph is of considerable length; for Mr. Charles Wesley greatly admired the character of this Christian loyalist :

Fond of his King, and to his country true,
He paid to Cæsar and to God their due;
And soon experiencing the Saviour's grace,
Fought the good fight, and won the Christian race ;
In every state, in every duty shined,
Generous and just, beneficent and kind;
Friend of distress, and father to the poor,
Active to do, and patient to endure ;
No injuries his steadfast soul could move,
Abate his zeal, or weary out his love :
A steward wise, a doer of the word,
An humble, faithful follower of his Lord,
Close in his dear Redeemer's steps he trod,
Took up his daily cross, and lived for God,
Till summon’d to complete his sacrifice,
And claim his purchased mansion in the skies,
He more than conqueror in death appear'd,
And trampled on a foe he never feard !
O that I might, like him, my life resign,
O might his soul's eternal state be mine!

C. W.


A follower of the bleeding Lamb

Her burden here laid down,
The cross of Jesu's pain and shame

Exchanging for a crown.

True witness for her pardoning Lord,

Whose blood she felt applied,
She kept the faith, obey'd the word,

And lived a saint, and died.

Reader, her life and death approve,

Believe thy sins forgiven ;
Be pure in heart, be filld with love,

And follow her to heaven.


Beneath a daughter of affliction lies,
The tears for ever banish'd from her eyes ;
Wash'd in the laver of atoning blood,
The spirit here hath dropp'd her earthly load,
Fulfilld her visit, and return'd to God.

O that our flesh, like hers, might rest in hope,
Till earth and ocean give their prisoners up,
Till the great Object of our love and fear

With myriads of his shining friends appear,
And all with shouts proclaim the heavenly Bridegroom here !


A Christian here her glorious journey ends,
Caught from her earthly to her heavenly friends;
Mature for God below, her work fulfill’d,
Her prayers accepted, and her pardon seald,
The spotless soul, a native of the sky,
Has paid her visit, and return’d on high.

Mourner, to Heaven thy earnest wishes breathe,
And live her life, that thou may’st die her death ;
Silent and sad pass through this weeping vale,
With arms divine the glorious throne assail ;
Assured the crown of life shall then be given,
And God shall wipe away thy tears in heaven.

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