the impotent imbecility, after you have lost the vigour of the passions.
Your friends will ask, perhaps, Whither shall this unhappy old man retire? Can he remain in the metropolis, where his life has been so often threatened, and his palace so often attacked? If he returns to Wooburn, scorn and mockery await him. He must create a solitude round his estate, if he would avoid the face of reproach and derision. At Plymouth, his destruction would be more than probable; at Exeter, inevitable. No honest Englishman will ever forget his attachment, nor any honest Scotchman forgive his treachery to Lord Bute. At every town he enters, he must change his liveries and name. Which ever way he flies, the Hue and Cry of the country pursues him.
In another kingdom, indeed, the blessings of his administration have been more sensibly felt; his virtues better understood: or, at worst, they will not, for him alone, forget their hospitality.—As well might Verres have returned to Sicily. You have twice escaped, my Lord; beware of a third experiment. The indignation of a whole people,
