o in 1740
drank healths and sang catches, such as "Confusion to the White Horse"
(meaning the heraldic cognizance of Hanover) "and all his generation,"
and

"When Jemmy comes o'er,
We shall have blood and blows galore,"

my Lord cries out upon him as a False Villain and Perjured Rascal. And
was thereupon admonished by the Lord Steward to more decorous behaviour.
Item: that he laid all the blame of the Frasers rising upon his Son,
saying with Crocodile Tears that he was not the first who had an
Undutiful Son; whereupon the young gentleman cries out in natural
Resentment that he would put the Saddle on the right Horse. But this and
many other charges were brought home to him, and that he had long
foregathered with the Pretender, of whom he spoke in a mock-tragedy
style as "the young man Thomas Kuli Khan." When upon his defence, he
told many Lies, and strove to Butter their Lordships with specious
Compliments and strained Eulogies; but 'twould not serve. The Lords
being retired into their own chamber, and the question being put whether
Simon Lord Lovat was guilty of all the charges of high treason brought
against him, every one, laying his hand on his left breast, and
beginning with the Junior Baron, answered, "GUILTY, upon my honour." And
the next day, which was the seventh of the Trial, he was solemnly
sentenced to Die as a Traitor; his Grace the Lord Steward making a most
affecting Speech, in which he reproached the Lord at the Bar with having
unnaturally endeavoured to cast the blame of his malpractices on his
son; "which," said his Grace, "if it be true, is an impiety that makes
one tremble: for, to quote a wise author of antiquity, the love of our
country includes all other social affections, which," he continued,
"shows a perfect knowledge of human nature; for we see, when that is
gone, even the tenderest of all affections--the parental--may be
extinguished with it." Upon which Admirable Discourse my fellow-Warder,
Miles Bandolier, fell a blubbering, and wiping his eyes with his laced
sleeve, whimpers that it is something, after all, to be a Lord to be
cast for Death in such Sweet Terms; for no Judge at the Old Bailey would
think of wasting Sugared words upon the rogue he sent to Tyburn. Which
is true.

When all was done, and the Lord Steward had, by breaking his Staff,
declared the commission void, the Prisoner with a grimace twinkling
about his wicked old mouth, bespoke his Majesty's good