MR. BOTTOMLESS PITT's ADDRDSS TO THE SWINISH MULTITUDE. SILLY Herd! why all this grumbling? Why thus d'ye grunt, and make a-do? 'Tis very plain the French, I'm humbling, Would like to eat as well as you. But for their good—I do forbid it, And millions ftarve :-thus I command For bread as well as flesh has fin in't, Of both I'd purge that guilty land. She'll foon relieve your loft condition. Truft me I'll be your friend indeed, I pledge my word you'll be convinced, BOTTOMLESS PITT. Those who wish to promote the PHILANTHROPIST, by their affiftance, will please to addrefs their favours (post-paid), to the Editor, at Citizen EATON's. No. 74, Newgate-street. No. 23. THE PHILANTHROPIST. MONDAY, AUGUST 31, 1795. LONDON: Printed for and fold by DANIEL ISAAC EATON, Printer and Bockfeller to the Supreme Majefty of the People, at the Cock and SWINE, No. 74, Newgate street. 1795. PRICE ONE PENNY. POLITICAL CONUNDRUMS. BY W. H. GREEN. Why is Billy Pitt like a great Because he debauches the State. whore? Why are the great people of Because they prey upon the England like lice? poor. Why is John Bull like an in- Because he is lulled asleep fant? with delufive tales. Why is war like a feven- Because it devours all ways at headed monster? Why is peace like an heavenly meffenger? Why are the revenues of England like the Spanish gold mines ? oncé. Eecaufe it brings bleffings to the world. Because they support the great people in licentiousness, pride, luxury, and idleness. Why were last year's taxes like Because they was too many for the French army? Why are we taxed again? Why do we bear thefe ? us. Because we bore the last pa. tiently. Because we are degenerate fwine! Why are we degenerate fwine? Becaufe we have loft our li bertics! and our oppreffors call us fo. ADVICE ADVICE TO THE POOR; Being the Subflance of various TRACTS and SERMONS, published, and to be published, for their. Comfort and InAruction. I. THOUGH the Creator has fent you into the world, furnished with all the qualities of mind and body belonging to human beings, yet you are not to imagine that you were made for the fame purposes as your betters of the fame species. Their business is to enjoy life; your's, to endure it-Their's is to fubfift upon other men's labour; your's, upon your own, and to maintain them into the bargain-Their's is to poffefs the land; your's, to till it-Their's is to govern; your's to obey. All this is perfectly right, for they, who have taken great pains to study the point, and are impartial judges, arc quite fatisfied with this order of things.. 2. The first of all moral duties is refpect to fuperiors; and every man is fuperior to another who wears a better coat, and lives in a finer houfe than he. Befure therefore, that you pull ́off your hats, or curtfie, to every man or woman better drest than yourselves. Make a low bow to the Parfon of the Parish whenever you meet him; and stand for a quarter of an hour bareheaded with the gate in your hand, when you observe the 'Squire or his Worship paffing your way. 3. Go to church regularly every Sunday, unless one of your betters fhould employ you to run of an errand, or do any other bufinefs for him. Appear as neat and clean there as you can, for it would fhock your fuperiors to fit in the fame place with people that looked like beggars; and it is only making your wives fit up all Saturday night to make you tolerably decent on the Sunday. 4. Be perfectly fubmiffive to all perfons in authority, and "touch no flate matters." It is right, however, for you to be convinced that you live under the best constitution in the world, world, and to be ready to defend it from all innovations when called upon. Abhor all mobs and tumults; yet do not be afraid to show a little zeal for a good caufe, when led on by your letters. you your 5. When you are disposed to be a little diffatisfied with your lot in life, reflect in how many circumstances it is better than that of the rich; you have not the anxiety attending the prefervation of property, for you have none to preferve; nor of power and confequence, for you can never poffefs the least of either. You are free from the plague of fervants, for you wait on yourselves-you have none of the pains of idlenefs, for you have no time to fit ftill-you cannot get the gout with high living, for have much ado to live at all; nor can you make felves fickly and delicate by too much warmth, for you can fcarce keep from being ftarved in cold weather. Though you may fometimes want victuals, you never want appetite; and you are more likely to complain of emptiness than indigestion. You have the pleasure of fecing the fun rife in a fine sharp morning, while rich fluggards stretch in their down beds till noon -you have the canopy of heaven over your heads, while they have only a ftuccoed ceiling; and you may enjoy all the variations in the atmosphere, while they know nothing of the matAbove all, you need fear no changes in the state, because no change can make you worfe; and you may be casy about providing for yourselves in old age, for you are fure to die in a workhouse. ter. All these things are fo manifeftly in your favour, that the rich would doubtlefs be glad to change places with you, were they not confined to their ftations by regard to the public good. 6. If, after all, you cannot quite reconcile yourselves to things here, you must endeavour to comfort yourselves with hopes hereafter. It is true, you are not to expect to be happy there, because you have been miferable here; on the contrary, there are many things that make heaven more difficult to be acquired by you, than by the rich. You have lefs knowledge of right right, and more temptations to do wrong; you cannot practise alms-giving, or go to church-prayers twice a day. However, if you are very thankful, very fubmiffive, and very docile, doing all you are bid, and pleafing your superiors, you may hope for a fnug birth in another world. At any rate, it is not likely to "ufe you worse than this has done," LINES, Addreffed to the EDITOR of the PHILANTHROPIST, on contrafting it with the general History of this Country, and the Writers of the prefent Day in particalur. BEFRIEND me Night, beft patronefs of grief, Over the pole thy thickeft mantle throw, And work my flatter'd fancy to belief; My forrows are too dark for day to know. The leaves fhould all be black whereon I write, And letters where my tears have wafh'd the spaces white, While I unfold the red hiftoric page, Where all my country's loffcs deep are ftain'd In bloody deeds, which neither youth or age And whilft I mourn the battles fought and won The twinkling ftars affift my willing tasks, Are fuch events a blessing to mankind ? I weep |