4 brief Poetical Hiftory of the Caufe, Rife, and Progress, of the MINISTER'S WAR with FRANCE.
ONE dark cloudy day, the great Minister PITT
Was feiz'd with a strange and a wonderous fit:
His fight became dim, and his wit did decrease,
Till he fell out of love with our national peace.
This Man, long before he went out of his mind,
Was thought, by moft folk, a true friend to mankind;
Our commerce and trade he still strove to extend,
And every one thought him an Heaven Born friend.
With great swelling words he professed to be
A friend to Reform and to true Liberty;
He joined the Patriots, approved their plan,
And foon became Leader and Head of the Clan.
While in Oppofition he raised a cry
Against the corruption of NORTH's Ministry,
'Till Fox he got in, whom he foon did disgrace,
And by fecret influence got in his place.
Thus feated in Power, he foon turn'd his back
On all his old friends, and purfu'd LORD NORTH's track :
For ftate Reformation he than faw no need,
The Loaves and the Fishes he had in its stead.
He now 'gan lamenting the weight of our Taxes,
As bearing too hard on the poor of both sexes,
And foon all his wit and his talents he fet
At work, to reduce our great National Debt.
He strove hard indeed, in his left-handed way,
One Million a year of the fame off to pay.
But fate counteracting the good man's intention,
He added Five more to the debt of the nation.
For now Spain and Ruffia did him so provoke,
As caufed his anger against them to smoke:
He furnish'd great fleets, for to humble their pride,
At millions of coft—but did nothing befide.
But when, as was faid, he fell into a fit,
And lofing by far the best part of his wit,
He gave the war-hoop, as a fignal to arms,
Which fill'd the whole kingdom with dreadful alarms.
It happen'd that Frenchmen had just broke their chains,
And Slav'ry with Freedom had made an exchange,
Which gave him new ardour his schemes to advance ;
For now he refolved to conquer all France!
He could not endure to fee Liberty spread,
Where Slav'ry for cent'ries had reign'd by one head;
So fent out his orders to man well the fleet,
And fee that all régiments were whole and compleat.
The drums beat to arms, and high orders were sent
To raise the Militia in full compliment.
Without a regard to our commerce or trade,
Both artists and husbandmen foldiers were made.
So vaft his ambition! fo great was his pride!
His scheme was to conquer-and then to divide
A great part of France to the potent Allies
He meant to engage in his grand enterprize.
Some powers he 'lur'd by the hope of great gain,
And others for money did quickly obtain ;
And foon mighty armies and fleets did appear,
Announcing the ruin of France to be near.
Royal Highneffes, Princes, and Dukes of great name!
Came forward to fhare either plunder or fame;
And Kings, as Commanders, came into the field,
Who's BRIBES, more than balls, made fome French towns
Such mighty fuccefs did their courage so raise,
TO PARIS they'd march without farther delays:
O'erthrow the Convention, and fet up the Throne
Of Louis again, by their Power alone.
Ah! now they enjoy'd, by fwcet anticipation;
The fairest and beft in the whole Gallic nation;
For Louis they meant to keep under their thumbs,
And feed him, as men do their chickens, with crumbs.
But lo! all their caftles were built in the air,
Not one fingle acre e'er fell to their share!
Their Boafting was heard by the free men of France,
Who taught them to figure the retrograde dance.
With fury they rush'd on their foes fword in hand,
(No power on earth cou'd their prowefs withstand)
And drove them beyond the fam'd stream call'd the Rhine,
Took Brabant and Holland in short space of time.
Defeated, dejected, the whole Royal Troop
Now faw the full end of their high season'd hope;
Degraded and leffen'd in wifdom's account,
The conteft near ended, and this the amount :
The Emp'ror, the Princes, and Pruffia's great King,
United their armies to do fome great thing;
They march'd into France, and four towns did affail,
Which won by corruption, they all did turn tail.
Affrighted, confounded, they hurried away,
And left mighty cities to French men a prey;
And millions of acres they left them befide,
Such, fuch is the fruit of their av rice and pride.
The great Prince of Orange, the mighty Stadtholder,
(And Holland ne'er had a much braver or bolder),,
Was forced to join the grand confederation,
And now he's a fugitive in a strange nation.
The great King of Spain too, took part in the war,
To have of the plunder a large flice or share,
Soon found the French powefs too great to his coft,
When provinces, cities, and armies he lost.
The King of Sardinia too, enter'd the broil,
To have fome fmall fhare in the plunder or spoil,
But he for his rafhnefs, moft amply has paid,
For Savoy to France is for ever now laid!
But Britain, Great Britain! the life of the whole,
Of the grand COALESION the fpirit and foul,
Can boast of her Conqueft-for conquer'd has the
The Crown and the Kingdom of rich CORSICA !
Above fifty millions the war has her coft;
Forty thousand brave fellows thereby fhe has loft;
Her trade much decay'd in both country and town,
But what are fuch trifles to CORSICA'S CROWN?
Our Taxes are many, and heavy to bear;
Provifions are scarce, and uncommonly dear;
Our prisons with artists and tradefmen, now groan,
But ftill these are trifles to Corfica's Crown.
O PITT! thou great Statesman, or found or infane,
Thro' Holland, thro' Germany, Italy, Spain,
Thy fame, with thy merit, does sweetly refound,
For thou for thy Master haft gained a Crown!
A Crown! aye, a Crown is a very fine thing,
And Corfica's Crown on the head of our King
Must add a new luftre to great GEORGE'S Throne,
For Corfica's Kingdom and Crown are his own.
But fome fay, thy conqueft is but a disgrace;
The Island a barren and pityful place;
And that in the end, like a thorn in the flesh,
'Twill rancle and make the wound break out afresh.
Be that as it may, Sir, O let the war ceafe,
And crown us once more with the blessings of peace:
Attend to the sufferings, and cries of the poor,
And let them with Peace, have a Plenty once more.
Hafte! hafte to repair the great ills thou haft done,
Thy life, nor thy fortune, nor CORSICA'S CROWN,
Can ever atone for the ills we endure,
To Peace, Peace alone we look up for a cure.
O! HEAVEN-BORN Minifter of State,
This tail from off my swinifh pate
Moft humbly I prefent it;
For fince no Powder we may wear,
Determin'd I've cut off my hair,
And to your honor fent it.
Know then, vile Tory, I'm a Whig,
And will not be a Guinea Pig
To fatisfy your craving.
Oh! that your razor would but flip
Three inches underneath your lip,
When you yourself are shaving.
A deadly gash I hope 'twould be,
To end your damn'd hypocrify,
And rid us of a PITT,
A fpeedy peace I now pray for,
To finish this unlucky war;
Thus endeth my dull wit.
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