Journal of the Plague Year

continued, by a Gentleman

Among the more laſting Regrets of any true Patriot, as the Summer embarks upon its inevitable Decline into the Autumn of its Yeares, and the Plaints of the Servant-claſses commence their annual Transformation from damning the Exceſs of Warmth to curſing the Diſcomforting Chills, is that the paſt Months have been so lacking in Warre. For the Woo Han Peſtilence hath ſo much further enfeebled the leſser Nations, that the Hour was ſurely right for their Conqueſt by a ſtrong and Liberty-loving People, eſpecially when the uppity Slaves made plain the Neceſsity for ſome uniting Diſtraction. But inſtead of boldly venturing forth with blazing Eſcutcheon, to ſend forth our noble Ideals againſt the ſtony Fortifications of Oppreſsion's bleak deſponding Swamp, we muſt needs ſit by in ignoble Iſolation while thoſe ſame leſser Nations rebuke our noble Prime Miniſter for the Sin of proclaiming the Virtues of Freedom. Our great Stateſman hath lately obſerved the ſimple Truth, that the Britiſh Affection for Liberty which inheres in our Royal Family, in the humane Diſcipline of our Methods of indentuted Servitude, in the glorious Atmoſphere of Uniformity and Buttock-thraſhing in our publick Schools, and in the claſsically liberal Britiſhneſs of our decently conſervative Britiſhneſs, will at the laſt enſure that we prevailed though with World-beating Caſualties among the expendable Claſses. Upon this plain and ſelf-evident Verity, an Italian Condottier or Gondola, whoſe Name and Style both run to ſuch Exceſs of Syllables that it were tedious to attempt Tranſcription, hath pronounced with much Indignation, as if it were our Country and not his own, that once languiſhed for untold Centuries beneath the Yoke of Imperial Rome.