Postscript Poem by Richard Ames

Ah me! How great a Cordial's Hope,
When sawcy Fear don't interlope?
How sweetly at the Tett we tipple,
Till Fear puts Wormwood on the Nipple?
How hot was t'other day's Discourse,
That mighty Force of Foot and Horse,
Headed by ever Valiant J--------s,
Were come almost to mouth of Thames;
Nay, some to carry on the Joke,
Swore he would Land at Puddle-dock;
But Expectation is a Blessing,
Surmounts the pleasure of Possessing;
Yet 'tis a question worth Solution,
Who'd gain by such a Revolution?
Unless we think Ropes, Fire and Axes,
Are milder things than Modern Taxes;
Or when from Pockets Rome takes Toll,
Is better than a Quarter Poll,
And think the Levies of Commission,
More cruel than the Inquisition;
If words, of mind, the true Intent is,
These men are sure Non compos mentis,
And Bedlam must be sure Enlarg'd,
When 'tis with such State-blockheads charg'd,
Where they themselves may hourly tickle,
And keep each day a Conventicle.