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THE SLOP PAIL.

Ladies and Gentlemen,

The "Slop Pail" being occupied by "Slop" keeping his tri-colored, cockade in it, with the hope of bleaching it white, has become more and more offensive daily, and will be kicked down.

The GREAT BOOTS having been out of order, were welted, and afterwards new vamped, and polished. Dr. Southey, the Varnisher, has them in hand at present, and is 'doing them up' as fast as possible.

Ladies and Gentlemen,

I thank you for your company. Opposite to you is a description of The Monster that my people are now hunting on the Continent. When destroyed, its skin will be stuffed and preserved among the other Antiquities and Curiosities in the European Museum.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I wish you a good day.— Keep to the right. Walk steadily forward. The Animals may make an uproar, but don't be alarmed; I'll see you safe out. Remember they are under my control, and cannot take a step beyond the reach of MY EYE




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THE BOA DESOLATOR, OR LEGITIMATE VAMPIRE.

It overlays the continent like an ugly Incubus, sucking the blood and stopping up the breath of man's life. It claims Mankind as its property, and allows human nature to exist only upon sufferance; it haunts the understanding like a frightful spectre, and oppresses the very air witha weight that is not to be borne. Hazlitt's Political Essays and Characters, p. 21.

This hideous Beast, not having at any time put forth all his members, cannot be accurately described. Every dark Century has added to his frightful bulk. More disgusting than the filthiest reptile, his strength exceeds all other brute force.

His enormous, bloated, toad-like body is ferruginous: * the under surface appears of polished steel. His cavern-like mouth is always open to devour; his teeth are as swords, and his jaw-teeth as knives'—as millions of bristling bayonets intermingled with black fangs containing mortal venom. His roar is a voice from the sepulchre. He is marked 'in form of a cross, ** with a series of chains, intersected by the triangle, *** and glittering colours, variegated with red.

His aspect is cruel and terrible. He loves the dark, but never sleeps. Wherever he makes his lair, nature sickens, and man is brutified. His presence is 'plague, pestilence, and famine, battle, and murder, and sudden death.' His bite rapidly undermines the strongest Constitution, and dissolves the whole into an entire mass of Corruption. He has no brain, but the walls of the skull emit a tinkling sound, that attracts his victims, and lulls them into passive obedience. In this state he clutches them in his coils, and screws and squeezes them to destruction—slavering them over, and sucking in their substance at leisure. It is difficult to witness the half-stifled cries of his harmless prey, or to behold its anxiety and trepidation, while the monster writhes hideously around it, without imagining what our own case would be in the same dreadful situation. *****

     * Shaw's Zoology. Art. Boa, iii. 344.

     ** Ibid. 366.

     ***  Linnæus's Nat. Hist, by Gmelio, 8vo. (Jooes) 1816.
     Art. Boa Constrictor, xii. 437.

     **** Shaw's Zoology, iii. 339.






His rapacity is increased by indulgence. He grinds, cranches, and devours whole multitudes, without being satisfied. His blood is cold. His ravening maw does not digest: it is an ever-yawning grave that engulphs—a 'bottomless pit' continually crying 'give, give!' Sometimes he rests from his labors,' to admire his loathsome limbs, and slime them over. He has no affections: yet he appears charmed by the hum of the insects that follow him, and pleased by the tickling crawl of the meanest reptiles-permitting them to hang upon his lips, and partake of his leavings. But his real pleasure is in listening to the cries of his captives, the wail of the broken hearted, and the groans of the dying.

He lives in defiance and scorn of Providence, and in hatred to the happiness of man. When distended with human carnage, and wet with the gore of the innocent and the helpless, he lifts an impious form to heaven in solemn mockery. He was predicted of by the Seer of old, as the Beast with many heads and crowns, bearing the name of Blasphemy.

The garish colours that denote his malignity, excite only horror and detestation in the lover of nature, and of his species. They are most lively when he is engaged in the work of death, and cause him to be admired by the vulgar multitude, learned and unlearned, who hold him sacred, pay him divine honors, call him holy, and fall down before him as an object-of worship, while priests glorify him, and minister to him, and pray for his murderous successes in the temples. Hence-the good and the wise, in all ages, have devised and practised various methods for the destruction of a Fiend that creates nothing but terror and imposture, and between whom and rational man there is a natural antipathy.

He is filled with the deadliest rage by the encreasing growth of the pop'lar TreeS:—

          THAT TREE, beneath whose shade the Sons of Men
          Shall 'pitch their tenta in peace.

            ——Brissot murder'd, and the blameless wife
           Of Roland! Martyr'd patriots, spirits pure,
           Wept by the good, ye fell! Yet still survives,
           Sown by your toil, and by your blood manured,
           The imperishable TREE; and still its roots
           Spread, and strike deep. ——

                             Southey's Joan of Arc, b. iii.

His existence is drawing to a close. It has been ascertained that the way of putting him quietly out of the world is by a consisting of the four and twenty letters * of the alphabet, properly composed, made up in certain forms, covered with sheets of white paper. and well worked in a Columbian Press. These Papers are to be forced down his throat daily, morning and evening, and on every seventh day a double dose should be administered. The operation is accelerated by the powerful exhibition of the Wood Draughts. In a short time his teeth will fall out—he will be seized with catalepsy—in the last stage of mortification, he will sting himself to death;—and all mankind, relieved from the deadened atmosphere under which they had been gasping, will make the first use of their recovered breath, to raise an universal shout of joy at the extinction of THE LEGITIMATE VAMPIRE.

     * Philostratus relates that the Indians destroy the most
     monstrous serpent by spreading golden letters, on a field
     of red, before his hole. They dazzle and confound him, and
     he is taken without difficulty.




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     These Lords of pray'r and prey—that band, of Kings,
     That Royal, rav'ning BEAST, whose vampire wings
     O'er sleeping Europe treacherously brood,
     And fan her into dreams of promised good,
     Of Hope, of Freedom—but to drain her blood! Moore.

The End.

CATALOGUE




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THE MAN IN THE MOON,

"If Caesar can hide the Sun with a blanket, or put the Moon in his pocket, we will pay him tribute for light."—Cymbeline.

With Fifteen Cuts.




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     ———"Is there not
     Some hidden thunder in the stores of heaven,
     Red with uncommon wrath, to blast the men
     Who owe their greatness to their country's ruin

Dedicated








THE MAN IN THE MOON,

A SPEECH FROM THE THRONE, TO THE SENATE OF LUNATARIA




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INTRODUCTION.

    I lately dream'd that, in a huge balloon,
    All silk and gold, I journey'd to the Moon,
    Where the same objects seem'd to meet my eyes
    That I had lately left below the skies;

     And judge of my astonishment, on seeing
     All things exactly, to a hair, agreeing:
     The mountains, rivers, cities, trees, and towers,
     On Cynthia's silver surface, seem'd like ours;
     Men, women, children, language, dress, and faces,
     Lords, Commons, Lackies, Pensioners, and Places,
     Whigs, Tories, Lawyers, Priests, and men of blood,
     And even Radicals—by all that's good!

     In a long street, just such as London's Strand is,
     'Midst Belles and Beggars, Pickpockets and Dandies,
     Onward I went, between a brazen horse,
     And a large Inn which bore a Golden Cross,
     Then through a passage, narrow, long and dark,
     That brought my footsteps to a spacious park.

     It chanc'd that morning that the Sovereign Dey,
     The Prince of Lunataria pass'd that way—
     Gods! what a sight! what countless crouds were there,
     What yells, and groans, and hootings, rent the air!
     By which, I learn'd, the Lunatarian nation
     Are wont to testify their admiration;
     We don't do so on earth—but that's no matter—
     The Dey went onward, midst a hideous clatter
     To meet the Senators; for'twas appointed,
     That, on that morning, He—the Lord's anointed—
     Should make a grand Oration from the throne,
     That his most royal pleasure might be known.

     Respecting certain great affairs of State:—
     I heard the speech; Oh! could the muse relate
     The "elegance the sweet "distinctiveness"
     With which his Royal Deyship did address
     That reverend body of Moonarian sages,
     I'd write a book that should endure for ages.

     Alas! such heights are not for me to reach;
     I'll therefore, from my note-book, take the Speech,
     And you must say, as'tis by Pope exprest,
     "Give all thou canst, and we will dream the rest!"




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THE SPEECH.

     MY L—rds and G—tl—n,
     I grieve to say,
     That poor old Dad,
     Is just as—bad,
     As when I met you here
     the other day.

     'Tis pity that these cursed State Affairs
     Should take you from your pheasants and your hares
     Just now:

                    But lo!

     Conspiracy and Treason are abroad!

     Those imps of darkness, gender'd in the wombs
     Of spinning-jennies, winding-wheels, and looms,

     In Lunashire—

                  Oh, Lord!

     My L—ds and G—tl—n, we've much to fear!

     Reform, Reform, the swinish rabble cry—
     Meaning, of course, rebellion, blood, and riot—
     Audacious rascals! you, my Lords, and I,
     Know 'tis their duty to be starved in quiet:
     But they have grumbling habits, incompatible
     With the repose of our august community—
     They see that good things are with us come-at-ible,
     And therefore slyly watch their opportunity
     To get a share;

                  Yes, they declare
     That we are not God's favorites alone—
     That they have rights to food, and clothes, and air,
     As well as you, the Brilliants of a throne!
     Oh! indications foul of revolution—
     The villains would destroy the Constitution!

     I've given orders for a lot of Letters,
     From these seditious, scribbling, scoundrels' betters
     N—d—n and N—rr—s, F—ch—r, W—t and H—y
     'To lie, for your instruction,'

     Upon the table;

     From which said premises you'll soon be able
                  To make a fair deduction,

     That some decisive measures must be taken,
     Without delay,

            To quell the Radicals,

     and save our bacon.

     And now, my faithful C—m—ns,
     You must find

                   The means to raise the wind:

     For Derry Down, and Sid, have thought it wise,
     To have—besides the Spies
     A few more Cut-throats, to protect the rhino
     Of loyal people,—such as you and I know.

     Van's estimates will come before you straight;
     And, I foresee
     That your opinions will with mine agree,

                  No lighter weight
            Can well be placed on




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     Who is, you know,

                 a very willing hack.

        The revenue has fluctuated
                 slightly—

              See the Courier

     But it's been found to be

                  improving nightly—

     For two weeks past,—

                  therefore we've nought to fear.

       Some branches of our trade
                are still deprest,

     And those dependant on them
                wanting food,

     But that's a sort of

                   temporary evil


     'Twill wear away:

                 perhaps'tis for the best
     At all events,'twill do no good
     To let the starving wretches be uncivil.

     Five years ago, you know, our sad condition
     Was partly owing to

                  'the quick transition
     From war to peace
'—then,

                  we had 'scanty crops'—
     Then, something else—and now—
     our weavers' shops
     Are full of Radicals,

                 and Flags, and Caps;
     But 'temporary' still

                  are these mishaps—

     The 'quick transition's' gone,

                 the 'crops' are good,
     And though the Radicals
                 may still want food,

     A few




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     STEEL LOZENGES

     will stop their pain,

     And set the Constitution
     right again.

       My L—ds and G—tl—n,

                    The foreign powers
     Write me word frequently that they are ours,

     Most truly and sincerely, in compliance
     With our most




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     HOLY COMPACT AND ALLIANCE,

     The purposes of which

     I need not mention—

     You that have brains can guess
                 at the intention.

        'Tis my most anxious wish,
                 now we're at peace,

     That all internal discontents
                  should cease—

     T' accomplish which

                 I see no better way
     Than putting one-eyed pensioners
     on full pay.

            'The body of the people, I do think,
            are loyal still,'

          But pray, My L—ds and G—tl—n,
          don't shrink
          From exercising all your care
          and skill,

           Here, and at home,

           TO CHECK THE CIRCULATION




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           OF LITTLE BOOKS,

     Whose very looks—

            Vile 'two-p'nny trash,'

     bespeak abomination.

           Oh! they are full of blasphemies
           and libels,

           And people read them

     oftener than their bibles.

     Go H—df——t, Y—rm—th, C—le—gh, and C—nil—g
                  Go, and be planning,

     Within your virtuous minds, what best will answer
     To save our morals from this public cancer;

     Go and impress, my friends, upon all classes,
     From sleek-fac'd Swindlers down to half-starv'd Asses,
     'That, from religious principles alone,'

     (Dont be such d——d fools as to blab your own)
     Temperance, chasteness, conjugal attention—

     With other virtues that I need not mention—

     And from subordination, and respect,

     To every knave in robes of office deck'd—

     'Can they expect to gain divine protection'

     And save their sinful bodies from dissection!

     His Highness ceased—

                The dissonance of Babel
     Rose from the motley

                Moonitarian rabble:

     The yell of loyalty—

                 the dungeon groan—

     The shriek of woe—

                 the starving infant's moan
     The brazen trumpets' note—
     the din of war—

     The shouts of freemen

                   rising from afar—

     Darted in horrid discord

                 through my brain:—

     I woke, and found myself
     on Earth again.




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THE RIGHT DIVINE OF KINGS TO GOVERN WRONG!

Dedicated to the Holy Alliance

By The Author Of The Political House That Jack Built.




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Dedication.

TO

THE VISIBLE AND INVISIBLE MEMBERS OF THE HOLY ALLIANCE.

May it please your Holinesses,

When a gang of desperate ruffians disguise themselves, and take the road armed, it is a sure sign of robbery and murder; and it becomes the duty of an honest man to raise a hue and cry, and describe the villains.

With that view, I dedicate to you this little book; in the hope, that some who understand the dead lan-guage of Despotism, may be induced to translate it into the living tongues of the good people of the Continent.

I pray God to take your Royalty into his immediate keeping.

      O! Dulness, if thy sons can learn one thing,
      Teach but that one, sufficient for a King;

       That which thy Priests, and thine alone, maintain,
       Which, as It dies, or lives, They fall, or reign:

      May ye, O Cam and Isis, preach it long,
     'The Right Divine of Kings to govern wrong!'

                                           Pope.

It was a maxim of the Constitution of this country that the King could do no wrong. He had high authority for stating that the King could not commit Folly, much less Crime. —Report of a Bishop's Speech.

If a King can do no wrong, why was King James II. banished? and if a King can do wrong, why the plague are we constantly affirming that he cannot? Either way we should stand self-condemned, and if we are not set down as a nation of scoundrels, we must think ourselves pretty easy under the appellation of fools.—Swift,

     —————We love
     The King, who loves the law, respects his bounds,
     And reigns content within them: him we serve
     Freely and with delight, who leaves us free:
     But recollecting still that he is man,
     We trust him not too far. King though he be,
     And King in England too, he may be weak.

     And vain enough to be ambitious still;
     May exercise amiss his proper pow'rs,
     Or covet more than freemen choose to grant:
     Beyond that mark is TREASON.

                             —Cowper








PREFACE.

       "Perish those poets, and be hush'd the song,
        Which with this nonsense charm'd the world so long,
        That he who does no right, can do no wrong."

                                         De Foe.

To condemn nonsense, especially in high places, is proper: there are ancient precedents for it.

A thousand years before Christ, Nathan, a priest in the house of the Lord at Jerusalem, knew that David the Lord's anointed, had not only worked folly in Israel, by committing adultery with a beautiful woman, but had committed crime, by causing her husband to be put to death. The honest priest charged both the folly and the crime upon the king! He went up to his majesty with this Address: "Thou art the man!" He prosecuted him at the bar of his own conscience, convicted him, and passed sentence upon him—"The sword shall not depart from thine house!"

Three thousand years after this, a priest, sent into an English House of Lords by the nomination of the king, affirms there, that "he had 'high authority' for stating, that the king could not commit folly. much less crime!" right? If he does say this, I ask him, how long, after oppression should be exercised through the prerogative by virtually irresponsible ministers and be declared no wrong, he supposes that a king of England could sit on the throne, or the bishops who maintain the doctrine, sit either at its right hand in the Lords, or any where else? I tell this bishop, that though the law may not suppose it possible for a king of England to do wrong, because it intends him to do right, yet if he should do, and continue to do, oppressive wrong, not all the bishops of England, nor all the bayonets of all the mercenaries of Europe, could keep that king upon the throne of an oppressed people against their united will.

A king of England is not king in his own right, or by hereditary right. The nation is not a patrimony. He is not king by his own power; but in right of, and by the power of the law. He is not king above the law; but by, or under, the law. All the authority that he has, is given to him by law; and he can only rule according to law: for were he to rule against the law, he would be king against the law, and depose himself. The law is the Sovereign, or paramount authority; hence, a king of England is a subject; and in this respect, he and all the people are upon a level before the law—they are all his fellow-subjects ; though, as chief magistrate, he is the first subject of the law.

A king of England who regards the happiness of the people, and his own safety, would not wish to be stronger than the law founded on the public will, makes him. More strength would be unnecessary to his welfare, and hurtful to theirs. All power over others, from the watch-box to the throne, tends to injure the understanding, and corrupt the heart. A good King would not desire unlimited power; a bad one would abuse it. He would become mad; and drive the people mad. A despot is a demon. Artillery and fetters with the royal robe flung over them—a cannon ball capped with the royal crown—animated by the royal will—crushing, burning, and butchering liberty, property, and human life—personify the power of an unlimited King.

The ensuing satire shows the folly and danger of such power. It is a partial revival of the Jure Divino, written by Daniel De Foe in 1706. After the lapse of a century, nearly the same reason exists for the publication as the author adduced on its first appearance. It had never appeared, he says, "had not the world seemed to be going mad a second time with the error of passive obedience and non-resistance." It is not precisely so now: the people have not gone mad, but a bishop has, who may bite his brethren; and there is a slavish party of High Church zealots and pulpit casuists in the country who virtually support the doctrine—although if they attempt reducing it to practice, they may dig a pit beneath the throne, and engulph the dynasty. To expose this destructive doctrine, and disentangle the threads so artfully twisted into snares for the unwary by priestcraft, De Foe composed his Satire. He was the ablest politician of his day, an energetic writer, and, better than all, an honest man; but not much of a poet. The Jure Divino is defective in arrangement and versification. It is likewise disfigured by injudicious repetition; a large portion is devoted to the politics of the time, and it is otherwise unfit for republication entire ; but it abounds with energetic thoughts, forcible touches, and happy illustrations. The present is an attempt to separate the gold from the dross. The selection is carefully made; from the parts rejected the best passages are preserved, the rhyme and metre are somewhat bettered, the extracts are improved and transposed, and many additions of my own are introduced. The production scornfully rejects the slavish folly, senseless jargon, and venal hypocrisy, which pretend that power is from God and not from the People. It defies those who draw upon scripture in support of Divine Right to show that scripture lays down any rules of political government, or enjoins any political duties; or that it does not leave the people to determine by their own reason what government and what governors are best for themselves. It is a forcible and argumentative satire against the nonsense from hole-and-corner and lawn-sleeve men; and presents a series of peculiarly strong and quotable lines, to engraft on the common sense of the free-minded, honest, and open-hearted of my countrymen. If it aids them in the occasional illustration and emphatic expression of their opinions, the pains I have taken will be rewarded.

There is another reason for publishing this satire, besides the revival of Priestcraft. Its twinbrother is alive. Kingcraft rears up its terrific mass, muffled in the mantle of Legitimacy; its head cowled and crowned, aud dripping with the holy oil of Divine Right; its eyes glaring deadly hate to human happiness; its lips demanding worship for itself. Denouncing dreadful curses against the free, and yelling forth threatenings and slaughter, it stamps with its hoof, and coils together its frightful force to fall on young Liberty and squelch it. Its red right-arm is bared for the butchery of the brave who love Freedom and dare contend for it. It has prepared its chains and dug its dungeons, erected its scaffolds, aud sharpened its axes for the wise and excellent of the earth; and its bloody banners are unfurled in insolent anticipation of unholy triumph!—

        ———Still monarchs dream
        Of universal empire growing up
        From universal ruin! Blast the design,
         Great God of Hosts, nor let thy creatures fall,
         Unpitied victims at ambition's shrine!

So prayed the Bishop of London, (Porteus—not Howley) and so fervently prays,

The Author Of The Political House That Jack Built.

THE SPIRIT OF DESPOTISM.

The above Rare and Extraordinary Book was privately printed in 1795, without the name of either printer or bookseller, and so effectually suppressed, that there are only two copies of it besides my own in existence.

Its real value consists in exhibiting an entire and luminous view of the causes and consequences of Despotic Power. Its enthusiastic and glowing love of Liberty is unexcelled by any work written since; and for clearness, richness, and beauty of style, it is superior to every production of the Press within the same period All that the author touches, he turns into gold. I regret to say that most probably I shall never be at liberty to disclose his name.

Naturally desirous that such a work should be perused by all England, I have reprinted it, verbatim, from my own copy; and, although containing as much in quantity as a volume of Gibbon's History of Rome, it is sold for Eighteen-pence.

WILLIAM HONE.

     The French, instantly perceiving the transcendent
     merit of the Spirit of Despotism, and its high importance at
     this crisis, have translated it into their language, and it
     is now read throughout France with the greatest avidity. I
     intreat some good Neapolitan to be the benefactor of his
     Countrymen in like manner. It should be in the hands of the
     free, and those who desire to be free, in all nations;—
     Austria, for instance.

THE RIGHT DIVINE OF KINGS TO GOVERN WRONG.

BOOK I.

       Thus Kings were first invented, and thus Kings
       Were burnish'd into heroes, and became
       The arbiters of this terraqueous swamp;
       Storks among frogs that have but croak'd and died!

                                       Cowper.

Original Power—The ancient Gods—Tyrant-kings—The Apotheosis of James II. in the Chapel Royal—Charles II.—Paternal Government—God prescribed no Rules of Government—Origin of Kings—Saul.