In light of recent events, another peasant boy like the one who put up "A Patriot's Plea" would sent out into the dusk night, his pay rattling about in his pocket, a stack of posters in hand, this time a caricature of High Society at the top, a rather demonic figure at the group's head.
O what mighty a pair do the churchman and statesman make?
As in the candle's embrace of romance do they take what the common man has raked
The churchman, as he would meet his common friend, offers up his wisdom to his young companion in one hand, while smiting the brother of his new compatriot.
Oh what a lover does this pious man make the "Rightious" and bold statue of the statesman, who's malignant galantry does make me crawl in the dirt before his gilded chariot.
Observe, them walking arm in arm or sitting lap in lap as they glare down upon their adoring prey, picking, and toying, and playing with their people like bugs trapped in sap.
And when foul cry did sound from their loving brothers across the sea? What did they do but smite them, free! And when their prey did hear the sound? What else issues but cheers from that crowd?
O pure malice the trumpet sounds, what vile glories you song from these lover's bonds! Let them be blind to their rotting parks, grant them indolence in their dying days, for such duties deserve not to see, the vile truths of you and me.
-J. T. Appleton
O what mighty a pair do the churchman and statesman make?
As in the candle's embrace of romance do they take what the common man has raked
The churchman, as he would meet his common friend, offers up his wisdom to his young companion in one hand, while smiting the brother of his new compatriot.
Oh what a lover does this pious man make the "Rightious" and bold statue of the statesman, who's malignant galantry does make me crawl in the dirt before his gilded chariot.
Observe, them walking arm in arm or sitting lap in lap as they glare down upon their adoring prey, picking, and toying, and playing with their people like bugs trapped in sap.
And when foul cry did sound from their loving brothers across the sea? What did they do but smite them, free! And when their prey did hear the sound? What else issues but cheers from that crowd?
O pure malice the trumpet sounds, what vile glories you song from these lover's bonds! Let them be blind to their rotting parks, grant them indolence in their dying days, for such duties deserve not to see, the vile truths of you and me.
-J. T. Appleton
Last edited:
