Lisbon's a froward child, and should be whipp'd;
Yet Portugal's our old and best ally,
And Gallic faith is but a slender tie.
My lords! the manufacturer's a fool;
The clothier, too, knows nothing about wool;
Their interests still demand our constant care;
Their griefs are mine—their fear is my despair.
My lords! my soul is big with dire alarms;
Turks, Germans, Russians, Prussians, all in arms!
A noble Pole (I am proud to call him friend)
Tells me of things—I cannot comprehend.
Your lordships' hairs would stand on end to hear
My last dispatches from the Grand Vizier.
The fears of Dantzick merchants can't be told;
My accounts from Cracow make my blood run cold.
The state of Portsmouth and of Plymouth Docks,
Your Trade—your Taxes—Army—Navy—Stocks,
All haunt me in my dreams; and when I rise
The Bank of England scares my open eyes.
I see I know some dreadful storm is brewing;
Arm all your coasts your Navy is your ruin.
I say it still; but (let me be believ'd)
In this your lordships have been much deceiv'd,
A noble Duke affirms I like his plan;
I never did, my lords!—I never can—
Shame on the slanderous breath which dares instil
That I, who now condemn, advis'd the ill.
Plain words, thank Heav'n, are always understood;
I could approve, I said—but not I would.
Anxious to make the noble Duke content,
My view was just to seem to give consent,
His favourite antagonist was always Lord Mansfield, "the dark designing lawyer," "the director of the fatal and overruling influence." On one occasion, during the debate on the address to the King upon the disturbances in North America, a scene of extraordinary violence took place between them. Lord Mansfield insinuated that Lord Shelburne had not behaved like a gentleman, and that the charges he made were malicious, unjust, and indecent; whereupon Lord Shelburne returned the charge of falsehood in direct terms.[2] On another occasion he became
