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SCENE II.
Collateralis—Dick the Publican.Publican.
This dull inaction will no longer do;
Month after Month the idle troops have lain,
Nor struck one stroke that leads us to our wish.
The trifling beckerings at the city gates,
Or bold outrages of their midnight routs,
Bring us no nearer to the point in view.
Though much the daily suff'rings of the people,
Commerce destroy'd, and government unhing'd,
No talk of tame submission yet I hear.
Collateralis.
No—not the least—
—they're more resolv'd than ever.
They're firm, united, bold, undaunted, brave,
And every villa boasts their marshall'd ranks,
The warlike Clarion sounds through ev'ry street;
Both vig'rous youth, and the grey headed sire
Bear the Fusee, in regimental garbs,
Repairing to defend invaded right,
And if push'd hard, by manly force repel;
And tho' Britannia sends her legions o er,
To plant her daggers in her children's breast,
It will rebound—New whetted, the keen point,
Will find a sheath in ev'ry tyrant's heart.
12
—What then is to be done?
My finances too low to stand it long.
You well remember—
When station'd there to gripe the honest trader,
How much I plunder'd from your native town.
Under the sanctions of the laws of trade,
I the hard earnings of industry
Filch'd from their hands, and built my nest on high.
And on the spoils I rioted a while,
But soon the unrighteous pelf slip'd through my hand.
Nor longer idly could I waste my time,
A num'rous flock was rising round my Board,
Who urg'd to something that might give them bread.
My only game was hither to repair,
And court the proud oppressors of my Country,
By the parade of pompous luxury,
To win their favour, and obtain a place;
That (with my limbeck) might have kept me on,
But for the cursed, persevering spirit
Of Freedom's sons—who triumph or'e distress,
Nor will comply with requisitions, made
By haughty mandates from corrupted courts,
To pay the workmen for the chains, they'd Forg'd.
Collateralis.
No—tho' proud Britain wafts her wooden walls
O're the broad waves—and plants them round these Coasts,
Shuts up their Ports, and robs them of their bread,
They're not dismay'd—nor servilely comply
To pay the hunters of the Nabob shores
Their high demand for India's pois'nous weed,
Long since a sacrifice to Thetis made,
A rich regale—Now all the wat'ry dames
May snuff Souchong, and sip in flowing bowls,
The higher flavour'd choice Hysonian stream,
And leave their Nectar to old Homer's Gods.
Publican.
The Group this morn were summon'd to the camp;
The council early meets at Sylla's tent,
But for what purpose yet I cannot learn.
Collateralis.
Then let us haste, 'tis novel to be call'd,
By Sylla's order, summon'd to attend,
13
Nor trusts us with the manœuvers of state,
I fear he half despises us himself.
And if he does, we cannot wonder much,
We're made the jest of ev'ry idle boy:
Most of us hunted from our rural seats,
Drove from our homes, a prey to guilty fears
When—When dare we return!
And now shut up in this devoted City,
Amidst the pestilence on either hand,
Pursued by every dreadful Execration
That the bold Tongue of innocence oppress'd,
Pours forth in anguish for a ruin'd state.
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