ENGLAND, AS SHE IS.

A SATIRE.

WHEN Virtue hangs the head, and Vice prevails,
And Justice, drunk, sits nodding o'er the scales,
Or, blind but to the humble, drops her fold,
To mark whose plea weighs strongest, poiz'd with gold;
When fools in power and knaves make common cause,
To yoke dependence with unrighteous laws,
And bid the poor man bless the king and state,
Though Famine clamor at his house's gate;
When Reason, ever weakest with the strong,

Finds the voice mock'd that would dissuade from wrong;
What shall avail? Let Satire then advance,
Firm truth her buckler, ridicule her lance,

Rout the vile herd, that trample in the dust

Man's natal rights, though Heaven confirms them just, And put a scourge in every honest hand,

To lash the rascals naked through the land. (1)

(1)

"And put in every honest hand a whip

To lash the rascal naked through the world."

Othello.

O Liberty dear goddess! at whose shrine.
I offer up each act, resource, that 's mine!
Whose favor'd seat once bless'd my native isle,
Cheer'd the low cot, and made each furrow smile,
Since fled to other brighter climes, deny'd

That homage here, which then was BRITAIN's pride!
Alas! although thy name may seem still dear,
Profan'd by slaves, who echo what they hear,
Thy slighted worship greets no more the day,
Thy temples moulder, and thy shrines decay,
And the pure fires, that quiver'd in thy fane,
Quench'd, trodden out, their ashes but remain,
Gather'd and urn'd, like relics of the dead,
Like these, alas! to mark the spirit fled !
Yet, if the few, of soul still nobly free,
Staunch to what honor dictates, and to thee,

Deserve success (" and Heaven defend the right !")
Should crown their struggles in the glorious fight,
Leave young AMERICA awhile, and driven.

Swift through the air that wraps thy birthplace, HEAVEN,
Creep to my heart, my eager soul inspire,

Fill every thought with thee! each verse with fire !
That, wing'd by truth, my voice may reach its aim,

Sting the exacting ruler's breast with shame,
Raise from the dust the weary hind oppress'd,
And wake the soul in every BRITON's breast!

"The times are out of joint!"... Who knows it not? The mischief's old... And simple. Yet, God wot, They 've bungled so the cure, the fool that 's blind May snuff its presence on the passing wind!

Shame on their hearts, who, remedy in hand,
Thus trifle with the anguish of the land!

Reform!" O, ay, Reform! their joint exclaim.
What! shall they cheat us with an empty name !
As squalling brats by cherries are beguil'd,

Shown by the nurse to soothe, not feed the child! Where be the principles these men avow'd, When their meek voices thus harang'd the crowd? "Sweet fellow-citizens! Your votes we crave! We are not, we, like this fool, or that knave. They come to serve themselves; nor will they swear, Except it like them, to support your prayer: We have no selfish views; without conditions We'll carry, by wholesale, all your petitions! Besides, you see they 're gentlemen! and then They are but striplings, we the people's men!" And so, to stroke the mob, in vulgar cant On their own merits modestly they rant, Protest they have no will, the public's slave Should up and down just as its hand may wave, "We pledge ourselves to all! Retrenchment? tithes abolish'd, Taxes repeal'd? - Ay ! - Peace Just pack them in one budget, Once in the house, they use indeed their tongues, Since all 's forgotten, save their power of lungs. So, when a wife or mistress 's to be got, We are her humble servant, slave, what not? When once the will 's obtain'd, no more we say, "Command me, love!" but, "Madam, please obey." Yet, thanks to Heaven! there are a loftier few, Of spirit more sapient, and of heart more true.

-

no wish but yours.
sinecures ?
with Holland?

All !

great with small! "

-

But what, O** , may thy voice avail 'Gainst the loud fry, that, thick as summer hail, Beat down the hopes that promis'd soon to yield, And strew the ripening harvest on the field? Retrenchment! Ay! on that we 're all agreed ! The body must be bled. But where to bleed? "They shall not lop off sinecures," says B., "For, if they lop off them, they lop off me! I'm for 'retrenchment'; but retrench not there; Some other parts have much more blood to spare." "Cut off the Pension list ?" cries Captain FEATHER, "Pray, let me ask the Learned Member, whether He'd have the gallant men, who 've fought and bled For king and country, houseless and unfed ?

'T would strike our name, sir, from the roll of nations, To make men live upon their pay and rations!

Cut off?

I'd sooner you 'd cut off my ears!"

And down he sat. Note [laughter, and

loud cheers.]

And thus Corruption runs from sire to son !
Still nourish'd thus, 't was thus its growth begun.
All see there are abuses to amend ;

All say the nation squanders, does not spend ;
All prate of country; "self?" O no! in need
Each private stream the public fount should feed.
But when the fountain threats to drain the stream,
Self sinks the scale, and country kicks the beam.

O monstrous blot upon the British shield !
The hard-earn'd mite the peasant scrapes afield,
Wrung from his dripping brow, is forc'd away,-
To help the land's expenditure defray ?

No! but to swell yon scoundrel minion's purse,
Already bloated by a people's curse ;

Or fatten some fool's spawn, some belted thing,
That fought an unjust battle for its king.
Though heroes rant of Glory as their meed,
A solid pension makes it sweet to bleed.

Yet,

Does the devil laugh?

as if this drain,

Upon the nation's vital sap, were vain,
New sinecures are made, vamp'd in an hour,
Reward of secret service done to power,

Or bribe to win some sturdy patriot o'er,

Whose conscience, eas'd, shall trouble place no more,-
Or, worse than all, a favorite to please,

Who keeps a friend, that ought to live at ease.
In HELL, if feasting be in fashion there,
They revel long o'er this. Well may they spare
Some hours of jubilee, in joy that man
Should work himself more wo than demons can !

Yet are we happy; prosperous. Why not,
They tell us so? Good people bless your lot;
For hark! what says the Member rising now,
With some important matter on his brow?
Kind, feeling, soul! he 's standing up to move
(What shall attest our gratitude! our love!)
His tender sympathies, which, choking, share
The people's sufferings, for want of air!
"Penn'd up all day in adding to their wealth,
The Crown should multiply their means of health,
Provide large public squares in every town,

Where cits may stretch themselves, stroll up and down,