“Thank you, my Massas! have you laugh your fill? 
  Then let me speak, nor take that freedom ill. 
  E’en from my tongue some heart-felt truths may fall,
  And outrag’d Nature claims the care of all. 
  My tale in any place would force a tear,
  But calls for stronger, deeper feelings here;
  For whilst I tread the free-born British land,
  Whilst now before me crowded Britons stand,—­
  Vain, vain that glorious privilege to me,
  I am a slave, where all things else are free.

  “Yet was I born, as you are, no man’s slave,
  An heir to all that lib’ral Nature gave;
  My mind can reason, and my limbs can move
  The same as yours; like yours my heart can love;
  Alike my body food and sleep sustain;
  And e’en like yours—­feels pleasure, want, and pain. 
  One sun rolls o’er us, common skies surround;
  One globe supports us, and one grave must bound.

  “Why then am I devoid of all to live
  That manly comforts to a man can give? 
  To live—­untaught religion’s soothing balm,
  Or life’s choice arts; to live—­unknown the calm
  Of soft domestic ease; those sweets of life,
  The duteous offspring, and th’ endearing wife?

  “To live—­to property and rights unknown,
  Not e’en the common benefits my own! 
  No arm to guard me from Oppression’s rod,
  My will subservient to a tyrant’s nod! 
  No gentle hand, when life is in decay,
  To soothe my pains, and charm my cares away;
  But helpless left to quit the horrid stage,
  Harass’d in youth, and desolate in age!

  “But I was born in Afric’s tawny strand,
  And you in fair Britannia’s fairer land. 
  Comes freedom, then, from colour?—­Blush with shame! 
  And let strong Nature’s crimson mark your blame. 
  I speak to Britons.—­Britons, then, behold
  A man by Britons snar’d, and seiz’d, and sold! 
  And yet no British statute damns the deed,
  Nor do the more than murd’rous villains bleed.

  “O sons of freedom! equalize your laws,
  Be all consistent, plead the Negro’s cause;
  That all the nations in your code may see
  The British Negro, like the Briton, free. 
  But, should he supplicate your laws in vain,
  To break, for ever, this disgraceful chain,
  At least, let gentle usage so abate
  The galling terrors of its passing state,
  That he may share kind Heav’n’s all social plan;
  For, though no Briton, Mungo is—­a man.”

I may now add, that few theatrical pieces had a greater run than the Padlock; and that this epilogue, which was attached to it soon after it came out, procured a good deal of feeling for the unfortunate sufferers, whose cause it was intended to serve.