Samuel Kettell, ed. Specimens of American Poetry. 1829.
By Remonstrance of Almasa Allicawn, Wife of Almas Allicawn, to Warren HastingsJoseph Brown Ladd (17641786)
M
My treasures wasted and my husband slain.
O say, vile monster! art thou satisfied?
Hast thou, rapacious brute! sufficient wealth?
Hastings! my husband was your prisoner—
The wealth of kingdoms flew to his relief;
You took the ransom, and you broke your faith.
Almas was slain—’t was perjury to your soul;
But perjury ’s a little crime with you.
In souls so black, it seem’d almost a virtue.
Say, cruel monster! art thou thirsting still
For human gore? O may’st thou ever thirst,
And may the righteous gods deny thee water
To cool thy boiling blood, inhuman wretch!
And, bloody ruffian! thou must go where Almas
Sits on a throne of state, and every hour
He stabs an Englishman, and sweetly feasts
Upon his bloody heart and trembling liver.
Yet, Hastings, tremble not, for thou art safe,
Yes, murderer! thou art safe from this repast:
A heart polluted with ten thousand crimes,
Is not a feast for Almas, he will pluck
That savage heart out of its bloody case,
And toss it to his dogs; wolves shall grow mad
By feeding on thy murderous carcase. More,
When some vile wretch, some monster of mankind,
Some brute like thee, perhaps thy relative,
Laden with horrid crimes without a name,
Shall stalk through earth, and we want curses for him,
We ’ll torture thought to curse the wretch, and then,
To damn him most supreme, we ’ll call him Hastings.