--
Just in that glorious hour, me-thought, there came,
With looks of injured pride, a Princely Dame
And a young maiden, clinging by her side,
As if she feared some tyrant would divide
Two hearts that nature and affection tied!
The Matron came--within her _right_ hand glowed
A radiant torch; while from her _left_ a load
Of Papers hung--(_wipes his eyes_) collected in her veil--
The venal evidence, the slanderous tale,
The wounding hint, the current lies that pass
From _Post_ to _Courier_, formed the motley mass;
Which with disdain before the Throne she throws,
And lights the Pile beneath thy princely nose.
(_Weeps_.)
Heavens, how it blazed!--I'd ask no livelier fire,
(With animation) To roast a Papist by, my gracious Sire!--
But ah! the Evidence--_(weeps again)_ I mourned to see--
Cast as it burned, a deadly light on thee:
And Tales and Hints their random sparkles flung,
And hissed and crackled, like an old maid's tongue;
While _Post_ and _Courier_, faithful to their fame,
Made up in stink for what they lackt in flame.
When, lo, ye Gods! the fire ascending brisker,
Now singes _one_ now lights the _other_ whisker.
Ah! where was then the Sylphid that unfurls
Her fairy standard in defence of curls?
Throne, Whiskers, Wig soon vanisht into smoke,
The watchman cried "Past One," and--I awoke.
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