--
Pray, sir, said I, don't think me such a Jew;
I say no more, but give the devil his due.--
Lenitives, says he, suit best with our condition.--
Jack Ketch, says I, is an excellent physician.--
I love no blood.--Nor I, sir, as I breathe;
But hanging is a fine dry kind of death.--
We Trimmers are for holding all things even.--
Yes; just like him that hung 'twixt hell and heaven.--
Have we not had men's lives enough already?--
Yes, sure: but you're for holding all things steady.
Now since the weight hangs all on one side, brother,
You Trimmers should, to poize it, hang on t'other.
Damned neuters, in their middle way of steering,
Are neither fish, nor flesh, nor good red-herring:
Not Whigs, nor Tories they; nor this, nor that;
Not birds, nor beasts; but just a kind of bat:
A twilight animal, true to neither cause,
With Tory wings, but Whigish teeth and claws[2].
Footnotes:
1. There is in Mr Bindley's collection another Epilogue, which appears
to have been originally subjoined to the "Duke of Guise." It is
extremely coarse; and as the author himself suppressed it, the
editor will not do his better judgment the injustice to revive it.
2. The Trimmers, a body small and unpopular, as must always be the
case with those, who in violent times declare for moderate and
temporising measures, were headed by the ingenious and politic
Halifax.
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