Chapter LII: The Friend of Humanity and the Knife-Grinder

The _Anti-Jacobin_ was planned by George Canning when he was
Under-Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs. He secured the
collaboration of George Ellis, John Hookham Frere, William Gifford,
and some others. The last-named was appointed working editor. The
first number appeared on the 20th November, 1797, with a notice
that "the publication would be continued every Monday during the
sitting of Parliament". A volume of the best pieces, entitled _The
Poetry of the Anti-Jacobin_, was published in 1800. It is almost
impossible to apportion accurately the various pieces to their
respective authors, though more than one attempt has been made so
to do. The following piece is designed to ridicule the extravagant
sympathy for the lower classes which was then the fashion.

_Friend of Humanity_.

Needy knife-grinder! whither are you going?
Rough is the road, your wheel is out of order--
Bleak blows the blast; your hat has got a hole in't,
So have your breeches!

Weary knife-grinder! little think the proud ones,
Who in their coaches roll along the turnpike-
Road, what hard work 'tis crying all day, "Knives and
Scissors to grind O!"

Tell me, knife-grinder, how you came to grind knives?
Did some rich man tyrannically use you?
Was it the squire? or parson of the parish?
Or the attorney?

Was it the squire for killing of his game? or
Covetous parson for his tithes distraining?
Or roguish lawyer made you lose your little
All in a lawsuit?

(Have you not read the _Rights of Man_, by Tom Paine?)
Drops of compassion tremble on my eyelids,
Ready to fall as soon as you have told your
Pitiful story.

_Knife-grinder_.

Story! God bless you! I have none to tell, sir,
Only last night a-drinking at the Chequers,
This poor old hat and breeches, as you see, were
Torn in the scuffle.

Constable came up for to take me into
Custody; they took me before the Justice,
Justice Oldmixon put me in the parish
Stocks for a vagrant.

I should be glad to drink your honour's health in
A pot of beer, if you would give me sixpence;
But, for my part, I never love to meddle
With politics, sir.

_Friend of Humanity_.

_I_ give thee sixpence! I will see thee damned first--
Wretch! whom no sense of wrong can rouse to vengeance--
Sordid, unfeeling, reprobate, degraded,
Spiritless outcast!

[_Kicks the knife-grinder, overturns his wheel, and exit in a transport of republican enthusiasm and universal philanthropy_.]