The poetical works of John and Charles Wesley

And now from street to street they roam,
And ruin spread where'er they come;
The tutor'd boys, without dismay,
Pursue their work in open day,
As lords of the surrender'd town,
As hired to pull old houses down.
Young Allen's fate untaught to fear
From men inured to massacre,
They smile to see the troops draw nigher
With no authority to fire,
As sent to mark how they go on,
And guard them till their work is done.

When nothing can their force resist,
Allow'd to do whate'er they list,
They next the welcome word obey,
And to the prisons march away.
But promise first at morning-light
To burn and pillage them at night,
Set all the lawful captives free,
And make a jail-delivery.
A principle of self-compassion,
Of self-defence, and preservation,
To loose the' oppress'd, their heart engages,
Let the birds fly, and burn the cages,
Desperate, in case of a defeat,
Thus to cut off their last retreat.

The keepers warn'd, in time prepare,
And send for succour to the Mayor.

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But is the aid they ask refused?
He only begs to be excused
“From raising the combustion higher,
From pouring oil upon the fire,
Provoking a mad multitude,
And rashly shedding Christian blood.”

As lovers at the' appointed hour,
True to their word, with wasteful power,
Dread executioners of fate,
They fire the house, and burst the gate,
The fortress storm'd, their fellows seize,
And with triumphant joy release.
Who can describe the mutual greeting
Of friends, at such a happy meeting!
As brethren and companions dear
Redeem'd from bonds and death so near,
They gladly their deliverers join,
To carry on the' humane design,
The business of Association,
And break the shackles of the nation.

Behold them rush from jail to jail,
Resolved their promise shall not fail
To set imprison'd virtue free,
Erase the marks of tyranny,
Afford the frailer sex protection,
Burn all the houses of correction,
Destroy the scourges of mankind,
Nor leave one whipping-post behind.

The threaten'd jails, an hour before,
The magisterial aid implore;

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But cannot gain what they require;
But sink, like Newgate, in the fire,
While issuing from their burning hives,
The vermin that by plunder thrives,
Augment the gang of public spoilers
With a fresh regiment of Tylers.

One glorious enterprise remains,
To recompense the heroes' pains,
The unguarded Bank by storm to take,
A bonfire of the books to make,
Assist the insufficient state,
And pay at once the nation's debt.

Fired with the hope so rich a treasure
To seize, and then to take their pleasure,
They run, they fly, where booty calls,
And force the gate, and scale the walls,
Ready the' important fort to win,
When answer'd by a guard within,
Repulsed, o'erthrown, on heaps they lie,
And in the bed of honour die!

Yet, on the point of being sack'd,
The Bank, they say, was ne'er attack'd:
And three months hence, the Cits will tell us,
No accident at all befel us,
No Popish chapel was pull'd down,
And not a house was burn'd in town.

A rioter killed in St. George's Fields.

University of Virginia Library

CANTO II.