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A SOLILOQUY. |
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Is there a robber close in Newgate hemm'd ? Is there a cut-throat fetter'd and condemn'd ? Haste, loyal slaves, to George's standard come, Attend his lectures when you hear the drum.
Your chains I break, for better days prepare. Come out, my friends, from prison and from care; Far to the west I plan your desperate way, There, 'tis no sin, to ravage, burn, and slay; There, without fear, your bloody trade pursue, And show mankind what British rage can do.
Ye daring hosts that crowd Columbia's shore, Tremble, ye traitors ! and exult no more; Flames I will hurl with an unceasing hand, Till fires eternal blaze throughout your land; And every dome and every town expires, And traitors perish in the unfeeling fires.
But hold—though this be all my soul's desire,
Will my own towns be proof to rebel fire ?
If in revenge my raging foes should come
And burn my London—it would strike me dumb
To see my children and my queen in tears,
And these tall piles come tumbling round my ears. |
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