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in their Attempt to destroy the Lives, Rights, Liberties, and Privileges, of Millions; I say they are safe, in all these Violations of, and Depredations on, our national Security, and natural Rights, because we are TAME.
These MIGHTY CRIMES will sure ere long PROVOKE,
The Arm of Britain to some noble Stroke.
No wonder if such Deeds, should SOON compel
America and England to REBEL:
Then George may boast, that he, by ART and HIRE,
Great Nero5 like, has set the World on Fire;
Might boast that Thousands by his Power fell,
And that he could e’en Nero far excell:
Bute6 shall rejoice, and instantly restore,
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The Stuart Race, in all their cursed Power;
Shall seize upon the Throne he should defend,
And Traitor prove when George most wants a Friend.
This may not be; but should he still oppress
His injured Subjects, sure they’ll seek redress,
When by Oppression, driven to despair,
If he don’t LOVE them, they may make him FEAR;
And tho’ by shameful Taxes, he has seiz’d
Their Treasure, and their Vitals squeez’d,
Yet he should know, that SWORDS and ARMS remain,
When call’d by WRONGS, are seldom us’d in VAIN;
And Freedom’s Sons, with Liberty inspir’d,
With mighty Rage and Indignation fir’d
’Gainst England’s mortal Foes, no longer’ll yield,
To LAWLESS Power, arm’d with Virtue’s Shield;
Their Case most Just, nay, HEAVEN’S sacred Cause,
The Cause of TRUTH and VIOLATED LAWS,
Will draw th’ avenging Sword, (O glorious Deed!)
Their LAWS to SAVE, and make those Traitors bleed;
Aided by Heav’n, all Danger will defy,
And nobly Conquer, or like Britons die,
Then, blessing FREEDOM with their parting Breath
Will BRAVELY fall into the Arms of Death:
A glorious Death much better in the Grave,
A FREEMAN buried, than a living SLAVE.
’TWAS first decreed, by that great Pow’r above,
All should be FREE, and Heaven gave in Love
That Blessing to Mankind, a sacred TRUST,
He who’d resign it, is to God UNJUST.
N.B. As we shall always have a particular Pleasure, in giving Satisfaction to our Readers, and complying with their Requests; we do in this Number, agreeable to the Desire of an anonymous Writer of the 21st, give a Translation of the Motto at the Head of the first Number, although was explained in the third Page of that Paper.
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Liberty with Danger is preferable to Servitude with Security.
The Motto to the Prophecy of Ruin is likewise translated in the under-written Advertisement.
No. III. will be addressed to the KING.
To the People of ENGLAND and AMERICA.
On the 1st Day of March will be published, (Price is. 6d.) in Quarto, on a fine Paper and new Type,
The Prophecy of RUIN, a Poem.
Ense velut Stricto, quoties Lucilius ardens
Infremuit, rubet Auditor cui frigida Mens est,
Criminibus, tacita sudant Praecordia Culpa.
JUVENAL.
Sharp as a Sword Lucilius drew his Pen,
And struck with panic Terror guilty Men,
At his just Strokes the harden’d Wretch would start,
Feel the cold Sweat, and tremble at the Heart.
Printed and published for the Authors, by T. W. SHAW, Fleet Street, opposite Anderton’s Coffee House, and by his appointment the Corner of Little Turnstile, Holborn, where Letters to the Publisher will be thankfully received.
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THE
CRISIS
| NUMBER III | To be continued Weekly. |
| SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 4, 1775 | [Price Two-pence HalfPenny. |
Thy Name, O! Chatham, (with some few more) is made, rare Instance, IMMORTAL by Defeat; and to thee—NEW HONOURS rise—from the RUINS of thy COUNTRY. While you live, never-fading Laurels, the just Reward of thy Virtue, Conduct, and Fidelity, shall crown thy hoary Head, and shade thy venerable Brow—And may thine and BRITAIN’S ravished Eyes, behold thy FOES and Hers, for their TREACHERY and VILLAINY, dragged to EXECUTION, dressed and dishonoured in funeral ROSEMARY and the baleful YEW.
To the KING,
SIR,
TO follow you regularly through every Step of a fourteen Years SHAMEFUL and INGLORIOUS Reign, would be a Task as Painful, as Disagreeable, and far exceed the Bounds of this Paper: But we are called upon by the Necessity of the Times, the Measures you are pursuing, by every Principle of Justice and Self-preservation, and by the Duty we owe to GOD and our COUNTRY, to declare our Sentiments (with a Freedom becoming of Englishmen), on some of those dreadful Transactions and Oppressions which this Kingdom has
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laboured under, since the Glory and Lustre of the Crown of England, was doomed to fade upon your Brow; and, to point out to you, Sir, your own critical and DANGEROUS Situation.
Sir, it is not your rotten Troop in the present House of Commons; it is not your venal, beggarly, pensioned Lords; it is not your polluted, canting, prostituted Bench of Bishops; it is not your whole set of abandoned Ministers; nor all your Army of Scotch Cut-throats, that can protect you from the Peoples Rage, when drove by your Oppressions, and till now unheard of Cruelties, to a State of Desperation.
The Day, we Fear, is not far Distant, when you will have Reason, too much Reason, to wish you had acted like a Father, and not like a Tyrant, when you will be Bound to curse those TRAITORS, those exalted Villains, whom now in the Face of Day, without a Blush, you can be Base enough to call your Friends: be assured, Sir, your Danger is great amidst all this fancied Security; and it will be impossible for them to preserve YOU from the just Resentment of an enraged, long abused, and much injured Nation: Should that Day ever come, but Heaven avert the Stroke, where can you hide yourself from the tenfold Vengeance, of a brave and mighty People, with Law, Justice, Heaven, and all its sacred Truths on their Side.
Then like Wounds that bleed afresh, will be brought to their Minds, your barbarous, and unprovoked MASSACRE, in St. George’s Fields, when Men and Women were indiscriminately and inhumanly Slaughtered, to gratify, what would have disgraced even your Footman; a PITIFUL REVENGE.1 Then Sir, they will remember with Horror and Indignation, the Letter of THANKS, sent from the Secretary