Which put him, like a pair of spectacles,
Before my eyes. The thought lies deep in fate,
Nor can a mortal see the bottom of it.
'Tis here--'Tis there--I could philosophize--
Eternity, is like a winding sheet--
The seven commandments like--I think there's seven--
I scratch my head--but yet in vain I scratch--
Oh Bute, and Dartmouth, knew ye what I feel,
You sure would pity an old drinking man,
That has more heart-ake, than philosophy. [_Exit._

SCENE II. _HOWE with the British Army._

HOWE.

The day at length, propitious shews itself,
And with full beams of majesty, the sun,
Hath bless'd its fair nativity; when Heaven,
Brave soldiers, and the cause of kings,
Calls on the spirit of your loyalty,
To chastise this rebellion, and tread down,
Such foul ingratitude--such monstrous shape,
Of horrid liberty, which spurns that love--
That fond maternal tenderness of soul,
Which on this dreary coast, first planted them:
Restrain'd the rage, of murdering savages,
Which, with fierce inroad, on their settlements,
Made frequent war--struck down the arm of France,
Just rais'd, to crush them, in their infancy:
And since that time, have bade their cities grow,
To marts of trade: call'd fair-ey'd commerce forth,
To share dominion, on the distant wave,
And visit every clime, and foreign shore.
Yet this, brave soldiers, is the proud return,
For the best blood of _England_, shed for them.
Behold yon hill, where fell rebellion rears
Her snake-stream'd ensign, and would seem to brave
With scarce seven hundred, this sea-bounded Camp,
Where may be counted, full ten thousand men,
That in the war with France so late, acquir'd
Loud fame, and shook the other continent.
Come on, brave soldiers, seize your gleaming arms,
And let this day, in after times be held,
As Minden famous, and each hostile field,
Where _British_ valour shone victorious.
The time moves slow, which enviously detains,
Our just resentment from these traitors' heads.
Their richest farms, and cultur'd settlements,
By winding river, or extensive bay,
Shall be your first reward. Our noble king,
As things confiscate, holds their property,
And in rich measure, will bestow on you,
Who face the frowns, and labour of this day.
He that outlives this battle, shall ascend,
In titled honour, to the height of state,
Dukedoms, and baronies, midst these our foes,
In tributary vassalage, kept down,
Shall be your fair inheritance. Come on,
Beat up th' h