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Make her opponents pass,
Fearful as Balaam's ass,
When public seen;

Let thy chastising rod,

Make them not think it odd,
That an Almighty God,
Can save the Queen.

MOMENTOUS TIMES,

OR

THE DREAM OF A PLEBEIAN.

By Tyrannicida.

THE DREAM.

The other night I went to bed,
And on my pillow laid my
head-
Determin'd not the watch to keep,
Ere long I soundly fell asleep.
Some ancient God of high renown,
To me, poor simpleton, unknown,
I saw advancing; in his hand
Not what is called a magic wand
He held but a simple flower,
Yet of strange illusive power:
He gently waved it o'er my eyes,
And bid such scenes, and things arise
To fanciful imagination,

Of certain persons in the nation.
I've been at Drury and the Garden,
(I crave my gentle readers pardon

For thus digressing,) at Giles', at James',
But ne'er beheld such frantic games;
Tragic scenes, scenes sympathetic-
Actors mad, dwarf, fat athletic:
Actresses, Oh, such beauteous dames
As grace the moral, chaste, Saint James' !
For this delay I may be curst,

So now for act, and scene the first;
The acts and scenes successive came,
So
you shall have them just the same.

ACT 1.-SCENE 1.

Discovered in a conjuror's cave.
A council of rogue, fool, and knave,
Hypocrites and pettyfoggers
And cowards, and dirty jobbers.
Open, lying on the table

A costly bag, tho' not of sable,
For all the blackness was within-
A budget of collected sin.

If memory err not, it was green,
Containing charges 'gainst the Queen.
(Abominable to assail

An unprotected fair female!)

News came," The Queen's at Dover,"
And when the mystic signs were over,
Old Hecate rose, came down the stage,
And in a vile, infernal rage,
Desir'd each officious fool

The Cauldron-no-the ridicule
To fill. Hecate himself first threw
All that was horrid and untrue.
(Not Shakespeare's Hecate that I mean,
But the base husband of our Queen.)
Next came villainy, that prime fool,
Known by the name of Liverpool-
Of all, his portion was most vile,
And with a supercilious smile,

He fawn'd, and scrap'd, and bowed his head,
And to his gouty master said,

Rely on me, for all my spies
Shall back us with ingenious lies;
Condemn her, by their perjury:
I'll choose the Judge-pack the Jury,
And check the low rabble's fury."
'Then came forth two hoary traitor's,
Not pious bishops, but dictators.
Oh, fie upon ye!—where is now
That heavenly maid in garb of snow.
Whose constant cry is, without me
What is faith, hope, or charity?
Preach not to me ye pamper'd sons
Of indolence-ye tything duns;
Of piety you give a sample--
You preach, but follow not, example :
'Tis not the good you should reform,
Nor yet the comfortable warm,

"Tis not your debtors you should pay
'Tis not for good men you should pray;
But for those fall'n debased by crimes,
You, prayers should offer at your shrines!
Their mite of calumny was thrown,
An humble offering to the throne.
Next the Secretary for Home,
Who sends the troublesome to roam;
In other words, his venom threw,
The spleen and gall of those he slew
At Manchester, and at Newgate;
The latter of more recent date.
And then the double-coated Canning
So noted for his schemes and planning
And the powder'd highland laddy,
With notorious pedling paddy;
They too, with many traitors more,
Perhaps a dozen or a score-
Their filth collected from a crew
Of half-starved foreigners, in threw :
The bag was seal'd, sent to the Hall
Of Lords, earthly and spiritual:
Another too of the like stuff

Was hied to the hounds by Lord Puff.
The scene clos'd, the curtain fell,
But first I heard the prompter's bell-
And wish'd it were the welcome knell,
To summon all those rogues to hell.

SCENE 2.

A noble trunk in back ground stood,
'Twas heart of oak, a kindred WOOD,
Next to my eager fancy rose

An injured Queen beset with woes;
Provided not with e'en a shed
From nightly dews to hide her head,
But forced beneath the spreading boughs
Of gen'rous WOOD, to seek repose.
Beware, ye servants of the nation,
You'll feel John Bull's disapprobation;

You paltry money-loving tribe,

You thought the Queen would take the bribe

Unlike you, her Majesty disdains

Such trash, and honorably maintains

Her rights, and now triumphant reigns

VOL. III. No. 17.

Unrivall'd in each Briton's breast,
Where once your master was caress'd,
'Till by foul deeds and drunken fits
He scar'd his sire out of his wits.
You may bring spies and ragʼmuffins,
Or mother Hun's spawn, and huffings,
And yeomen cavalry, the curs
And such like, wearing boots and spurs ;
A set of tailors, barbers, ploughmen,
Yet their conduct prov'd them no men.
With such to couple 'twere a shame,
A soldier-'tis an hon'rable name;
No, a soldier's is a patriot breast:
He sees these nations now oppress'd,
Will aid the suffering British brave
From pending ruin soon to save
Their wretched isle, and with a stroke
To blast a vile tyrant's yoke.

You may find hirelings to screen you
Now-but not to stand between you
In day of trial-nor secure ye
From a people's threat'ning fury.
Oh, for a speedy dissolution

Of what is wrong-and retribution!

ACT II.-SCENE 1:

The God of dreams now beckon'd,
And bid me look at act the second.
I saw the inside of a palace

Where dwells not truth or godly grace,
My eyes dazzled with the splendour
Of female beauty :-the tender,
Soft embraces of the King
Made all philosophy take wing.
There sat a Duke, and loll'd a 'squire,
And here reclin'd Britannia's sire;
And there two panders-gen'rals late,
Jackalls for the royal palate;

With blooming VIRGINS of three score,
Methinks in number, five or four:
The ladies seem'd to have the spleen,

For a virtuous, injured Queen

Had just gone by, which so alarm'd,

That all the household were well arm'd.
Thus 'tis ever with the bad,
For every turn drives them mad.

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Weary from such disgraceful scenes,
And monarchial wily means,
I bid the God of Visions shew
A future day devoid of woe:

Again he wav'd the flower of magic
And bid a scene both comic-tragic,
Arise-I thank'd the Patriarch, and said,
"Are all the days of sorrow fled;"
He smil'd and seem'd to nod assent
And to the rising vision bent,
My joyful imagination—'
To behold the degradation

Of the the tyrants o'the nation.

What wrought the change I long'd to know,
And who bad prostrate laid the foe,

I could not learn--the God Supreme
Reserv'd that for another dream.
And how a change of constitution,
Effected by a revolution,

Had taken place; and how the Queen
By British sons, had righted been:
In ecstacies I soon awoke,

But still beheld the galling yoke,
And saw beneath the royal cloak,
A rod just put in pickle,

Intended the poor Queen to tickle.
Many a one has cut a switch

That often tickled his own breech;

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