God prosper long our noble king,
Our lives and safeties all:
A woeful story late there did
In Britain’s Isle befall.
Duke Smithson, of Northumberland,
A vow to God did make,
The choicest gifts in fair England,
For him and his to take.
“Stand fast, my merry men,” he cried,
“By Moira’s Earl and me,
And we will gain place, wealth and pow’r,
As arm’d neutrality.
“Excise and Customs, Church and Law,
I’ve begg’d from Master Rose;
The Garter too—but still the Blues
I’ll have, or I’ll oppose.”
“Now God be with him,” quoth the King,
“Sith ’twill no better be;
I trust we have within our realm
Five hundred good as he.”
The Duke then join’d with Charley Fox,
A leader ware and tried,
And Erskine, Sheridan, and Grey
Fought stoutly by his side.
Throughout the English Parliament,
They dealt full many a wound;
But in his king’s and country’s cause,
Pitt firmly stood his ground.
And soon a law like arrow keen,
Or spear, or curtal-axe,
Struck poor Duke Smithson to the heart,
In shape of
Powder-tax.
[172] Sore leaning on his crutch, he cried,
“Crop, crop, my merry men all;
No guinea for your head I’ll pay,
Though Church and State should fall.”
Again the taxing-man appear’d—
No deadlier foe could be;
A schedule of a cloth-yard long,
Within his hand bore he.
“Yield thee, Duke Smithson, and behold
The assessment thou must pay;
Dogs, horses, houses, coaches, clocks,
And servants in array.”
“Nay,” quoth the Duke, “in thy black scroll
Deductions I espye—
For those who, poor, and mean, and low,
With children burthen’d lie.
“And though full sixty thousand pounds
My vassals pay to me,
From Cornwall to Northumberland,
Through many a fair countÉe;
“Yet England’s church, its king, its laws,
Its cause, I value not,
Compar’d with this, my constant text,
A penny sav’d, is got.
“No drop of princely Percy’s blood
Through these cold veins doth run;
With Hotspur’s castles, blazon, name,
I still am poor Smithson.
“Let England’s youth unite in arms,
And every liberal hand,
With honest zeal, subscribe their mite,
To save their native land:
“I at St. Martin’s Vestry Board,
To swear shall be content,
That I have children eight, and claim
Deductions ten per cent.”
God bless us all from factious foes,
And French fraternal kiss;
And grant the king may never make
Another
Duke like this.
[173] 
