WOULD you silence a Patriot committee,
Touch their lips with this magic wand;
Through country and senate and city,
Tis the lock and key of this land.
Take a piece of this same from your coffer ,
Display to the voter your pelf;
And the wretch, having nothing to offer,
Will frugally sell you – HIMSELF.
‘Tis a shot for the fowl of all feather,
A bait for the guts of all fish;
To this every gudgeon will gather,
And plumpt, ready drest, in your dish.
If the booby, your pupil, so dull is,
He scarce can remember his name;
Yet his mouth it shall open like TULLY’s ,
When fed with a spoon of this same.
To a Rascal, a Bear, and a Blockhead,
Unconscious of mood or of tense,
This plastic receipt in his pocket,
Gives grace, figure and sense!
Old saints will for this sell their manuals;
O’er this, at your sovereign nod,
Old judges will skip like young spaniels,
And Cardinals kiss you this rod.
To study aught else is but nonsense;
From hence all Philosophy springs –
‘Tis the Crown, Beauty, Cause and good Conscience,
Of – Priests, Ladies, Lawyers and Kings.
By C. B.
Printed in the Sheffield Register No. 304, 29 March 1793 (currently held in Sheffield University Library Special Collections)
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