The Group

——That's right, Monsieur,
There's nought on earth that has such tempting charms
As rank and show, and pomp, and glitt'ring dress,
Save the dear counters at belov'd Quadril,
Viner unsoil'd, and Littleton, may sleep,
And Coke lie mould'ring on the dusty shelf,
If I by shuffling draw some lucky card
That wins the livres, or lucrative place.

Hum Humbug

When sly Rapatio shew'd his friends the scroll,
I wonder'd much to see thy patriot name
Among the list of rebels to the state,
I thought thee one of Rusticus's sworn friends.

Beau Trumps

When first I enter'd on the public stage
My country groan'd beneath base Brundo's hand,
Virtue look'd fair and beckon'd to her lure,
Thro' truth's bright mirror I beheld her charms
And wish'd to tread the patriotic path
And wear the laurels that adorn his fame;
I walk'd a while and tasted solid peace
With Cassius, Rusticus, and good Hortensius,
And many more, whose names will be rever'd
When you, and I, and all the venal herd,
Weigh'd in Nemesis, just impartial scale,
Are mark'd with infamy, till time blot out
And in oblivion sink our hated names.
But 'twas a poor unprofitable path,
Nought to be gain'd, save solid peace of mind,
No pensions, place or title there I found;
I saw Rapatio's arts had struck so deep
And giv'n his country such a fatal wound,
None but his foes promotion could expect;
I trim'd, and pimp'd, and veer'd, and wav'ring stood,
But half resolv'd to shew myself a knave,
Till the Arch Traitor prowling round for aid
Saw my suspense and bade me doubt no more;—
He gently bow'd, and smiling took my hand,
And whispering softly in my list'ning ear,
Shew'd me my name among his chosen band,
And laugh'd at virtue dignifi'd by fools,
Clear'd all my doubts, and bade me persevere
In spite of the restraints, or hourly checks
Of wounded friendship, and a goaded mind,
Or all the sacred ties of truth and honour.

Collateralis

Come, 'mongst ourselves we'll e'en speak out the truth.
Can you suppose there yet is such a dupe
As still believes that wretch an honest man?
The later strokes of his serpentine brain
Outvie the arts of Machiavel himself,
His Borgian model here is realiz'd
And the stale tricks of politicians play'd
Beneath a vizard fair–
——Drawn from the heav'nly form
Of blest religion weeping o'er the land
For virtue fall'n, and for freedom lost.

Beau Trumps

I think with you–
——unparalleled his effront'ry,
When by chican'ry and specious art,
'Midst the distress in which he'd brought the city,
He found a few (by artifice and cunning,
By much industry of his wily friend
The false Philanthrop–sly undermining tool,
Who with the Syren's voice–
Deals daily round the poison of his tongue)
To speak him fair—and overlook his guilt.
They by reiterated promise made
To stand his friend at Britain's mighty court,
And vindicate his native injur'd land,
Lent him their names to sanctify his deeds.
But mark the traitor–his high crimes gloss'd o'er
Conceals the tender feelings of the man,
The social ties that bind the human heart;
He strikes a bargain with his country's foes,
And joins to wrap America in flames.
Yet with feign'd pity, and Satanic grin,
As if more deep to fix the keen insult,
Or make his life a farce still more complete,
He sends a groan across the broad Atlantic,
And with a phiz of Crocodilian stamp,
Can weep, and wreathe, still hoping to deceive,
He cries the gath'ring clouds hang thick about her,
But laughs within–then sobs–
——Alas! my country?

Hum Humbug

Why so severe, or why exclaim at all,
Against the man who made thee what thou art?