Indeed such means more efficacious prove,
As more deserving of Almighty love.
Then since base acts a saving grace confer,
Those who adopt such means can never err-
Such means, O France! thy great redeemers use,
Such good Egalite with zeal pursues.
Hail chief! renown'd for deeds of blackest shame,
D'Orleans, Egalite whate'er thy name,
Whose head and heart with equal lustre shine,
And in thyself both fool and villain join!
With admiration and surprize we see
One vast monopoly of vice in thee,
In thee, whose changeful life alone has stood
Unchanged, in constant enmity to good,
While ne'er one solitary virtue shined,
To light the Memphian darkness of thy mind.
See young Lambelle, in closest ties allied,
By thee corrupted, ruin'd and destroy'd,
By darkest plots his lovely wife pursued,
And stripp'd of wealth to pay thy ruffian brood,
The vile De Genlis and his athiest clan,
Sworn foes to God and direst pests of man.
Yet still the glorious work imperfect lay,
Nor less than blood thy pious zeal could stay;
By thee accused the hapless Princess dies,
To human fiends a wretched sacrifice-
While that loved form and that enchanting face,
Where peerless beauty shone with every grace,
The brutal throng in savage fury tear,
And shouts of horror fill the the tortured air.
Proceed great man! on murder murder pour,
Till satiate cruelty is gorg'd with gore,
And the poor remnant of what worth remains,
Is exiled far from Gallia's hapless plains.
But joy ye race oppress'd! ere long the day
Shall come when guilt a reck'ning dire shall pay;
When the full measure of his crimes complete,
Abhorr'd Egalite his doom shall meet,
And that deluded throng by him misled,
Shall wreak their vengeance on his guilty head.
Have not the French declar'd, in terms most strong,
That royal Louis could commit no wrong,
Inviolability's stiff buckler spread,
To guard from each mischance his sacred head,
Given to his heirs, in fee, the domination,
But taken care they ne'er should get possession?
Yet for these wondrous proofs of loyal zeal
What gratitude did Louis ever feel?
Did he not break the solemn oath he took,
Though held in durance when he kiss'd the book?
Did not this Louis, with his child and wife,
Flee from their hands to 'scape the assassin's knife,
And thus in open terms most plainly prove,
His fear and trembling at the nation's love?
And when amidst his native land arose
A band more hostile than external foes,
When fell Revenge unsheath'd his bloody knife,
And hell-born Murder urged the fatal strife,
When from the ax, suspended o'er their head,
His dearest friends and royal brothers fled,
Scarce 'scaped with life, proscribed, deserted, poor, Unfriended exiles on a foreign shore,
Did he not basely from his purse supply
Those dogs, nor leave them in the streets to die?
Patience would fail, a Hessian's heart would swell,
Ere half the devilish tricks my pen could tell,
The arts, the cheats, the perjuries and plots,
Conspiracies, and murders, and what nots,
Accomplish'd by that powerful band of strife-
By prisoner Louis and his prisoner wife:
For since the tribe of murderers first began,
To make their inroads on the life of man,
Full well they knew no artifice or flood,
Can hide the guilt, or wash the stain of blood.
O cursed thirst of absolute controul,
The youngest offspring of Hell's fiery hole!
Sworn friend to tyrants, emperors and kings,
Thy smiles coquettish are most dangerous things.
By thee betray'd we lose the narrow way,
From virtue swerve, and far from duty stray,
And like Dupont, the pious, brave, and good,
Hurl bold defiance to the arm of God,
His altars raze, his holy temples burn,
And hold Religion up to public scorn.
For nought the sacred Majesty can please,
But what conduces to his creatures' ease;
And France has proved, that what mankind abhor,
Fire, murder, rapine, Jacobins and war,
Are far more useful, than that truth and
peace, Should bid the jarring world from slaughter cease.
By laws promulged upon this novel plan,
These heroes fought t' assert the rights of man-
By laws like these the royal Louis tried,
And villains batten'd while their sovereign died.
'Tis said by some that since the great Navarre,
That pride of peace, that soul and strength of war,
France has not seen a king so mild and good
As the last Louis-yet they've shed his blood-
Granted-but then pray what does all this prove?
Are they at all events obliged a king to love?
Must they who've nobly burst through every tie,
And bravely dared each sacred law defy,
Drench'd Paris' streets with waves of human blood,
Spurn'd at religion and blasphem'd their God-
Shall souls like these at length be forced t' obey,
And basely crouch beneath a mortal's sway?
No-France, like Titan's sons, shall boldly rise,
And claim equality in yonder skies.
Suppose a hundred rogues grown old in evil,
And all, but one poor scoundrel, beat the devil-
Must we that sneaking fellow love?—no, no,
Send him to hell and let him better grow.
Besides beyond a doubt this Louis knew
Where the Bastile, that human stable, grew;
Why did he not that dreadful place destroy,
Where chains and famine murdered human joy,
Where many an honest man has wasted life,
Torn from his bed, his children and his wife,
While power's stern voice has bade him rise, be gone,
With scarcely time to pull his breeches on?
In short I think 'tis proved, as clear as lead,
That Louis Capet ought to lose his head.
And that upon his neck, for ours unfit,
The crown of martyrdom will nicely sit.
And let calumniators recollect,
That 'tis a greater mark of true respect,
That a mild king, for reasons wise and good,
Should thus be tapp'd and lose a little blood,
Than vile Egalite, that monster fell,
That scourge of man, that inmate fit of hell,
That prince of robbers and his equal clan
Should bid him off at four pence to a man.
* The Echo acknowledges that there is a sublime obscurity in this part of the text, which it is difficult to comprehend, but in responding it literally its beauties will at least be faithfully transmitted to the public ear.
Portrait of Philip Egalite, ci-devant Duke of Orleans, taken from a London paper. "The life of this man has been the scandal of his age. A swindler and debauchee, in early youth he corrupted and destroyed his brotherin-law the Prince de Lambelle, and afterwards accused and caused to be assassinated the Princess his wife, whom he had before contrived to plunder of the greatest part of her fortune. He carries in his bosom the pestilential germ of corruption, and after dishonouring his own bed he dishonours that of another, and blasts what little remains of the family of the celebrated Buffon, whose daughter he made the instrument of his debauchery. In his attempt to build the Palais Royal he plunged thousands of families into ruin, who had entrusted him with their property, by a fraudulent bankruptcy, which he committed with the most cynical impudence. His treasures and his fortune have been employed to pay the crimes of the tenth of August, second of September, the fifth of October and the twenty-first of January. Thus has heaven been lavish of its favours only to render vice more conspiHe was educated in dignity, that his villainy might be more prominent; he was rich and powerful only that his vices might be more numerous and despised; he was stationed near the throne only to overturn it with more public disgrace, and thus offer a terrible lesson to nations and to kings.His friends and his agents were homogeneal with himself. La Clos, the author of Les Liaisons Dangereuses, Sillery de Genlis, a man the most
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