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Is there not ſome hidden curſe in the ſtores of Heaven, red with uncommon wrath, to blaſt the man who owes his greatneſs to his country's ruin.
WE know not which is moſt to be deteſted, your Lordſhip's puſillanimity, or your villany, ſuch a miſcreant never before diſgraced the adminiſtration of any country, nor the confidence of any King; one day you are all fire and ſword, Boſton is to be laid in aſhes, and the rivers of America are to run with the blood of her inhabitants; ſhips are prepared, troops embarked, and officers appointed for the threatened carnage; you no ſooner find the brave Americans are deter
One day we hear of nothing but accuſations, proſcriptions, impeachments, and bills of attainder againſt the patriots in America, and they are ſpeedily to be apprehended, and to receive a puniſhment due to their crimes, due to rebels; three days do not clapſe before this juſt and noble reſolution of your Lordſhip to bring thoſe traitors to a trial is dropped, and lenient or no ſteps are to be taken againſt them. Another day all the colonies are in a ſtate of rebel
You have, my Lord, by the moſt cruel oppreſ
It is unnatural; but for a moment, my Lord, ſuppoſe the Americans ſhould come into your pro
Every meaſure, my Lord, of your adminiſtration at home has been cruel, arbitrary, and unconſti
The glory and dignity of the Britiſh nation, was never ſo infamouſly ſacrificed both by you and the King, as in the year 1770, by a ſcandalous ſecret convention with Spain, concerning Faulk
With reſpect to domeſtic affairs, you have en
'Tis now the dead of night, and half the world is in a lonely, ſolemn darkneſs hung; yet I (ſo coy a dame is ſleep to me) with all the weary courtſhip of my care tired thoughts, can't win her to my arms; tho' even the ſtars do wink, as 'twere with over-watching.—I'll to my bed, and once more try to ſleep her into morning.
Ha! What means that diſmal voice? Sure 'tis the echo of ſome yawning grave, that teems with an untimely ghoſt. 'Tis gone! 'Twas but my fancy, which ever and anon, of late, conjures the people's murmurs to my ear. No matter what, I feel my eyes grow heavy.
Oh! thou whoſe unrelenting thoughts not all the hideous terrors of thy guilt can ſhake, whoſe conſcience, with thy body, ever ſleeps.— Sleep on, while I, by heaven's high ordinance, in dreams of horror wake thy frightful ſoul; now give thy thoughts to me; let them behold thoſe
North, dream on, and let the wand'ring ſpirits of thy butchered fellow ſubjects grate thine ear! Could not the cauſe wherein we were em
Could not the various wrongs thou did'ſt thy country's weal in Camden, Granby, Wilkes, and many more, glut thy relentleſs ſouls? But thou and Grafton muſt aim thy dagger at my life. Yes at my life, unfeeling man, for could'ſt thou think that after quitting every claim to honor, truth, or right, I'd longer bare my hated load of infamy, O no, the grave could only ſave me from myſelf! Wake then in all the hells of guilt, and let that wild deſpair, which now does pray upon thy ſtrangled thoughts, be to the world a terrible example!
Spare me my life! I do repent—Your wrongs ſhall be redreſſed. Ah, ſoft—'Twas but a dream, but then ſo terrible, it ſhakes my ſoul. Cold drops of ſweat hang on my trembling fleſh; my blood grows chilly, and I freeze with horror:
'Tis I my Lord, the morn is far ad
O, Mungo, I have had ſuch horrid dreams!
Shadows! My Lord, below the ſtateſ
Now by my every hope, ſhadows to
Be more yourſelf, my Lord; conſider, where it but known a dream had frightened you, how would your animated foes preſume on it.
Periſh that thought! No, never be it ſaid that fate itſelf could awe the ſoul of North.
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