A Dialogue Between His Britannic Majesty and Mr. Fox

King G.

Good master Fox, your counsel I implore,
Still George the third, but potent George no more.
By North conducted to the brink of fate,
I mourn my folly and my pride too late:
The promises he made, when once we met
In Kew's gay shades, I never shall forget,
That at my feet the western world should fall,
And bow to me the potent lord of all--
Curse on his hopes, his councils and his schemes,
His plans of conquest, and his golden dreams,
These have allur'd me to the jaws of hell,
By Satan tempted thus Iscariot fell:
Divested of majestic pomp I come,
My royal robes and airs I've left at home,
Speak freely, friend, whate'er you choose to say,
Suppose me equal with yourself to-day:
How shall I shun the mischiefs that impend?
How shall I make Columbia yet my friend?
I dread the power of each revolted State,
The convex East hangs balanc'd with their weight.
How shall I dare the rage of France and Spain,
And lost dominion o'er the waves regain?
Advise me quick, for doubtful while we stand,
Destruction gathers o'er this wretched land:
These hostile squadrons to my ruin led,
These Gallic thunders fill my soul with dread,
If these should conquer--Britain, thou must fall
And bend, a province, to the haughty Gaul:
If this must be--thou earth, expanding wide,
Unlucky George in thy dark entrails hide--
Ye oceans, wrap me in your dark embrace--
Ye mountains, shroud me to your lowest base--
Fall on my head, ye everlasting rocks--
But why so pensive, my good master Fox?

Fox

While in the arms of power and peace you lay,
Ambition led your restless soul astray.
Possest of lands extending far and wide,
And more than Rome could boast in all her pride,
Yet, not contented with that mighty store,
Like a true miser, still you sought for more;
And, all in raptures for a tyrant's reign,
You strove your subjects dearest rights to chain:
Those ruffian hosts beyond the ocean sent,
By your commands on blood and murder bent,
With cruel hand the form of man defac'd,
And laid the toils of art and nature waste.
(For crimes like these imperial Britain bends,
For crimes like these her ancient glory ends)
These lands, once truest to your name and race,
Whom the wide ocean's utmost waves embrace,
Your just protection basely you deny'd,
Their towns you plunder'd, and you burnt beside.
Virginia's slaves, without one blush of shame,
Against their lords you arm'd with sword and flame;
At every port your ships of war you laid,
And strove to ruin and distress their trade,
Yet here, ev'n here, your mighty projects fail'd;
For then from creeks their hardy seamen sail'd,
In slender barques they cross'd a stormy main,
And traffick'd for the wealth of France and Spain;
O'er either tropic and the line they pass'd,
And, deeply laden, safe return'd at last:
Nor think they yet had bow'd to Britain's sway,
Though distant nations had not join'd the fray,
Alone they fought your armies and your fleet,
And made your Clintons and your Howes retreat,
And yet while France stood doubting if to join,
Your ships they captur'd, and they took Burgoyne!
How vain is Briton's strength, her armies now
Before Columbia's bolder veterans bow;
Her gallant veterans all our force despise,
Though late from ruin we beheld them rise;
Before their arms our strongest bulwarks fall,
They storm the rampart and they scale the wall;
With equal dread, on either service sent,
They seize a fortress, or they strike a tent.
But should we bow beneath a foreign yoke,
And potent France atchieve the humbling stroke,
Yet every power, and even ourselves, must say,
"Just is the vengeance of the skies to-day:"
For crimes like ours dire vengeance must atone;
Forbear your fasts, and let the skies alone--
By cruel kings, in fierce Britannia bred,
Such seas of blood have first and last been shed,
That now, distrest for each inhuman deed,
Our turn has come--our turn has come to bleed:
Forbear your groans; for war and death array,
March to the foe, and give the fates their way.
Can you behold, without one hearty groan,
The fleets of France superior to your own?
Can you behold, without one poignant pang,
The foreign conquests of the brave D'Estaing?
North is your friend, and now destruction knocks,
Still take his counsel, and regard not Fox.

King G.

Ah! speak not thus--your words will break my heart,
Some softer counsel to my ears impart,
How can I march to meet the insulting foe,
Who never yet to hostile plains did go?
When was I vers'd in battles or in blood?
When have I fought upon the faithless flood?
Much better could I at my palace door
Recline and hear the distant cannons roar.
Generals and admirals Britain yet can boast,
Some fight on land, and some defend the coast;
The fame of these throughout the globe resounds,
To these I leave the glory and the wounds;
But since this honour for no blood atones,
I must and will be careful of my bones.
What pleasure to your monarch would it be,
If Lords and Commons could at last agree;
Could North with Fox in firm alliance stand,
And Burke with Sandwich shake the social hand,
Then should we bring the rebels to our feet,
And France and Spain ingloriously retreat,
Her ancient glories to this isle return,
And we no more for lost Columbia mourn.

Fox

Alliance!--what!--Your Highness must be mad:
Say, what alliance can with these be had?
Can lambs and wolves in social bands ally?
When these prove friendly, then will North and I.
Alliance! no--I curse the horrid thought;
Ally with those their country's ruin sought!
Who to perdition sold their native land,
Leagu'd with the foe, a close connected band--
Ally with these!--I speak it to your face--
Alliance here is ruin and disgrace.
Angels and devils in such bonds unite,
So hell is ally'd to the realms of light--
Let North or Germaine still my prayers deride,
Let turn-coat Johnston take the courtly side,
Even Pitt, if living, might with these agree;
But no alliance shall they have with me.
But since no shame forbids your tongue to own
A royal coward fills Britannia's throne;
Since our best chiefs must fight your mad campaigns,
And be disgrac'd at last by him who reigns,
No wonder, heaven! such ill success attends!
No wonder North and Mansfield are your friends!
Take my advice, with these to battle go,
These book-learned heroes may confront the foe--
Those first who led us tow'rds the brink of fate,
Should still be foremost when at Pluto's gate;
Let them, grown desperate by our run of woes,
Collect new fury from this host of foes,
And, ally'd with themselves, to ruin steer,
The just conclusion of their mad career.

King G.

No comfort in these cruel words I find--
Ungrateful words to my tormented mind!
With me alone both France and Spain contend,
And not one nation will be call'd my friend:
Unpitying now the Dutchman sees me fall,
The Russian leaves me to the haughty Gaul,
The German, grown as brutish as the Dane,
Consigns my carcase to the jaws of Spain.
Where are the hosts they promis'd me of yore,
When rich and great they heard my thunders roar,
While yet confess'd the master of the sea,
The Germans drain'd their wide domain for me,
And aiding Britain with a friendly hand,
Helpt to subdue the rebels and their land?
Ah! rebels, rebels! insolent and mad;
My Scottish rebels were not half so bad,
They soon submitted to superior sway;
But these grow stronger as my hosts decay:
What hosts have perish'd on their hostile shore!
They went for conquest, but return'd no more.
Columbia, thou a friend in better times!
Lost are to me thy pleasurable climes.
You wish me buried in eternal night,
You curse the day when first I saw the light--
Thy commerce vanish'd, hostile nations share,
And thus you leave me naked, poor, and bare;
Despised by those who should my cause defend,
And helpless left without one pitying friend.
These dire afflictions shake my changeful throne,
And turn my brain--a very idiot grown:
Of all the isles, the realms with which I part,
Columbia sits the heaviest at my heart,
She, she provokes the deepest, heaviest sigh,
And makes me doubly wretched ere I die.
Some dreary convent's unfrequented gloom
(Like Charles of Spain) had better be my doom:
There while in absence from my crown I sigh,
The Prince of Wales these ills may rectify;
A happier fortune may his crown await,
He yet perhaps may save this sinking state.
I'll to my prayers, my bishops and my beads,
And beg God's pardon for my heinous deeds;
Those streams of blood, that, spilt by my command,
Call out for vengeance on this guilty land.

Fox

You ask for mercy--can you cry to God,
Who had no mercy on poor parson Dodd?
No inward image of the power divine,
No gentle feelings warm that soul of thine;
Convents you have--no need to look for new,
Your convents are the brothel and the stew.
One horrid act disgrac'd old Jesse's son,
And that one blemish have you hit upon;
You seiz'd an English Quaker's tempting wife,
And push'd him off to lose his sneaking life;
Even to that coast where freedom sent to quell,
All in their pride the flower of Britain fell.
But ruin'd was your scheme, the plan was vain,
For when were Quakers in a battle slain?
As well might Whales by closing waves expire,
Or Salamanders perish in the fire.
When France and Spain are thund'ring at your doors,
Is this a time for kings to lodge with whores?
In one short sentence take my whole advice,
(It is no time to flatter and be nice)
With all your soul for instant peace contend,
Thus shall you be your country's truest friend--
Peace, heavenly peace, may stay your tottering throne,
But wars and death and blood can profit none.
To Russia send, in humblest guise array'd,
And beg her intercession, not her aid:
Withdraw your armies from th' Americ' shore,
And vex Columbia with your fleets no more;
Vain are their conquests, past experience shews,
For what this hour they gain, the next they lose.
Implore the friendship of these injur'd States;
No longer strive against the stubborn fates.
Since heav'n has doom'd Columbia to be free,
What is her commerce and her wealth to thee?
Since heav'n that land of promise has denied,
Regain by prudence what you lost by pride:
Immediate ruin each delay attends,
Imperial Britain scarce her coast defends;
Hibernia sees the threat'ning foes advance,
And feels an ague at the thoughts of France;
Jamaica mourns her half-protected state,
Barbadoes soon may share Grenada's fate,
And every isle that owns your reign to-day,
May bow to-morrow to great Louis' sway.
Yes--while I speak, your empire, great before,
Contracts its limits, and is great no more.
Unhappy prince! what madness has possest,
What worse than madness seiz'd thy vengeful breast,
When white-rob'd peace before thy portal stood,
To drive her hence, and stain the world with blood?
For this destruction threatens from the skies;
See hostile navies to our ruin rise;
Our fleets inglorious shun the force of Spain,
And France triumphant stems the subject main.