I think I see our learned judges laying aside their practiques and decisions, studying the common law of England, graveled with certioraries, nisi prius’s, writs of error, verdicts indovar, ejectione firmae, injunctions, demurs, etc., and frighted with appeals and avocations, because of the new regulations and rectifications they may meet with.

I think I see the valiant and gallant soldiery either sent to learn the plantation-trade abroad; or at home petitioning for a small subsistence, as the reward of their honorable exploits; while their old corps are broken, the common soldiers left to beg, and the youngest English corps kept standing.

I think I see the honest, industrious tradesman loaded with new taxes and impositions, disappointed of the equivalents, drinking water in place of ale, eating his saltless pottage, petitioning for encouragement to his manufactories, and answered by counter-petitions.

In short, I think I see the laborious plowman, with his corn spoiling upon his hands, for want of sale, cursing the day of his birth, dreading the expense of his burial, and uncertain whether to marry or do worse.

I think I see the incurable difficulties of the landed men, fettered under the golden chain of equivalents, their pretty daughters petitioning for want of husbands, and their sons for want of employment.

I think I see our mariners delivering up their ships to their Dutch partners, and what through presses and necessity, earning their bread as underlings in the royal English navy.

But above all, my lord, I think I see our ancient mother Caledonia, like Caesar, sitting in the midst of our senate, ruefully looking round about her, covering herself with her royal garment, attending the fatal blow, and breathing out her last with an Et tu quoque, mi fili.

Are not these, my lord, very afflicting thoughts?  And yet they are but the least part suggested to me by these dishonorable articles.  Should not the consideration of these things vivify these dry bones of ours?  Should not the memory of our noble predecessors’ valor and constancy rouse up our drooping spirits?  Are our noble predecessors’ souls got so far into the English cabbage stock and cauliflowers that we should show the least inclination that way?  Are our eyes so blinded?  Are our ears so deafened?  Are our hearts so hardened?  Are our tongues so faltered?  Are our hands so fettered that in this our day, I say, my lord, that in this our day, we should not mind the things that concern the very being and well-being of our ancient kingdom, before the day be hid from our eyes?