  By J.C.—July 5th, 1810. A fair reformation would render this nation, The richest isle under the sun; If terms now septennial were turn’d to triennial, The work would be more than half done. Our grand constitution defies diminution, While honest men handle the helm; But subject to slav’ry, and sanction’d by knav’ry, When ravagers rule in the realm. A few dying embers of Morpeth, two members Can send in the senate to sit: Shields, Alnwick, and Hexham (the truth tends to vex ’em) United, not one can transmit. One man of old Sarum, two members declare him; Thus burghs, and constituents wane: Some staple towns none, though Manchester alone, Near two hundred thousands contain. Besides rotten boroughs, the source of our sorrows, These Cinque-Ports, and sinecures all; With pensions and places our council disgraces, Which courts of corruption some call. With truth it is told, some freedoms are sold, And seats traffick’d for at noon day; The barter’s so bold, that for British gold, Our code without scruples convey. These buyers are bound, seat sellers to mound, And vote on the ministers’ side; If he says the crow’s white, or noon day is midnight, They must by his behests abide. In ev’ry debate concerning the state, These relics of representation, Majorities gain, and boldly maintain, Their will is the voice of the nation. |
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