1798 ENGLISH POETRY 1579-1830: SPENSER AND THE TRADITION

John Thelwall

B. O. B., "English Sapphic. By a Jacobin" The Sun (19 April 1798).



I am a hearty Jacobin,
Who own no God, and dread no Sin,
Ready to dash through thick and thin
For Freedom:

And when the Teachers of Chalk Farm
Gave Ministers so much alarm,
And preach'd that Kings do only harm,
I fee'd 'em.

By BEDFORD'S cut I've trim'd my locks,
And coal-black is my Knowledge-box,
Callous to all, except hard knocks
Of thumpers;

My eye a noble fierceness boasts,
My voice is hollow as a Ghost's,
My throat oft wash'd by Factious Toasts
In bumpers.

Whatever is in France, is right;
Terror and blood are my delight;
Parties with us do not excite
Enough rage.

Our boasted Laws I hate and curse,
Bad from the first, by age grown worse,
I pant and sigh for Univers-
al Suffrage.

WAKEFIELD I love — adore HORNE TOOKE,
With pride on JONES and THELWALL look,
And hope that they, by hook or crook,
Will prosper.

But they deserve the worst of ills,
And all th' abuse of all our quills,
Who form'd of strong and gagging Bills
A cross pair.

Extinct since then each Speaker's fire,
And silent ev'ry daring lyre
Dum-founded they whom I would hire
To lecture.

Tied up, alas! is every tongue
On which conviction nightly hung,
And THELW-LL looks, though yet but young,
A Spectre.

Huzza! the French will soon invade,
And we shall drive a roaring trade;
To us will ev'ry Gallic blade
Be welcome;

And surely no more joyful sound
To CORRESPONDERS can be found;
Unless MARAT should through the ground
From Hell come.