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diff --git a/29224-h/29224-h.htm b/29224-h/29224-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3322f02 --- /dev/null +++ b/29224-h/29224-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1427 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Group, by Mrs. Mercy Warren. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2,h3 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; +} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} + +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + padding:0em; + text-indent:0em; +} /* page numbers */ + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; + font-size:90%; +} + + + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps; font-style: normal;} + +.caption {font-weight: bold;} + +/* Images */ +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; +} + +/* Footnotes */ +.footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + +.footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + +.footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + +.fnanchor { + vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: + none; +} + +/* Poetry */ +.poem { + margin-left:50%; + margin-right:10%; + text-align: left; +} + +.poem br {display: none;} + +.poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em -10em;} + +.poem span.i0 { + display: block; + margin-left: 0em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i2 { + display: block; + margin-left: 2em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i6 { + display: block; + margin-left: 6em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.tnote {width: 25em; + border: 1px dashed #808080; + background-color: #f6f6f6; + text-align: justify; + padding: 0.5em; + margin: 6em auto 6em auto;} +.gap2 {margin-top:2em;} +.gap3 {margin-top:3em;} +.gap6 {margin-top:6em;} +.hangindent {padding-left:0em;margin-left:3em;text-indent:-3em;} +.stagedir {text-align:right;} +.lfloat {float:left;width:auto;} + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Group, by Mercy Warren + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Group + A Farce + +Author: Mercy Warren + +Editor: Montrose J. Moses + +Release Date: June 26, 2009 [EBook #29224] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GROUP *** + + + + +Produced by David Starner, Brownfox and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="tnote"><p class="center"><b>Transcriber's Note:</b></p> +<p>This e-book contains the text of <i>The Group</i>, extracted from +<b>Representative Plays by American Dramatists: Vol 1, 1765-1819</b>. Comments and +background to all the plays, and links to the other plays are available +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/29221/29221-h/29221-h.htm">here</a>.</p> +<p>For your convenience, the transcribers have provided the following links:</p> +<p class="center"> +<a href="#MRS_MERCY_WARREN"><b>Mrs Mercy Warren.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#PROLOGUE"><b>Prologue</b></a><br /> +<a href="#DRAMATIS_PERSONAE"><b>Dramatis Personæ</b></a><br /> +<a href="#ACT_I"><b>ACT I.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#ACT_II"><b>ACT II.</b></a><br /> +</p> +<p>Spelling as in the original has been preserved.</p> +</div> + + + + +<h1>THE GROUP</h1> + +<h2><i>By</i> <span class="smcap">Mrs. Mercy Warren</span></h2> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 501px;"> +<img src="images/image_213.png" width="501" height="534" alt="Mrs. Mercy Warren" title="Mrs. Mercy Warren" /> +<span class="caption">Mrs. Mercy Warren</span> +</div> + + + + +<h2 class="gap3"><a name="MRS_MERCY_WARREN" id="MRS_MERCY_WARREN"></a>MRS. MERCY WARREN</h2> + +<h3>(1728-1814)</h3> + + +<p>Most of the literature—orations as well as broadsides—created +in America under the heat of the Revolution, was of a strictly +satirical character. Most of the Revolutionary ballads sung at +the time were bitter with hatred against the Loyalist. When +the conflict actually was in progress, the theatres that regaled +the Colonists were closed, and an order from the Continental +Congress declared that theatre-going was an amusement from +which all patriotic people should abstain. These orders or +resolutions were dated October 12, 1778, and October 16. (Seilhamer, +ii, 51.) The playhouses were no sooner closed, however—much +to the regret of Washington—than their doors were +thrown wide open by the British troops stationed in Boston, +New York, and Philadelphia. A complete history of the American +stage has to deal with Howe's players, Clinton's players, +and Burgoyne's players.</p> + +<p>Of all these Red-Coat Thespians, two demand our attention—one, +Major André, a gay, talented actor; the other, General Burgoyne, +whose pride was as much concerned with playwriting as +with generalship. The latter dipped his pen in the satirical inkpot, +and wrote a farce, "The Blockade of Boston." It was +this play that drew forth from a woman, an American playwright, +the retort stinging. This lady was Mrs. Mercy Warren<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> +who, although distinguished for being a sister of James Otis, +and the wife of General James Warren, was in her own name +a most important and distinct literary figure during the +Revolution.</p> + +<p>So few women appear in the early history of American Drama +that it is well here to mention Mrs. Charlotte Ramsay Lennox +(1720-1804) and Mrs. Susanna Rowson (1762-1824). The former +has the reputation of being the first woman, born in America, +to have written a play, "The Sister" (1769). The author +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span>moved to London when she was fifteen, and there it was her +piece was produced, with an epilogue by Oliver Goldsmith. She +is referred to in Boswell's Life of Johnson.</p> + +<p>Of Susanna Rowson, whose Memoir has been issued by Rev. +Elias Nason, we know that, as a singer and actress, she created +sufficient reputation in London to attract the attention of Wignell, +the comedian. (Clapp. Boston Stage. 1853, p. 41.)</p> + +<p>With her husband, she came to this country in 1793, and, +apart from her professional duties on the stage, wrote a farce, +"Volunteers" (1795), dealing with the Whiskey Insurrection in +Pennsylvania, "The Female Patriot" (1794), "Slaves in Algiers; +or, A Struggle for Freedom" (1794), and "Americans in England" +(1796). All of these were produced. Her literary attainments +were wide, her most popular novel being "Charlotte +Temple, a Tale of Truth" (1790). She likewise compiled many +educational works. (See Wegelin.)</p> + +<p>The picture conjured up in our mind of Mrs. Warren is +farthest away from satire. To judge by the costume she wore +when she sat to Copley for her portrait, she must have been +graced with all the feminine wiles of the period. Behold Mrs. +Mercy Warren, satirist, as the records describe her:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Her head-dress is of white lace, trimmed with white satin ribbons. +Her robe is of dark-green satin, with a pompadour waist, trimmed +with point lace. There is a full plait at the back, hanging from the +shoulders, and her sleeves are also of point lace. White illusion, +trimmed with point lace, and fastened with a white satin bow, covers +her neck. The front of the skirt and of the sleeves are elaborately +trimmed with puffings of satin.</p></div> + +<p>But however agreeable this picture may be, Mrs. Warren, on +reading Burgoyne's farce, immediately sharpened her pen, and +replied by writing a counter-farce, which she called "The Blockheads; +or, the Affrighted Officers."<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> It was in the prologue to +this play that the poet-dramatist wrote:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Your pardon first I crave for this intrusion.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The topic's such it looks like a delusion;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And next your candour, for I swear and vow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such an attempt I never made till now.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But constant laughing at the Desp'rate fate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The bastard sons of Mars endur'd of late,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Induc'd me thus to minute down the notion,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which put my risibles in such commotion.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By yankees frighted too! oh, dire to say!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why yankees sure at red-coats faint away!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, yes—They thought so too—for lack-a-day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their gen'ral turned the <i>blockade</i> to a play:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Poor vain poltroons—with justice we'll retort,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And call them <i>blockheads</i> for their idle sport.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Unfortunately, we cannot test the comparative value of satire +as used by Burgoyne and Mrs. Warren, because the Burgoyne +play is not in existence. But, undoubtedly, our Revolutionary +enthusiast knew how to wield her pen in anger, and she reflects +all of the bitter spirit of the time. Not only is this apparent in +"The Blockheads," but likewise in "The Group," a piece which +holds up to ridicule a number of people well known to the Boston +of that day.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Warren was the writer of many plays, as well as being +noted for her "History of the American Revolution" (1805), +and for her slim volume of poems (1790), which follow the conventional +sentiments of the conventionally sentimental English +poetry of that time.</p> + +<p>In "The Group" we obtain her interesting impressions, in +dramatic form, of North and Gage and, from the standpoint of +the library, we regard with reverence the little copy of the play +printed on the day before the battle of Lexington—a slim brochure, +aimed effectively at Tory politicians.<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a></p> + +<p>In fact, mention the name Tory to Mrs. Warren, and her wit +was ever ready to sharpen its shafts against British life in +America. That is probably why so many believe she wrote +"The Motley Assembly," a farce, though some there be who +claim that its authorship belongs to J. M. Sewall. Dr. F. W. +Atkinson asserts that this was the first American play to have +in it only American characters.<a name="FNanchor_4_4" id="FNanchor_4_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a></p> + +<p>The satirical farce was a popular dramatic form of the time. +Mrs. Warren was particularly effective in wielding such a +polemic note, for instance, when she deals with the Boston +Massacre in her Tragedy, "The Adulateur" (Boston: Printed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span> +and sold at the New Printing-Office, /Near Concert-Hall./ +M,DCC,LXXIII./). On the King's side, however, the writers +were just as effective. Such an example is seen in "The Battle +of Brooklyn, A farce of Two Acts: as it was performed at +Long-Island, on Tuesday, the 27th of August, 1776, By the +Representatives of the Tyrants of America, Assembled at +Philadelphia" (Edinburgh: Printed in the Year M.DCC. +LXXVII.), in which the British ridicule all that is Continental, +even Washington. This farce was reprinted in Brooklyn, 1873.</p> + +<p>Jonathan Mitchell Sewall's (1748-1808) "A Cure for the +Spleen; or, Amusement for a Winter's Evening" (1775) was +another Tory protest, which carried the following pretentious +subtitle: "Being the substance of a conversation on the Times, +over a friendly tankard and pipe, between Sharp, a country +Parson; Bumper, a country Justice; Fillpot, an inn-keeper; +Graveairs, a Deacon; Trim, a Barber; Brim, a Quaker; Puff, +a late Representative. Taken in short-hand by Roger de +Coverly."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Warren was the intimate friend of many interesting +people. It concerns us, however, that her most significant correspondence +of a literary nature was carried on with John Adams, +afterwards President of the United States. This friendship +remained unbroken until such time as Mrs. Warren found it +necessary to picture Adams in her History of the Revolution; +when he objected to the portraiture.</p> + +<p>The student of history is beholden to Mr. Adams for many +of those intimate little sketches of Revolutionary and early +national life in America, without which our impressions would +be much the poorer. His admiration for Mrs. Warren was great, +and even in his correspondence with her husband, James Warren, +he never allowed an opportunity to slip for alluding to her work +as a literary force in the life of the time. I note, for example, a +letter he wrote on December 22, 1773, suggesting a theme which +would "become" Mrs. Warren's pen, "which has no equal that +I know of in this country."</p> + +<p>In 1775, after "The Group" was written, and, according to +custom, submitted by Warren to John Adams for criticism and +approval, we find him praising Mrs. Warren, and quoting from +her play. So poignantly incisive was Mrs. Warren's satire that +many people would not credit her with the pieces she actually +wrote, and there were those who thought it incredible that a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span> +woman should use satire so openly and so flagrantly as she. +The consequence is, many of her contemporaries attributed the +writing of "The Group" to masculine hands, and this attitude +drew from Mrs. Warren the following letter written to Mr. +Adams:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>My next question, sir, you may deem impertinent. Do you remember +who was the author of a little pamphlet entitled, <i>The Group?</i> +To your hand it was committed by the writer. You brought it forward +to the public eye. I will therefore give you my reason for +naming it now. A friend of mine, who lately visited the Athenæum +[a Boston Library], saw it among a bundle of pamphlets, with a +high encomium of the author, who, he asserted, was Mr. Samuel +Barrett. You can, if you please, give a written testimony contradictory +of the false assertion.</p></div> + +<p>This letter was written long after the Revolution, when she +was not loath to let it be known that she was the creator of this +little play, and is clearly indicative of the general attitude the +public had toward Mrs. Warren as an author. Her appeal instantly +called forth a courteous rejoinder from Mr. Adams, +who wrote:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>What brain could ever have conceived or suspected Samuel Barrett, +Esquire, to have been the author of "The Group"? The bishop +has neither the natural genius nor the acquired talents, the knowledge +of characters, nor the political principles, sentiments, or feelings, that +could have dictated that pungent drama. His worthy brother, the +Major, might have been as rationally suspected.</p> + +<p>I could take my Bible oath to two propositions, 1st. That Bishop +Barrett, in my opinion, was one of the last literary characters in the +world who ought to have been suspected to have written "The +Group." 2d. That there was but one person in the world, male or +female, who could at that time, in my opinion, have written it; +and that person was Madam Mercy Warren, the historical, philosophical, +poetical, and satirical consort of the then Colonel, since +General, James Warren of Plymouth, sister of the great, but forgotten, +James Otis.</p></div> + +<p>According to Adams, he immediately went to the Boston +Athenæum, where his nephew, W. S. Shaw, was Librarian. He +drew from the shelves a copy of "The Group", which had been +bought from the collection of Governor Adams of Massachusetts, +and forthwith, on looking it over, wrote down the original<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> +names of the people satirized therein.<a name="FNanchor_5_5" id="FNanchor_5_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a> This copy is still a valuable +possession of the library.</p> + +<p>While Mrs. Warren was writing "The Group," she sent it +piecemeal to her husband, who was on the field of battle. He, +being proud of the literary attainments of his wife, sent it +around to his friends, under seal of secrecy. And his appeal to +these friends was very significant of the pride he felt in the manuscript. +Here is what he wrote to Adams, on January 15, 1775:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Inclosed are for your amusement two Acts of a dramatic performance +composed at my particular desire. They go to you as they +came out of the hand of the Copier, without pointing or marking. +If you think it worth while to make any other use of them than a +reading, you will prepare them in that way & give them such +other Corrections & Amendments as your good Judgment shall +suggest.</p></div> + +<p>It gradually became known among Warren's friends who the +real writer of the satire was, much to the consternation of Mrs. +Mercy Warren. She was modest to the extreme, usually being +thrust into writing on particular subjects by the enthusiasm of +her friends. For example, she wrote a poem on the Boston +Tea Party, and, in sending it to her husband, she confessed that +it was a task</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>done in consequence of the request of a much respected friend. It +was wrote off with little attention.... I do not think it has sufficient +merit for the public eye.</p></div> + +<p>By the same post, she sent him another scene from "The +Group."</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Whatever you do with either of them [meaning the manuscripts], +you will doubtless be careful that the author is not exposed, and hope +your particular friends will be convinced of the propriety of not +naming her at present.</p></div> + +<p>Mrs. Warren was the author of several other plays, among +them "The Adulateur" and "The Retreat," which preceded<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span> +"The Group" in date of composition, and "The Sack of Rome." +The latter was contained in a volume of poems issued in 1790, +in which "The Ladies of Castile" was dedicated to President +Washington, who wrote the author a courteous note in acknowledgment.</p> + +<p>In the preface to this volume, Mrs. Warren gives her impressions +of the stage, which are excellent measure of the regard +Americans of this period had for the moral influence of the playhouse. +Thus, she writes:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Theatrical amusements may, sometimes, have been prostituted +to the purposes of vice; yet, in an age of taste and refinement, lessons +of morality, and the consequences of deviation, may, perhaps, +be as successfully enforced from the stage, as by modes of instruction, +less censured by the severe; while, at the same time, the exhibition +of great historical events, opens a field of contemplation to the +reflecting and philosophic mind.</p></div> + +<p>But Mrs. Warren was not entirely given over to the serious +occupations of literary work. We find her on intimate terms +with Mrs. Adams, the two of them in their daily association +calling each other <i>Portia</i> and <i>Marcia</i>.</p> + +<p>Who actually played in "The Group" when it was given a +performance is not recorded. We know, however, from records, +that it was given for the delectation of the audiences assembled +"nigh head quarters, at Amboyne." This evidence is on the +strength of Mrs. Warren's own statement. Sanction for the +statement appears on the title-pages of the New York, John +Anderson, issue of 1775,<a name="FNanchor_6_6" id="FNanchor_6_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a> and the Jamaica-Philadelphia, James +Humphreys, Jr., edition of the same year.</p> + +<p>I have selected this play, "The Group," as being an excellent +example of the partisan writing done at the time of our American +Revolution, and no one can afford to overlook it, although +its actable qualities, according to our present-day judgment, +are doubtful.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Mrs. Warren was born at Barnstable, Mass., September 25, 1728, and died at +Plymouth, Mass., October 19, 1814.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> The/Blockheads:/or, the/Affrighted Officers. /A/Farce. /Boston:/ Printed in +Queen-Street,/M,DCC,LXXVI./</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> On the title-page of the Boston edition there appears the following proem: +"As the great business of the polite world is the eager pursuit of amusement, and +as the Public diversions of the season have been interrupted by the hostile parade +in the capital; the exhibition of a new farce may not be unentertaining."</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_4_4" id="Footnote_4_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_4"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> The /Motley /Assembly, /A /Farce. /Published /For the /Entertainment /of the / +Curious. /Boston: /Printed and Sold by Nathaniel Coverly, in /Newbury-Street, / +M,DCC,LXXIX./</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_5_5" id="Footnote_5_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_5"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> Mrs. Warren's biographer, Alice Brown, quotes the list, as follows, the persons +satirized being in parentheses: Lord Chief Justice Hazlerod (Oliver); Judge +Meagre (E. Hutchinson); Brigadier Hateall (Ruggles); Hum Humbug, Esq., +(Jno. Erving); Sir Sparrow Spendall (Sir Wm. Pepperell); Hector Mushroom +(Col. Murray); Beau Trumps (Jno. Vassall); Dick, the Publican (Lechmere); +Monsieur de François (N. R. Thomas); Crusty Crowbar, Esq. (J. Boutineau); +Dupe,—Secretary of State (T. Flucker); Scriblerius Fribble (Leonard); Commodore +Bateau (Loring). The significance of these names will be apparent to +student of local Colonial history.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_6_6" id="Footnote_6_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_6"><span class="label">[6]</span></a> The /Group,/ A / Farce: / As lately Acted, and to be Re-acted, to the Wonder/ +of all superior Intelligences; /Nigh Head Quarters, at/ Amboyne. /In Two Acts./ +New-York: / Printed by John Anderson,/ at Beekman's-Slip./ [The Boston edition +was printed and sold by Edes and Gill, in Queen-Street, 1775.]</p></div> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter gap3" style="width: 358px;"> +<img src="images/image_221.png" width="358" height="573" alt="THE GROUP, A FARCE:" title="THE GROUP, A FARCE:" /> +<span class="caption"><span class="smcap">Fac-Simile Title-Page of the First Edition</span></span> +</div> + + + +<p class="gap3"><a name="PROLOGUE" id="PROLOGUE"></a>The <span class="smcap">Author</span> has thought proper to borrow the following +spirited lines from a late celebrated Poet, and offer to the public, +by way of <span class="smcap">Prologue</span>, which cannot fail of pleasing at this crisis.</p> + + +<p class="center gap2">PROLOGUE</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i><span class="smcap">What!</span> arm'd for virtue, and not point the pen,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Brand the bold front of shameless guilty men,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Dash the proud gamester from his gilded car,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Bare the mean heart which lurks beneath a star,</i><br /></span> +</div></div> +<p class="center">* * *</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Shall I not strip the gilding off a knave,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Unplac'd, unpension'd, no man's heir, or slave?</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>I will, or perish in the gen'rous cause;</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Hear this and tremble, ye who 'scape the laws;</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Yes, while I live, no rich or noble knave,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Shall walk the world in credit to his grave;</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>To virtue only, and her friends, a friend,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>The world beside may murmur, or commend.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<h2 class="gap3"><a name="DRAMATIS_PERSONAE" id="DRAMATIS_PERSONAE"></a>DRAMATIS PERSONÆ</h2> + + +<table summary="Dramatis Personae"> +<tr> +<td><i>Lord Chief Justice <span class="smcap">Hazlerod</span></i>,</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><i>Judge <span class="smcap">Meagre</span></i>,</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><i>Brigadier <span class="smcap">Hateall</span></i>,</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><i><span class="smcap">Hum Humbug</span>, Esquire</i>,</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><i>Sir <span class="smcap">Sparrow Spendall</span></i>,</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><i><span class="smcap">Hector Mushroom</span>,—Col.</i></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><i><span class="smcap">Beau Trumps</span></i>,</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><i><span class="smcap">Dick</span>, the Publican</i>,</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><i><span class="smcap">Simple Sapling</span>, Esquire</i>,</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><i>Monsieur de <span class="smcap">François</span></i>,</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><i><span class="smcap">Crusty Crowbar</span>, Esquire</i>,</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><i><span class="smcap">Dupe</span>,—Secretary of State</i>,</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><i><span class="smcap">Scriblerius Fribble</span></i>,</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><i>Commodore <span class="smcap">Bateau</span></i>,</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><i><span class="smcap">Collateralis</span>,—a new-made Judge</i>.</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p class="hangindent">Attended by a swarm of court sycophants, hungry harpies, and +unprincipled danglers, collected from the neighbouring villages, +hovering over the stage in the shape of locusts, led by +Massachusettensis in the form of a basilisk; the rear brought +up by Proteus, bearing a torch in one hand, and a powder-flask +in the other. The whole supported by a mighty army and +navy, from Blunderland, for the laudable purpose of enslaving +its best friends.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span></p> + +<h3 class="gap3"><i>The</i></h3> + +<h2>GROUP</h2> + +<h3><i>A</i></h3> + +<h3><i>Farce</i></h3> + + + +<h2 class="gap3"><a name="ACT_I" id="ACT_I"></a>ACT I.</h2> + + +<p class="center gap3"><span class="smcap">Scene I.</span> <i>A little dark Parlour in Boston:</i></p> + +<p class="center"><i><span class="smcap">Guards</span> standing at the door.</i></p> + +<p class="center"><i><span class="smcap">Hazlerod</span>, <span class="smcap">Crusty Crowbar</span>, <span class="smcap">Simple Sapling</span>, <span class="smcap">Hateall</span>, +and <span class="smcap">Hector Mushroom</span>.</i></p> + +<p class="center gap2"><span class="smcap">Simple.</span></p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">I know not what to think of these sad times,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The people arm'd,—and all resolv'd to die<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere they'll submit.——<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p class="center gap2"><span class="smcap">Crusty Crowbar.</span></p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">I too am almost sick of the parade<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of honours purchas'd at the price of peace.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p class="center gap2"><span class="smcap">Simple.</span></p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Fond as I am of greatness and her charms,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Elate with prospects of my rising name,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Push'd into place,—a place I ne'er expected,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My bounding heart leapt in my feeble breast.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ecstasies entranc'd my slender brain.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But yet, ere this I hop'd more solid gains,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As my low purse demands a quick supply.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Poor Sylvia weeps,—and urges my return<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To rural peace and humble happiness,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As my ambition beggars all her babes.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span><br /></span> +</div></div> +<p class="center gap2"><span class="smcap">Crusty.</span></p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">When first I listed in the desp'rate cause,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And blindly swore obedience to his will,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So wise, so just, so good I thought Rapatio,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That if salvation rested on his word<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'd pin my faith, and risk my hopes thereon.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p class="center gap2"><span class="smcap">Hazlerod.</span></p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Any why not now?—What staggers thy belief?<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p class="center gap2"><span class="smcap">Crusty.</span></p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Himself—his perfidy appears—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It is too plain he has betray'd his country;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And we're the wretched tools by him mark'd out<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To seal its ruins—tear up the ancient forms,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And every vestige treacherously destroy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor leave a trait of freedom in the land.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor did I think hard fate wou'd call me up<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From drudging o'er my acres,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Treading the glade, and sweating at the plough,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To dangle at the tables of the great;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At bowls and cards to spend my frozen years;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To sell my friends, my country, and my conscience;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Profane the sacred sabbaths of my God;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Scorn'd by the very men who want my aid<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To spread distress o'er this devoted people.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p class="center gap2"><span class="smcap">Hazlerod.</span></p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Pho—what misgivings—why these idle qualms,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This shrinking backwards at the bugbear conscience;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In early life I heard the phantom nam'd,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the grave sages prate of moral sense<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Presiding in the bosom of the just;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or planting thongs about the guilty heart.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bound by these shackles, long my lab'ring mind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Obscurely trod the lower walks of life,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In hopes by honesty my bread to gain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But neither commerce, or my conjuring rods,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor yet mechanics, or new fangled drills,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or all the iron-monger's curious arts,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gave me a competence of shining ore,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or gratify'd my itching palm for more;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till I dismiss'd the bold intruding guest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And banish'd conscience from my wounded breast.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p class="center gap2"><span class="smcap">Crusty.</span></p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Happy expedient!—Could I gain the art,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then balmy sleep might sooth my waking lids,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And rest once more refresh my weary soul.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p class="center gap2"><span class="smcap">Hazlerod.</span></p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Resolv'd more rapidly to gain my point,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I mounted high in justice's sacred seat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With flowing robes, and head equip'd without,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A heart unfeeling and a stubborn soul,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As qualify'd as e'er a Jefferies was;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Save in the knotty rudiments of law,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The smallest requisite for modern times,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When wisdom, law, and justice are supply'd<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By swords, dragoons, and ministerial nods,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sanctions most sacred in the Pander's creed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I sold my country for a splendid bribe.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now let her sink—and all the dire alarms<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of war, confusion, pestilence, and blood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And tenfold mis'ry be her future doom—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let civil discord lift her sword on high,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nay, sheath its hilt e'en in my brother's blood;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It ne'er shall move the purpose of my soul;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tho' once I trembled at a thought so bold;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By Philalethes's arguments, convinc'd,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We may live Demons, as we die like brutes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I give my tears, and conscience to the winds.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p class="center gap2"><span class="smcap">Hateall.</span></p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Curse on their coward fears, and dastard souls,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their soft compunctions and relented qualms,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Compassion ne'er shall seize my steadfast breast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though blood and carnage spread thro' all the land;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till streaming purple tinge the verdant turf,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till ev'ry street shall float with human gore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I Nero-like, the capital in flames,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">could laugh to see her glotted sons expire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tho' much too rough my soul to touch the lyre.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span><br /></span> +</div></div> +<p class="center gap2"><span class="smcap">Simple.</span></p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">I fear the brave, the injur'd multitude,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Repeated wrongs, arouse them to resent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And every patriot like old Brutus stands,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The shining steel half drawn—its glitt'ring point<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Scarce hid beneath the scabbard's friendly cell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Resolv'd to die, or see their country free.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p class="center gap2"><span class="smcap">Hateall.</span></p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Then let them die—<i>The dogs we will keep down</i>—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While N——'s my friend, and G—— approves the deed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tho' hell and all its hell-hounds should unite,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'll not recede to save from swift perdition<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My wife, my country, family, or friends.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">G——'s mandamus I more highly prize<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than all the mandates of th' etherial king.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p class="center gap2"><span class="smcap">Hector Mushroom.</span></p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Will our abettors in the distant towns<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Support us long against the common cause,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When they shall see from Hampshire's northern bounds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thro' the wide western plains to southern shores<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The whole united continent in arms?——<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p class="center gap2"><span class="smcap">Hateall.</span></p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">They shall—as sure as oaths or bond can bind;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I've boldly sent my new-born brat abroad,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Th' association of my morbid brain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To which each minion must affix his name,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As all our hope depends on brutal force,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On quick destruction, misery, and death;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Soon may we see dark ruin stalk around,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With murder, rapine, and inflicted pains;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Estates confiscate, slav'ry, and despair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wrecks, halters, axes, gibbeting and chains,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All the dread ills that wait on civil war;——<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How I could glut my vengeful eyes to see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The weeping maid thrown helpless on the world,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her sire cut off.—Her orphan brothers stand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While the big tear rolls down the manly cheek.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Robb'd of maternal care by grief's keen shaft,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sorrowing mother mourns her starving babes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her murder'd lord torn guiltless from her side,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And flees for shelter to the pitying grave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To screen at once from slavery and pain.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p class="center gap2"><span class="smcap">Hazlerod.</span></p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">But more complete I view this scene of woe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By the incursions of a savage foe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of which I warn'd them, if they dare refuse<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The badge of slaves, and bold resistance use.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now let them suffer—I'll no pity feel.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p class="center gap2"><span class="smcap">Hateall.</span></p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Nor I!——But had I power, as I have the will,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'd send them murm'ring to the shades of hell.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="center"><i>End of the First Act.</i></p> + + + +<h2 class="gap3"><a name="ACT_II" id="ACT_II"></a>ACT II.</h2> + +<div class="hangindent"><p><i>The scene changes to a large dining room. The table furnished +with bowls, bottles, glasses, and cards.——The Group appear +sitting round in a restless attitude. In one corner of the room is +discovered a small cabinet of books, for the use of the studious and +contemplative; containing, Hobbs's Leviathan, Sipthorp's Sermons, +Hutchinson's History, Fable of the Bees, Philalethes on +Philanthropy, with an appendix by Massachusettensis, Hoyl +on Whist, Lives of the Stuarts, Statutes of Henry the Eighth, and +William the Conqueror, Wedderburne's speeches, and acts of +Parliament, for 1774.</i></p></div> + + +<p class="center gap3"><span class="smcap">Scene I.</span></p> + +<p class="center"><i><span class="smcap">Hateall</span>, <span class="smcap">Hazlerod</span>, <span class="smcap">Monsieur</span>, <span class="smcap">Beau Trumps</span>, <span class="smcap">Simple</span>, +<span class="smcap">Humbug</span>, <span class="smcap">Sir Sparrow</span>, &c., &c.</i></p> + +<div class="poem"></div> +<p class="center gap2"><span class="smcap">Scriblerius.</span></p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">——Thy toast, Monsieur,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pray, why that solemn phiz:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Art thou, too, balancing 'twixt right and wrong?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hast thou a thought so mean as to give up<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy present good, for promise in reversion?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis true hereafter has some feeble terrors,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But ere our grizzly heads are wrapt in clay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We may compound, and make our peace with Heav'n.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p class="center gap2"><span class="smcap">Monsieur.</span></p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Could I give up the dread of retribution,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The awful reck'ning of some future day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like surly Hateall I might curse mankind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And dare the threat'ned vengeance of the skies.<br /></span> +<span class="i0 lfloat">Or like yon apostate——<br /></span> +<div class="stagedir"> [<i>Pointing to <span class="smcap">Hazlerod</span>, retired to a corner to read Massachusettensis.</i><br /></div> +<span class="i6">Feel but slight remorse<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To sell my country for a grasp of gold.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the impressions of my early youth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Infix'd by precepts of my pious sire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are stings and scorpions in my goaded breast;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oft have I hung upon my parent's knee<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And heard him tell of his escape from France;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He left the land of slaves, and wooden shoes;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From place to place he sought a safe retreat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till fair Bostonia stretch'd her friendly arm<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And gave the refugee both bread and peace:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Shall I ungrateful 'rase the sacred bonds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And help to clank the tyrant's iron chains<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er these blest shores—once the sure asylum<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From all the ills of arbitrary sway?)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With his expiring breath he bade his sons,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If e'er oppression reach'd the western world,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Resist its force, and break the servile yoke.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p class="center gap2"><span class="smcap">Scriblerius.</span></p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Well quit thy post;——Go make thy flatt'ring court<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To Freedom's Sons and tell thy baby fears;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shew the foot traces in thy puny heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Made by the trembling tongue and quiv'ring lip<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of an old grandsire's superstitious whims.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span><br /></span> +</div></div> +<p class="center gap2"><span class="smcap">Monsieur.</span></p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">No,——I never can——<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So great the itch I feel for titl'd place,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some honorary post, some small distinction,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To save my name from dark oblivion's jaws,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'll hazard all, but ne'er give up my place,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For <i>that</i> I'll see Rome's ancient rites restor'd,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And flame and faggot blaze in ev'ry street.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p class="center gap2"><span class="smcap">Beau Trumps.</span></p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">——That's right, Monsieur,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There's nought on earth that has such tempting charms<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As rank and show, and pomp, and glitt'ring dress,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Save the dear counters at belov'd Quadril,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Viner unsoil'd, and Littleton, may sleep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Coke lie mould'ring on the dusty shelf,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If I by shuffling draw some lucky card<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That wins the livres, or lucrative place.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p class="center gap2"><span class="smcap">Hum Humbug.</span></p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">When sly Rapatio shew'd his friends the scroll,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I wonder'd much to see thy patriot name<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Among the list of rebels to the state,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I thought thee one of Rusticus's sworn friends.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p class="center gap2"><span class="smcap">Beau Trumps.</span></p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">When first I enter'd on the public stage<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My country groan'd beneath base Brundo's hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Virtue look'd fair and beckon'd to her lure,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thro' truth's bright mirror I beheld her charms<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wish'd to tread the patriotic path<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wear the laurels that adorn his fame;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I walk'd a while and tasted solid peace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With Cassius, Rusticus, and good Hortensius,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And many more, whose names will be rever'd<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When you, and I, and all the venal herd,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Weigh'd in Nemesis, just impartial scale,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are mark'd with infamy, till time blot out<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And in oblivion sink our hated names.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But 'twas a poor unprofitable path,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nought to be gain'd, save solid peace of mind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No pensions, place or title there I found;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I saw Rapatio's arts had struck so deep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And giv'n his country such a fatal wound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">None but his foes promotion could expect;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I trim'd, and pimp'd, and veer'd, and wav'ring stood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But half resolv'd to shew myself a knave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till the Arch Traitor prowling round for aid<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Saw my suspense and bade me doubt no more;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He gently bow'd, and smiling took my hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And whispering softly in my list'ning ear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shew'd me my name among his chosen band,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And laugh'd at virtue dignifi'd by fools,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Clear'd all my doubts, and bade me persevere<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In spite of the restraints, or hourly checks<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of wounded friendship, and a goaded mind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or all the sacred ties of truth and honour.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p class="center gap2"><span class="smcap">Collateralis.</span></p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Come, 'mongst ourselves we'll e'en speak out the truth.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Can you suppose there yet is such a dupe<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As still believes that wretch an honest man?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The later strokes of his serpentine brain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Outvie the arts of Machiavel himself,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His Borgian model here is realiz'd<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the stale tricks of politicians play'd<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath a vizard fair——<br /></span> +<span class="i6">——Drawn from the heav'nly form<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of blest religion weeping o'er the land<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For virtue fall'n, and for freedom lost.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p class="center gap2"><span class="smcap">Beau Trumps.</span></p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">I think with you——<br /></span> +<span class="i0">——unparalleled his effront'ry,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When by chican'ry and specious art,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Midst the distress in which he'd brought the city,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He found a few (by artifice and cunning,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By much industry of his wily friend<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The false Philanthrop——sly undermining tool,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who with the Syren's voice——<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Deals daily round the poison of his tongue)<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">To speak him fair—and overlook his guilt.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They by reiterated promise made<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To stand his friend at Britain's mighty court,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And vindicate his native injur'd land,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lent him their names to sanctify his deeds.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But mark the traitor——his high crimes gloss'd o'er<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Conceals the tender feelings of the man,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The social ties that bind the human heart;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He strikes a bargain with his country's foes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And joins to wrap America in flames.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet with feign'd pity, and Satanic grin,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if more deep to fix the keen insult,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or make his life a farce still more complete,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He sends a groan across the broad Atlantic,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And with a phiz of Crocodilian stamp,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Can weep, and wreathe, still hoping to deceive,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He cries the gath'ring clouds hang thick about her,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But laughs within——then sobs——<br /></span> +<span class="i6">——Alas! my country?<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p class="center gap2"><span class="smcap">Hum Humbug.</span></p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Why so severe, or why exclaim at all,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Against the man who made thee what thou art?<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p class="center gap2"><span class="smcap">Beau Trumps.</span></p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">I know his guilt,—I ever knew the man,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy father knew him e'er we trod the stage;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I only speak to such as know him well;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Abroad I tell the world he is a saint,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But as for int'rest I betray'd my own<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the same views, I rank'd among his friends:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But my ambition sighs for something more.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What merits has Sir Sparrow of his own,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yet a feather graces the fool's cap:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which did he wear for what himself achiev'd,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twould stamp some honour on his latest heir——<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But I'll suspend my murm'ring care awhile;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Come, t' other glass——and try our luck at Loo,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And if before the dawn your gold I win,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or e'er bright Phœbus does his course begin,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The eastern breeze from Britain's hostile shore<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Should waft her lofty floating towers o'er,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose waving pendants sweep the wat'ry main,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dip their proud beaks and dance towards the plain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The destin'd plains of slaughter and distress,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Laden with troops from Hanover and Hess,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It would invigorate my sinking soul,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For then the continent we might control;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not all the millions that she vainly boasts<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Can cope with Veteran Barbarian hosts;——<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the brave sons of Albion's warlike race,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their arms, and honours, never can disgrace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or draw their swords in such a hated cause,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In blood to seal a N——'s oppressive laws,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They'll spurn the service;——Britons must recoil,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And shew themselves the natives of an isle<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who sought for freedom, in the worst of times<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Produc'd her Hampdens, Fairfaxes, and Pyms.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But if by carnage we should win the game,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Perhaps by my abilities and fame:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I might attain a splendid glitt'ring car,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And mount aloft, and sail in liquid air.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like Phaëton, I'd then out-strip the wind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And leave my low competitors behind.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="center"><i>Finis.</i></p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Group, by Mercy Warren + +*** END OF THIS 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