“skulk about the passages of the Court that he may have a glimpse of His Majesty as he passes along in state, in order to deliver into his hands a remonstrance affecting the most essential interests of above twelve millions of people, who by the sweat of their brow support the pomp and parade of royalty and swell the fastidious pride and coxcombical vanity of empty courtiers.”
It was boldly hazarded at this emergency, from the premeditated affront to the representatives alike of the city and the people, that the rulers, blinded to their own destruction, then concluded—
“themselves sufficiently prepared for the final extirpation of liberty in this island, and that by deliberate insults they were urging the people to commit some outrage, which might give them a pretence for putting their scheme of tyranny into immediate execution.”
If the city, by its dignified and law-abiding demeanour, disappointed these expectations, it was argued that the Court party would not wait for an excuse to wreak their vengeance under some thin disguise of retributive justice, but would proceed to order out the “Scotch Regiment, as in the affair of St. George’s Fields, without waiting for the least appearance of necessity.”
A correspondent of the Oxford Magazine, writing under the signature “Philopolis,” referring to the threatened massacres in St. George’s Fields, and, on the grounds that the late firing did comparatively little damage to the rioters concerned, declared:—
“I have heard it indeed alleged by courtiers in excuse, that all the military execution of that day was solely aimed at Mr. Wilkes, who they hoped would be despatched by some lucky shot, as Herod expected our Saviour would be murdered among the innocents he murdered at Bethlehem. As a proof of this extenuation of the crime, they show flatted balls, which were discharged by heroes planted in proper places for the purpose, and which have left marks in the walls about the windows of Mr. Wilkes’s apartments in the King’s Bench.” “If this has any foundation in truth,” writes “Philopolis,” “I would advise the city to be cautious, and never allow above a dozen of its inhabitants to be seen together at one time, for fear the Riot Act should arrive unexpectedly, with two or three brigades of musqueteers, headed by a trading justice, who may think nothing of the citizens’ lives, provided he has any hopes of murdering Beckford and the two sheriffs through their sides.”
The petition presented by the lord mayor with such difficulty, and after many insolent subterfuges and repulses, failed to bring the king to a reasonable sense of his situation or of the dangers to which the throne was exposed by the reckless and unconstitutional conduct of the administration. Subsequently, on the presentation of a “remonstrance,” the king returned a written reply to the original petition, visiting with severe censure the persevering claim of invaded birthrights, urged by “the afflicted citizens,” and treating their just grievances with reprimand instead of redress; the pleas set forth in the petitions being considered by His Majesty “as disrespectful to himself, injurious to his parliament, and irreconcileable to the principles of the constitution”—a piece of bold duplicity more worthy of the Stuart dynasty.
The vexed question of Middlesex election, the imprisonment of Wilkes, the unconstitutional admission of Luttrell into the House, and particularly the supineness of the King to the petitions and just remonstrances of his people, are embodied in a metrical form, as—
“A NEW SONG; BEING A POETICAL PETITION TO THE KING.
“Good Sir, I crave pity, bad is my condition:
You’ve sworn to relieve me, as I understand;
To tell you the whole, pray read this Petition;
My name you know is Old England:
Tho’ you’ve receiv’d many, and not answer’d any,
I hope Old England’s will not be forgot,
For if you deny me, the land will despise ye—
’Twas King Charles the First by the axe went to pot.
My right arm is wounded, and Middlesex county
I always esteem’d the bloom of my plumb.
And murd’rers have got a pardon and bounty,
From this precious arm they have torn a thumb;
For Wilkes is took from me, such wrongs have they done me,
They’ve alter’d records unto their disgrace;
’Tis thus that they’ve done, and a bastard son,
While my darling’s in prison, now sits in his place.
My head is wounded, if such a thing can be,
My troubles are such that I can take no rest;
Two sons are ta’en from me, Great Camden and Granby,
And to the world they have left me distrest:
For Granby’s a soldier, none better or bolder,
And Camden’s a lawyer in justice well known,
In law had such power, took Wilkes from the Tower,
These, these are the children I ne’er will disown.
So read my Petition, good Sir; ’tis not tattle,
But matter of consequence, you’ll understand;
And answer me not, Sir, about horned cattle,
Pray what’s a few beasts, to the peace of the land?
The land has been injur’d, our rights they’ve infringed,
And loud for redress it behoves us to call,
For should we let trespass, like an indolent ass,
With Middlesex then all our rights they must fall.
Our land it is ruled by rogues, roughs, and bullies,
In the nation’s confusion they go hand in hand,
Sharps, gamblers, profuse and extravagant cullies,
A very odd set for to govern the land:
Here’s Bute, we hear, dying, his mistress for him crying,
Her son he has learnt the same fiddle to play;
For he touches the string, in disgrace to the king,
But his mother has taught him—why what?—shall we say?”