Conciones Ad Populum. Or, Addresses to the People/A Letter from Liberty to her Dear Friend Famine
A LETTER from LIBERTY
To her dear Friend FAMINE.
Dear Famine,
YOU will doubtless be surprized at receiving a petitionary Letter from a perfect Stranger. But Fas est vel ab hoste. All whom I once supposed my unalterable friends, I have found unable or unwilling to assist me. I first applied to Gratitude, entreating her to whisper into the ear of Majesty, that it was I, who had placed his forefathers on the throne of Great Britain—She told me, that she had frequently made the attempt, but as frequently had been baffled by Flattery: and that I might not doubt the truth of her apology, she led me (as the Spirit did the prophet Ezekiel) "to the Door of the Court, and I went in, and saw—and behold! every form of creeping Things." I was however somewhat consoled, when I heard that Religion was high in favour there, and possessed great influence. I myself had been her faithful servant, and always found her my best protectress: her service being indeed perfect Freedom. Accordingly in full confidence of success I entered her mansion—but alas! instead of my kind Mistress, horror-struck I beheld "a painted patched-up old Harlot." She was arrayed in purple and scarlet colour, and decked with gold and precious stones and pearls, and upon her Forehead was written, "Mystery." I shriek'd, for I Knew her to be the Dry-nurse of that detested Imp, Despotism. I next addressed myself to Prudence—and earnestly besought her to plead my cause to the ministers; to urge the distresses of the lower order, and my fears lest so distrest they should forget their obedience. For the prophet Isaiah had informed me "that it shall come to pass, that when the People shall be hungry, they shall fret themselves and curse the King." The grave matron heard me—and shaking her head learnedly replied, "Quos Deus vult perdere, dementat." Again I besought her to speak to the rich men of the nation, concerning ministers of whom it might soon become illegal even to complain—of long and ruinous wars—and whether they must not bear the damage. All this (quoth Prudence) I have repeatedly urged; but a sly Impostor has usurped my name, and struck such a panic of Property, as hath steeled the heart of the wealthy and palsied their intellects. Lastly, I applied to Conscience. She informed me, that she was indeed a perfect ventriloquist and could throw her voice into any place she liked; but that she was seldom attended to, unless when she appeared to speak out of the Pocket.
Thus baffled and friendless, I was about to depart, and stood a fearful lingerer on the Isle, which I had so dearly loved—when tidings were brought me of your approach. I found myself impelled by a power superior to me to build my last hopes on you—Liberty, the Mother of Plenty, calls Famine to her aid. O Famine, most eloquent Goddess! plead thou my cause. I meantime will pray fervently that Heaven may unseal the ears of its vicegerents, so that they may listen to your first pleadings, while yet your voice is faint and distant, and your counsels peaceable.—
I remain
Your distrest Suppliant,
LIBERTY.
Dover Cliffs.