"I was entrapp'd-yes, so it came to pass, "'Mid heathen rebels, a tumultuous class; "Each to his country bore a hellish mind, "Each like his neighbour was of cursed kind; "The land that nursed them, they blasphemed; the


"Their sovereign's glory, and their country's cause; "And who their mouth, their master-fiend, and who "Rebellion's oracle? -You, caitiff, you!"

He spoke, and standing stretch'd his mighty arm, And fix'd the Man of Words, as by a charm.

"How raved that railer! Sure some hellish power "Restrain'd my tongue in that delirious hour, "Or I had hurl'd the shame and vengeance due "On him, the guide of that infuriate crew; "But to mine eyes, such dreadful looks appear'd, "Such mingled yell of lying words I heard, "That I conceived around were demons all, "And till I fled the house, I fear'd its fall.

"Oh! could our country from our coasts expel "Such foes! to nourish those who wish her well: "This her mild laws forbid, but we may still "From us eject them by our sovereign will; "This let us do." He said, and then began A gentler feeling for the silent man ; Ev'n in our hero's mighty soul arose A touch of pity for experienced woes; But this was transient, and with angry eye He sternly look'd, and paused for a reply.

'Twas then the Man of many Words would
But, in his trial, had them all to seek: [speak-
To find a friend he look'd the circle round,
But joy or scorn in every feature found;
He sipp'd his wine, but in those times of dread
Wine only adds confusion to the head;

In doubt he reason'd with himself- "And how
Harangue at night, if I be silent now?"


From pride and praise received, he sought to draw
Courage to speak, but still remain'd the awe;
One moment rose he with a forced disdain,
And then, abash'd, sunk sadly down again;
While in our hero's glance he seem'd to read,
"Slave and insurgent! what hast thou to plead ?”.

By desperation urged, he now began:

the rights of man!

"I seek no favour I
“ Claim; and I—nay ! — but give me leave—and I
"Insist―a man—that is—and in reply,

“I speak.” — Alas! each new attempt was vain:
Confused he stood, he sate, he rose again;
At length he growl'd defiance, sought the door,
Cursed the whole synod, and was seen no more.

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"Laud we," said Justice Bolt," the Powers above; "Thus could our speech the sturdiest foe remove." Exulting now he gain'd new strength of fame, And lost all feelings of defeat and shame.

"He dared not strive, you witness'd—dared not lift

"His voice, nor drive at his accursed drift:

"So all shall tremble, wretches who oppose
"Our Church or State-thus be it to our foes."

He spoke, and, seated with his former air, Look'd his full self, and fill'd his ample chair; Took one full bumper to each favourite cause, And dwelt all night on politics and laws, With high applauding voice, that gain'd him high applause. (1)

(1) [This tale is not judiciously placed at the portal to tempt hesitating readers to go forward. The fault, however, is entirely in the subject, which commands no strong or general interest; for it is perfectly well conceived and executed. The object of it is to show, that a man's fluency and force and intrepidity of speech depend very much upon his confidence of the approbation of his auditors; and, accordingly, it exhibits the orthodox, loyal, authoritative Justice Bolt struck quite dumb in an assembly of Jacobins into which he happens to stray; and the Jacobin orator, in like manner, reduced to stammering and imbecility, when detected at a dinner of parsons. The description of Justice Bolt is admirable, and may stand for a portrait of more than one provincial dictator. - JEFFREY.]



I did not take my leave of him, but had
Most pretty things to say: ere I could tell him
How I would think of him, at certain hours,
Such thoughts and such; -or ere I could

Give him that parting kiss, which I had set

Betwixt two charming words-comes in my father.-Cymbeline.

Grief hath changed me since you saw me last,

And careful hours with Time's deformed hand

Have written strange defeatures o'er my face. Comedy of Errors.

Oh! if thou be the same Egean, speak,

And speak unto the same Emilia. - Comedy of Errors.

I ran it through, ev'n from my boyish days
To the very moment that she bad me tell it,
Wherein I spake of most disastrous chances,
Of moving accidents by flood and field;
Of being taken by the insolent foe,
And sold to slavery. -Othello.

An old man, broken with the storms of fate,
Is come to lay his weary bones among you;
Give him a little earth for charity. — Henry VIII.

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