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Updated: May 8, 2025
John Shield's capital song "The jailor, for trial had brought up a thief, Whose looks seemed a passport for Botany Bay; The lawyers, some with and some wanting a brief, Around the green table were seated so gay; Grave jurors and witnesses waiting a call; Attorneys and clients, more angry than wise; With strangers and town-people, throng'd the Guildhall, All watching and gaping to see my Lord 'Size.
"And there was mounting in hot haste; the steed, The mustering squadron, and the clattering car, Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, And swiftly forming in the ranks of war; And the deep thunder peal on peal afar; And near, the beat of the alarming drum Roused up the soldier ere the morning star; While throng'd the citizens with terror dumb, Or whispering, with white lips 'The foe! they come! they come!"
The issue was not death, but a sort of physical regeneration; and I may add that ever since, at intervals, I have had a restoration of more than youthful spirits, though under the pressure of difficulties which in a less happy state of mind I should have called misfortunes. With dreadful faces throng'd, and fiery arms. From the "London Magazine" for December 1822.
"Flecknoe, thy characters are so full of wit And fancy, as each word is throng'd with it. Each line's a volume, and who reads would swear Whole libraries were in each character. Nor arrows in a quiver stuck, nor yet Lights in the starry skies are thicker set, Nor quills upon the armed porcupine, Than wit and fancy in this work of thine." This is one of Flecknoe's Characters:
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