Scripscrapologia or, Collins's Doggerel Dish Of All Sorts. Consisting of Songs Adapted to familiar Tunes, And which may be sung without the Chaunterpipe of an Italian Warbler, or the ravishing Accompaniments of Tweedle-Dum or Tweedle-Dee. Particularly those which have been most applauded in the author's once popular performance, call'd, The Brush. The Gallimaufry garnished with a variety of comic tales, quaint epigrams, whimsical epitaphs, &c. &c. [by John Collins] |
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THE STATE OF FRANCE, IN THE YEAR 1795.
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THE STATE OF FRANCE, IN THE YEAR 1795.
A LESSON TO ENGLISHMEN.
When Robbers and Cut-throats ascendancy gain,And they seize on estates, when the owners they've slain;
'Tis a consequence common, if num'rous the gang,
That one half to enrich, t'other half must go hang:
For the proverb to prove needs no disputant pother,
That Thieves can but seldom be true to each other:
Thus the gaunt Robespierre, and his Hell-hound Adherents,
Like dogs eating dogs, became Gallia's Vicegerents.
Yet scarce Rival Ashes had cool'd in their urns,
When themselves became “Biters of Dust” in their turns.
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The thin cobweb veil is brush'd off from the mirror;
The mirror we mean, which their crimes once display'd,
And by which the world's eye all their vices survey'd;
Rent in twain, like the veil of the temple, 'tis flown,
And the bubble behind bursts as soon as 'tis blown!
For now, as before, the mock mask is thrown by,
And the white-plaster'd Ethiop resumes his black dye!
Tooth and talon employ'd, they fall foul of each other,
And brother and friend sacrifice friend and brother!
O, England! take warning from Caitiffs like those,
Nor think England's welfare can spring from her woes:
Shun the path where blind bigots in chains lead the blind,
Nor think to spread freedom by thinning mankind;
Nor desert solid blessings to grasp at a shade,
Nor at home draw the sword to make work for the spade!
The Freebooters of France have but this point in view,
Britons first to Divide, and then Britons Subdue;
And could they take wing here to pounce on their prey,
The vultures their harvest would make of the fray;
Nor the question be put, who their work had been brewing,
Nor a watch-word or countersign save them from ruin!
Then, while on the Sod, whence our Ancestors sprung,
To their hallow'd remains be a Requiem sung;
Nor let them, indignant, be rous'd from their graves,
To see Freedom's abuse make their Progeny slaves.
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