Removed from the eye of that country that supports them, and distant
from the government that employs them, they cut and carve for
themselves, and there is none to call them to account.

  But England will be ruined, says Lord Shelburne, if America is
independent.

  Then I say, is England already ruined, for America is already
independent: and if Lord Shelburne will not allow this, he immediately
denies the fact which he infers. Besides, to make England the mere
creature of America, is paying too great a compliment to us, and too
little to himself.

  But the declaration is a rhapsody of inconsistency. For to say, as
Lord Shelburne has numberless times said, that the war against America
is ruinous, and yet to continue the prosecution of that ruinous war
for the purpose of avoiding ruin, is a language which cannot be
understood. Neither is it possible to see how the independence of
America is to accomplish the ruin of England after the war is over,
and yet not affect it before. America cannot be more independent of
her, nor a greater enemy to her, hereafter than she now is; nor can
England derive less advantages from her than at present: why then is
ruin to follow in the best state of the case, and not in the worst?
And if not in the worst, why is it to follow at all?

  That a nation is to be ruined by peace and commerce, and fourteen or
fifteen millions a-year less expenses than before, is a new doctrine
in politics. We have heard much clamor of national savings and
economy; but surely the true economy would be, to save the whole
charge of a silly, foolish, and headstrong war; because, compared with
this, all other retrenchments are baubles and trifles.

  But is it possible that Lord Shelburne can be serious in supposing
that the least advantage can be obtained by arms, or that any
advantage can be equal to the expense or the danger of attempting
it? Will not the capture of one army after another satisfy him, must
all become prisoners? Must England ever be the sport of hope, and
the victim of delusion? Sometimes our currency was to fail; another
time our army was to disband; then whole provinces were to revolt.
Such a general said this and that; another wrote so and so; Lord
Chatham was of this opinion; and lord somebody else of another. To-day
20,000 Russians and 20 Russian ships of the line were to come;
to-morrow the empress was abused without mercy or decency. Then the
Emperor of Germany was to be bribed with a million of money, and the
King of Prussia was to do wonderful things. At one time it was, Lo
here! and then it was, Lo there! Sometimes this power, and sometimes
that power, was to engage in the war, just as if the whole world was
mad and foolish like Britain. And thus, from year to year, has every
straw been catched at, and every Will-with-a-wisp led them a new
dance.

  This year a still newer folly is to take place. Lord Shelburne
wishes to be sent to Congress, and he thinks that something may be
done.

  Are not the repeated declarations of Congress, and which all America
supports, that they will not even hear any proposals whatever, until
the unconditional and unequivocal independence of America is
recognised; are not, I say, these declarations answer enough?

  But for England to receive any thing from America now, after so many
insults, injuries and outrages, acted towards us, would show such a
spirit of meanness in her, that we could not but despise her for
accepting it. And so far from Lord Shelburne's coming here to
solicit it, it would be the greatest disgrace we could do them to
offer it. England would appear a wretch indeed, at this time of day,
to ask or owe any thing to the bounty of America. Has not the name
of Englishman blots enough upon it, without inventing more? Even
Lucifer would scorn to reign in heaven by permission, and yet an
Englishman can creep for only an entrance into America. Or, has a land
of liberty so many charms, that to be a doorkeeper in it is better
than to be an English minister of state?

  But what can this expected something be? Or, if obtained, what can
it amount to, but new disgraces, contentions and quarrels? The
people of America have for years accustomed themselves to think and
speak so freely and contemptuously of English authority, and the
inveteracy is so deeply rooted, that a person invested with any
authority from that country, and attempting to exercise it here, would
have the life of a toad under a harrow. They would look on him as an
interloper, to whom their compassion permitted a residence. He would
be no more than the Mungo of a farce; and if he disliked that, he must
set off. It would be a station of degradation, debased by our pity,
and despised by our pride, and would place England in a more
contemptible situation than any she has yet been in during the war. We
have too high an opinion of ourselves, even to think of yielding again
the least obedience to outlandish authority; and for a thousand
reasons, England would be the last country in the world to yield it
to. She has been treacherous, and we know it. Her character is gone,
and we have seen the funeral.

  Surely she loves to fish in troubled waters, and drink the cup of
contention, or she would not now think of mingling her affairs with
those of America. It would be like a foolish dotard taking to his arms
the bride that despises him, or who has placed on his head the ensigns
of her disgust. It is kissing the hand that boxes his ears, and
proposing to renew the exchange. The thought is as servile as the
war is wicked, and shows the last scene of the drama to be as
inconsistent as the first.