The Group

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Shall I not strip the gilding off a knave,
Unplac'd, unpension'd, no man's heir, or slave?
I will, or perish in the gen'rous cause;
Hear this and tremble, ye who 'scape the laws;
Yes, while I live, no rich or noble knave,
Shall walk the world in credit to his grave;
To virtue only, and her friends, a friend,
The world beside may murmur, or commend.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ

Lord Chief Justice Hazlerod,

Judge Meagre,

Brigadier Hateall,

Hum Humbug, Esquire,

Sir Sparrow Spendall,

Hector Mushroom,—Col.

Beau Trumps,

Dick, the Publican,

Simple Sapling, Esquire,

Monsieur de François,

Crusty Crowbar, Esquire,

Dupe,—Secretary of State,

Scriblerius Fribble,

Commodore Bateau,

Collateralis,—a new-made Judge.

Attended by a swarm of court sycophants, hungry harpies, and unprincipled danglers, collected from the neighbouring villages, hovering over the stage in the shape of locusts, led by Massachusettensis in the form of a basilisk; the rear brought up by Proteus, bearing a torch in one hand, and a powder-flask in the other. The whole supported by a mighty army and navy, from Blunderland, for the laudable purpose of enslaving its best friends.

ACT I

Scene I. A little dark Parlour in Boston:

Guards standing at the door

Hazlerod, Crusty Crowbar, Simple Sapling, Hateall, and Hector Mushroom

Simple

I know not what to think of these sad times,
The people arm'd,—and all resolv'd to die
Ere they'll submit.–

Crusty Crowbar

I too am almost sick of the parade
Of honours purchas'd at the price of peace.

Simple

Fond as I am of greatness and her charms,
Elate with prospects of my rising name,
Push'd into place,—a place I ne'er expected,
My bounding heart leapt in my feeble breast.
And ecstasies entranc'd my slender brain.—
But yet, ere this I hop'd more solid gains,
As my low purse demands a quick supply.—
Poor Sylvia weeps,—and urges my return
To rural peace and humble happiness,
As my ambition beggars all her babes.

Crusty

When first I listed in the desp'rate cause,
And blindly swore obedience to his will,
So wise, so just, so good I thought Rapatio,
That if salvation rested on his word
I'd pin my faith, and risk my hopes thereon.

Hazlerod

Any why not now?—What staggers thy belief?

Crusty

Himself—his perfidy appears—
It is too plain he has betray'd his country;
And we're the wretched tools by him mark'd out
To seal its ruins—tear up the ancient forms,
And every vestige treacherously destroy,
Nor leave a trait of freedom in the land.
Nor did I think hard fate wou'd call me up
From drudging o'er my acres,