Edmund Burke's Attack on Warren Hastings

Poor Edmund sees poor Britain's setting sun:
Poor Edmund GROANS--and Britain is UNDONE!

Reader! thou hast, I do presume (God knows though) been in a snug room,
By coals or wood made comfortably warm,
And often fancied that a storm WITHOUT,
Hath made a diabolic rout--
Sunk ships, tore trees up--done a world of harm.

Yes, thou hast lifted up thy tearful eyes,
Fancying thou heardst of mariners the cries;
And sigh'd, "How wretched now must thousands be!
Oh! how I pity the poor souls at sea!"
When, lo! this dreadful tempest, and his roar,
A ZEPHYR--in the key-hole of the door!

Now may not Edmund's howlings be a sigh
Pressing through Edmund's lungs for loaves and fishes,
On which he long hath looked with LONGING eye
To fill poor Edmund's not o'erburden'd dishes?

Give Mun a sup--forgot will be complaint;
Britain be safe, and Hastings prove a SAINT.