SIR ROBERT FILMER saith--and he,
Of course, knew all about the matter--
"Both men and beasts love Monarchy;"
Which proves how rational the latter.
SIDNEY, we know, or wrong or right.
Entirely differed from the Knight:
Nay, hints a King may lose his head.
By slipping awkwardly his bridle:--
But this is treasonous, ill-bred,
And (now-a-days, when Kings are led
In patent snaffles) downright idle.
No, no--it isn't right-line Kings,
(Those sovereign lords in leading strings
Who, from their birth, are Faith-Defenders,)
That move my wrath--'tis your pretenders,
Your mushroom rulers, sons of earth,
Who--not, like t'others, bores by birth,
Establisht _gratia Dei_ blockheads,
Born with three kingdoms in their pockets--
Yet, with a brass that nothing stops,
Push up into the loftiest stations,
And, tho' too dull to manage shops,
Presume, the dolts, to manage nations!
This class it is, that moves my gall,
And stirs up bile, and spleen and all.
While other senseless things appear
To know the limits of their sphere--
While not a cow on earth romances
So much as to conceit she dances--
While the most jumping frog we know of,
Would scarce at Astley's hope to show off--
Your ***s, your ***s dare,
Untrained as are their minds, to set them
To _any_ business, _any_ where,
At _any_ time that fools will let them.
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