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No Abolition of Slavery Or the Universal Empire of Love, A poem

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NO ABOLITION OF SLAVERY:OR,THE UNIVERSAL EMPIRE OF LOVE.ADDRESSED TO MISS ——. ——Most pleasing of thy sex,Born to delight and never vex;Whose kindness gently can controulMy wayward turbulence of soul. Pry’thee, my dearest, dost thou read,5The Morning Prints, and ever heedMinutes, which tell how time’s mispent,In either House of Parliament?   See , with the front of Jove!But not like Jove with thunder grac’d,10In Westminster’s superb alcoveLike the unhappy Theseus plac’d.Day after day indignant swellsHis generous breast, while still he hearsImpeachment’s fierce relentless yells,15Which stir his bile and grate his ears. And what a dull vain barren shewSt. Stephen’s luckless Chapel fills;Our notions of respect how low,While fools bring in their idle Bills.20   Noodles, who rave for abolitionOf th’ African’s improv’d condition,At your own cost fine projects try;Dont rob—from pure humanity.   Go, W———, with narrow scull,25Go home, and preach away at Hull,No longer to the cackle,In strains which suit the Tabernacle;I hate your little wittling sneer,Your pert and self-sufficient leer,30Mischief to Trade sits on thy lip,Insects will gnaw the noblest ship;Go, W———, be gone, for shame,Thou dwarf, with a big-sounding name.   Poor inefficient , we see35No capability in thee,Th’ immortal spirit of thy SireHas borne away th’ æthereal fire,And left thee but the earthy dregs,—Let’s never have thee on thy legs;40’Tis too provoking, sure, to feel,A kick from such a puny heel. Pedantick pupil of old Sherry,Whose shrugs and jerks would make us merry,If not by tedious languor wrung—45Hold thy intolerable tongue. Drawcansir Dolben would destroyBoth slavery and licentious joy;Foe to all sorts of planters, heWill suffer neither bond nor free.50   Go we to the Committee room,There gleams of light conflict with gloom,While unread rheams in chaos lye,Our water closets to supply. What frenzies will a rabble seize55In lax luxurious days, like these;The People’s Majesty, forsooth,Must fix our rights, define our truth;Weavers become our Lords of Trade,And every clown throw by his spade,60T’ instruct our ministers of state,And foreign commerce regulate:Ev’n bony Scotland with her dirk,Nay, her starv’d presbyterian kirk,With ignorant effrontery prays65Britain to dim the western rays,  Which while they on our island fallGive warmth and splendour to us all. See in a stall three feet by four,Where door is window, window door,70Saloop a hump-back’d cobler drink;“With him the muse shall sit and think;”He shall in sentimental strain,That negroes are oppress’d, complain.What mutters the decrepit creature?75The Dignity of Human Nature! Windham, I won’t suppress a gibe.Whilst Thou art with the whining tribe;Thou who hast sail’d in a balloon,And touch’d, intrepid, at the moon,80(Hence, as the Ladies say you wander,By much too fickle a Philander:)Shalt Thou, a Roman free and rough,Descend to weak blue stocking stuff,  And cherish feelings soft and kind,85Till you emasculate your mind....