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At the footstool of Po'wer let Flat'tery fa'wn,

Let Fashion/ her i'dols/ exto'l to the ski'es ; To vi'rtue (in humble retirement withdr'awn,

Unbla'med/ may the a'ccents of gʻratitude ris'e. And shall not hi's-memory/ to Britons be d'ear,

Whose exa'mple/ with envy all nations behold; A statesman/ unb'iassed by interest or fear,

By power uncorr'upted, untai'nted by go'ld? Wh'o, when te'rror and doubt/ through the universe rei'gned,

While ra'pine and treason, their ensigns unfu’rled, The he'art and the hop'es/ of his cou'ntry maint'ained,

And on e-kingdom pres'erved/'midst the wr'ecks of the wo'rld. Unhe'eding, untha'nkful, we ba'sk in the bla'ze,

While the beams of the su'n/ in full majesty sh’ine ; When he sinks into twi'light/ with fondness we ga’ze,

And mark the mild lus'tre/ that gilds his decli'ne,
So, Pi'tt! when the course of thy gre'atness is o’er,

Thy talents, thy virtues/ we fondly rec'al;
Now justly we prai'se-thee, whom lo-st we depl'ore,

Admired in thy ze’nith, belov'ed in thy fa'll !
O ! ta'ke-then, for daʼngers/ by wisdom rep'elled,

For e’vils/ by cou'rage and con'stancy bra'ved ; O ! tak'e, for a throne by thoy-counsels-upheld,*

The th’anks of a peo'ple/ thy firm'ness has s'aved. And oh ! if aga'in the rude whirlwind should r‘ise,

The dawning of pe'ace should fresh darkness def'orm ; The regrests of the go'ad), and the fea'rs of the woise,

Shall tu’rn to the Pilot/ that weathered the sto'rm.


With more than moʻrtal powers/ endow'ed,
How high they soared above the cro'wd !
The'irs/ was no com'mon/ paorty rac'e,
(Jos'tling by dark intrigue for place ;)

* “Thy counsels upheld" pronounced as one rhetorical word, with the emphatic impulse upon thy."

Like fabled gods, their mighty-war/
Shook rea'lms and na'tions in its ja'r;
Beneath each ba'nner/ proud to staʼnd,
Looked up

the noblest of the la'nd,
T'ill/ through the British-world/ were kno'wn

The na'mes of Pi'tt and Fox alon'e.
Spe'lls of such for'ce/ no wizard gravel
E’er framed in d'ark/ Thessa'lian cav'e,
Though hi's/ could drain the ocean dr'y,
And force the pla'nets/ from the sk'y.
These spe'lls are spe'nt, and, spent with the’se,
The win'e of li'fe/ is o'n the lee's.
Ge'nius, and ta'ste, and ta'lent gon'e,
For e'ver tombed/ benea'th the sto'ne,
Whe're -(tam'ing-thought to human pri'de !--)
The mighty ch'iefs/ sleep si'de by side.
Dr'op/ upon Fox's-grave the tea'r,
'Twill trickle/ to his ri'val's bi'er;
O’er Pi'tt's) the mournful requiem so’und,
And Foox's shall the notes rebou'nd.
The solemn 'e'cho/ seems to cr’y,—
“ He're let their d'iscord/ wit'h-them di'e ;

Spe’ak not for those/ a se'parate do'om,
“ Whom F’ate made broth'ers/ in the toomb.”

Pronounced with the concluding voice, and in an altered tone.


R. B. SHERIDAN. Had a stra'nger, at this time, gone into the pro'vince of O’ude, ignorant of what had happened/ since the de'ath of Sujah Do'wla, tha't-man, who, (with a sa'vage-heart,) had still great lin'es of character, and wh'o, (with all his fero'city in war,) had st’ill

, (with a cultivating ha'nd,) preserved to his country the riches/ which it derived from benignant ski'es and a proli'fic-soil—if this str'anger, ig'norant of all that had ha'ppened in the short interval, and/ observing the wi'de and ge'neral-devastation, and all the horrors of the sc'ene - of pla'ins unclothed and brown-of vegetables/ burn't-up and extinguished — of vi'llages/ depo'pulated and in ru'in — of tem'ples/ unro'ofed and per’ishing-of reservo'irs/ broken down

and dr'y, - he would naturally inq'uire, whʼat wa'r has thus laid waste the fertile fields of this on'ce be’autiful and oʻpulent cou'ntry—what ci'vil-dissensions have ha'ppened, thus to tear as'under and se'parate the happy soci'eties that on'ce possessed those vi'llages—what disputed succession—what religious rage/ ha's, (with unho'ly vi'olence,) demolished those tem’ples, and distu'rbed fe'rvent, (but unobtr'uding) pi'ety, in the e'xercise of its du ties?—What merciless enemy has thus spread the ho'rrors of fi're and gwo'rd--what severe visitation of Provi. dence has dri'ed-up the fountain, and tasken/ from the face of the e’arth every ves'tige of ve'rdure ?-Or ra ther, what monsters have stalked over the cou’ntry, ta'inting and posisoning, (with pestiferous breath,) what the voracious ap'petite could not devo'ur ? To such que’stions, what must be the an`swer ? No wars have ravaged these la'nds and depo 'pulated these vi'llagesno ci'vil-discords have been fe'lt—no dispu'ted-succession—no reli'gious-rage--no merciless en'emy-no afflic'tion of Pr'ovidence, wh'ich, (while it scou'rged for the mo'ment,) cut off the sources of resuscitation-no vora cious and poisoning. mo'nsters-n'o, all'-this has been accom'plished by the friendship, generosity, and kindness of the English na'tion.* They have embra'ced us with their protecting a'rms, and l'o! tho“se are the frouits-of their all'iance. Wh'at, th’en, shall we be to'ld, th'at, un'der such cir'cumstances, the exas'perated-feelings of a whole pe’ople (thus goaded and spurred on to cla'mour and res'istance,) were excited by the po'or and fe'eble-influence of the Begʻums! When we hear the descri'ption of the pa'roxysm, fe'ver, and deli'rium, into wh'ich despa'ir had wn the na'tives, whe'n, on the ba'nks of the polluted G'anges, (panting for d'eath,) they toʻre/ more wide'ly open/ the lip's of their gaping woʻunds, to acce'lerate their dissolution, a'nd, while their blood was is'suing, presented their ghast'ly-eyes to H'eaven, breathing their la'st and feʻrvent-prayer, that the dry eart'h/ might not be suffered to drink their blo'od, but that it might rise up to the thro'ne of Good, and rou'se the Ete'rnal-Providence to avenge the wro'ngs of their cou'ntry. Will it be sa'id/ that this was brought about by the incanta'tions of these Begu'ms/ in their seclu'ded Zen'ana ? o'r/ that they could inspire this enthu'siasm and this despa'ir, into the breast's of a

* "Friendship, generosity, and kindness,” are pronounced, of course, ironically, which, perhaps, is most felicitously expressed in a monotone.

people/ who felt no grie'vance, and had suffered no toʻrture ? What m'otive, th’en, could have such in'fluence in their bo‘som ? Wh'at motive? That which n'ature, the com'mon-parent,) plants in the b'osom of m'an, and whi’ch (though it may be less active in the Indian/than in the Englishman,) is still congenial wi'th, and makes part of his be'ing—that feeling/ which te'lls him, that m'an/ was never made to be the pro‘perty of m'an; but th'at, when through pr’ide and in'solence of po'wer, one human cre’ature/ dares to tyʻrannise over another, it is a power usu’rped, and resi'stance is a du'ty--that feeling/ which te'lls him, that all'-power/ is delegated for the go'od, not for the in'jury of the pe’ople, and thʼat/ when it is converted from the original pu'rpose, the compact is broken, and the rigʻht/ is to be resu'med-th'at principle/ which tell's him, that resistance to po'wer usurped is not merely a duty which he owes to himse'lf and to his nei'ghbour, but a duty which he owes to his Good, in assersting and mainta`ining the ra'nk/ which he ga’ve him/ in the creation ! to that comomon-God, wh'o, where he gives the form of m'an, (whatever may be the complexion,) gives also the fee'lings and the rights of m'anthat principle, whi'ch/ neither the rudeness of i'gnorance can stifle, nor the enerva'tion-of-refinement extinguish !-thať principle, which makes it ba’se/ for a man to suffer/ when he ought to ac't, whi'ch, (tending to preserve to the spe'cies the original designa'tions of Pro'vidence,) spurns at the arrogant distin'ctions of moan, and vindicates the independent qu’ality of his ra'ce.


(Conclusion of the preceding Speech.)

R. B. SHERIDAN. Fi'lial-duty/ it is impossible by woords/ to des'cribe, bu't/ description by words/ is u’nnecessary. It is that duty which we all feel and understa'nd, and which requires not the powers of lan'guage to explain. It i's/ in tru'th/ more properly to be called a prin'ciple/ than a d'uty. It requires not the a'id of m'emory-it needs not the e'xercise of the understa'nd



ing—it awaits not the slow delibera'tions of re'asoning. It flo'ws spʻontaneously/ from the fou'ntain of our fee'lings. It is inv'oluntary in our natures. It is a quality of our besing, inna'te and co'eval with li'fe; whi'ch, (though afterwards ch'erished as a pa'ssion,) is indepe'ndent of our men tal-powers. It is e’arlier/ than all inte'lligence in our so'uls. It displays itself in the earliest-impulses of the heart, and is an emotion of ten derness, that retur'ns, (in smiles of gratitude,) the aff'ectionate soli'citudes—the te'nder anx'ieties—the endea'ring atte'n. tions, (expe'rienced before memory begʻins, but which are not le'ss-dear, for not being reme'mbered.) It is the sacrament of na'ture in our hea'rts, by which the union of pa'rent and ch'ild is sesaled, and rendered pe'rfect/ in the comm'unity of lo've; and whic'h, (strengthening and rip'ening with liffe,) acquires vigour from the understan'ding, and is most lively and 'a'ctive/ when mo'st-wanted — when those who have supported i'nfancy, are sin'king into a'ge, and when infir'mity and dec'repitude/ find their best'-solace/ in the affections of the children they have rea'red.

The Majesty of Ju'stice, (in the ey'es of Mr. Ha'stings,) is a being of terrific hoʻrror-a drea'dful-idol, placed in the glo'om of gra'ves, accessible on'ly/ to cringing supplic'ation, and which must be approached with offerings, and wor'shipped/ by s'aerifice. The Majesty of Mr. Ha'stings/ is a be'ing, whose decré'es are written with blo'od, and whose o‘racles/ are at once sec'ure and terrible. From such an i'dol, I turn my e'yes with hoʻrror- I turn them he're/ to this dignified and hig'h-tribunal, where the Majesty of Ju'stice/ really sits enthro'ned. He're I perceive the Majesty of Jus tice/ in her proper-robes of tru'th and mercy—chas'te and simple--acce’ssible and pa'tienta'wful, without seve'rity-inqui'sitive, without mea'nness. I see her enthr'oned and sitting in judgment/ on a great and momen'tous-cause, in which the happiness of millions/ is invol'ved.-Pa'rdon me, my loʻrds, if I presume to say, th'at/, in the decis'ion of this grea't-cause, you are to be en'vied/, as well as ve'nerated. You possess the high'est-distinction of the human ch'aracter; fo'r/ when you render your ultimate, voice on this ca'use, illustrating the di'gnity of the a'ncestors) from whom you spring—justifying the solemn ass'everation which you ma'ke-vin dicating the pe’ople/ of whom you are a pa'rt.

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