University of Virginia Library

KNOWLEDGE BEING POWER,

OUGHT NOT, ACCORDING TO THE MINISTERIAL PAPERS, TO BE COMMUNICATED TO THE BULK OF THE PEOPLE.

'Tis not that Lord Althorp cares aught for the cash,
That's derived from the stamps upon Newspaper trash;
'Tis not that it yieldeth a revenue good,
To feed pauper peers, and such cormorant brood,
Which always keep croaking, and never are full,
Though devouring the vitals of poor Johnny Bull.
No:—'tis not for the money Lord Althorp needs care,
For still, 'twould appear, he has plenty to spare;
Or if he a few paltry millions should want,
He has only to ask of the Commons a grant;
And the Commons, good souls, ever prompt to bestow,
Are never so rude as to answer him ‘No!’
But obedient as puppets, when wrought by the wires,
Move this way, or that, as his Lordship desires;
And eager at all times to heap on him plenty,
They vote him at once from ‘one million’ to ‘twenty,’
To give to the Church for the loss of her tithes,
Or the Planters, to make them remove the soft withes,
That wreath round the limbs of their thrice-happy blacks,
While the cart-whip is gently applied to their backs.
The Commons, thus docile and ready to grant,
Pray, how should my Lord feel the bother of want?
It ne'er can intrude, his exertions to cramp,
Then why should he care for the Newspaper stamp—
A low paltry duty of fourpence per sheet?
He values it less than the dust on the street.
‘Then why not forego it,’ cries each stupid dunce,
‘And let us have duty-free knowledge at once?
‘We want to be knowing—we want to get wise—
‘Then why clap a pair of tax-blinds on our eyes,
‘That keep us still groping as blind as a stone,
‘And wont let us see how the world's getting on?’
‘Aye, there's the rub,’—truly you've hit it at last,
But just have some patience, and don't be so fast;
These blinds are your safeguards, as well as they're ours:
For if you could see to put forth all your powers,
Your ‘destructive opinions’ would send us adrift,
And, wanting our guidance, pray how would you shift?
You'd be ruined and lost were we driven away—
Curs'd with your own stupid anarchical sway—
Each low wretched scribbler would set up a press,
And, pretending to teach you your wrongs to redress,
Would only increase your ‘innate thirst for evil,’
And make you tenfold more the sons of the devil,
Till, losing all sense of what's right and what's wrong,
You'd set up a republican system ere long;
And, wanting in reverence for Kings, Lords, and Dukes,
Would be governed by Tailors, by Coblers, and Cooks.
Nay, worse, let me tell you, you infidel dogs,
You'd care less for Bishops than you'd do for hogs,—
The Church you'd destroy, as established by law,
Till down on your heads Heaven's vengeance you'd draw;
And, bereft of each temp 'ral and sp'ritual guide,
At last go to h---ll in your ignorant pride.
Then bore us no more with your bother and cant,
That ‘cheap untax'd knowledge’ is just what you want;
Such lore would but dazzle to lead you astray,
Till you'd lose, in the maze of false reason, your way;
Be therefore content with your too happy lot,
And seek no more ‘knowledge’ than what you have got.