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Even taking that overall downward trend into account, Gotham's ratings drops each season have been fairly precipitous. Gotham season 1 averaged a pretty healthy 2.2 in the ratings, only to see season 2 fall to a 1.4 average. Season 3 continued the slide, averaging a 1.1 when all was said and done.
Thankfully, this number still enabled Gotham to crack the top 10 scripted shows on FOX, albeit just barely. That factor presumably played a part in the network's eventual decision to renew Gotham for season 4. Related: Unfortunately, reports that Gotham's season 4 ratings have already set a new series low, with only two episodes having aired. The season 4 premiere - entitled 'Pax Penguina' - earned a 1.0 rating, with 3.2 million total viewers tuning in. That sets a new record for lowest rated Gotham premiere. As if that wasn't bad enough, this week's follow-up episode, 'The Fear Reaper', dropped to a 0.8 rating, with only 2.8 million total viewers.
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Those are the lowest numbers in the history of Gotham's run.
Far off (no matter whether east or west, A real country, or one made in jest, Nor yet by modern Mandevilles disgraced, Nor by map-jobbers wretchedly misplaced) There lies an island, neither great nor small, Which, for distinction sake, I Gotham call. The man who finds an unknown country out, By giving it a name, acquires, no doubt, A Gospel title, though the people there The pious Christian thinks not worth his care 10 Bar this pretence, and into air is hurl'd The claim of Europe to the Western world. Cast by a tempest on the savage coast, Some roving buccaneer set up a post; A beam, in proper form transversely laid, Of his Redeemer's cross the figure made— Of that Redeemer, with whose laws his life, From first to last, had been one scene of strife; His royal master's name thereon engraved, Without more process the whole race enslaved, 20 Cut off that charter they from Nature drew, And made them slaves to men they never knew. Search ancient histories, consult records, Under this title the most Christian lords Hold (thanks to conscience) more than half the ball; O'erthrow this title, they have none at all; For never yet might any monarch dare, Who lived to Truth, and breathed a Christian air, Pretend that Christ, (who came, we all agree, To bless his people, and to set them free) 30 To make a convert, ever one law gave By which converters made him first a slave.
Spite of the glosses of a canting priest, Who talks of charity, but means a feast; Who recommends it (whilst he seems to feel The holy glowings of a real zeal) To all his hearers as a deed of worth, To give them heaven whom they have robb'd of earth; Never shall one, one truly honest man, Who, bless'd with Liberty, reveres her plan, 40 Allow one moment that a savage sire Could from his wretched race, for childish hire, By a wild grant, their all, their freedom pass, And sell his country for a bit of glass. Or grant this barbarous right, let Spain and France, In slavery bred, as purchasers advance; Let them, whilst Conscience is at distance hurl'd, With some gay bauble buy a golden world: An Englishman, in charter'd freedom born, Shall spurn the slavish merchandise, shall scorn 50 To take from others, through base private views, What he himself would rather die, than lose.
Happy the savage of those early times, Ere Europe's sons were known, and Europe's crimes! Gold, cursed gold! Slept in the womb of earth, Unfelt its mischiefs, as unknown its worth; In full content he found the truest wealth, In toil he found diversion, food, and health; Stranger to ease and luxury of courts, His sports were labours, and his labours sports; 60 His youth was hardy, and his old age green; Life's morn was vigorous, and her eve serene; No rules he held, but what were made for use, No arts he learn'd, nor ills which arts produce; False lights he follow'd, but believed them true; He knew not much, but lived to what he knew. Happy, thrice happy now the savage race, Since Europe took their gold, and gave them grace! Pastors she sends to help them in their need, Some who can't write; with others who can't read; 70 And on sure grounds the gospel pile to rear, Sends missionary felons every year; Our vices, with more zeal than holy prayers, She teaches them, and in return takes theirs.
Her rank oppressions give them cause to rise, Her want of prudence, means and arms supplies, Whilst her brave rage, not satisfied with life, Rising in blood, adopts the scalping-knife. Knowledge she gives, enough to make them know How abject is their state, how deep their woe; 80 The worth of freedom strongly she explains, Whilst she bows down, and loads their necks with chains. Faith, too, she plants, for her own ends impress'd, To make them bear the worst, and hope the best; And whilst she teaches, on vile Interest's plan, As laws of God, the wild decrees of man, Like Pharisees, of whom the Scriptures tell, She makes them ten times more the sons of Hell. But whither do these grave reflections tend?
Are they design'd for any, or no end? 90 Briefly but this—to prove, that by no act Which Nature made, that by no equal pact 'Twixt man and man, which might, if Justice heard, Stand good; that by no benefits conferr'd, Or purchase made, Europe in chains can hold The sons of India, and her mines of gold. Chance led her there in an accursed hour; She saw, and made the country hers by power; Nor, drawn by virtue's love from love of fame, Shall my rash folly controvert the claim, 100 Or wish in thought that title overthrown Which coincides with and involves my own. Europe discover'd India first; I found My right to Gotham on the self-same ground; I first discover'd it, nor shall that plea To her be granted, and denied to me; I plead possession, and, till one more bold Shall drive me out, will that possession hold. With Europe's rights my kindred rights I twine; Hers be the Western world, be Gotham mine. 110 Rejoice, ye happy Gothamites! Rejoice; Lift up your voice on high, a mighty voice, The voice of gladness; and on every tongue, In strains of gratitude, be praises hung, The praises of so great and good a king: Shall Churchill reign, and shall not Gotham sing?
How much mistaken are the men who think That all who will, without restraint may drink, May largely drink, e'en till their bowels burst, Pleading no right but merely that of thirst, At the pure waters of the living well, Beside whose streams the Muses love to dwell! Verse is with them a knack, an idle toy, A rattle gilded o'er, on which a boy May play untaught, whilst, without art or force, Make it but jingle, music comes of course. Can the fond mother from herself depart?
Can she forget the darling of her heart, The little darling whom she bore and bred, Nursed on her knees, and at her bosom fed; To whom she seem'd her every thought to give, And in whose life alone she seem'd to live? Yes, from herself the mother may depart, She may forget the darling of her heart, The little darling whom she bore and bred, Nursed on her knees, and at her bosom fed, 10 To whom she seem'd her every thought to give, And in whose life alone she seem'd to live; But I cannot forget, whilst life remains, And pours her current through these swelling veins, Whilst Memory offers up at Reason's shrine; But I cannot forget that Gotham's mine. Can the stern mother, than the brutes more wild, From her disnatured breast tear her young child, Flesh of her flesh, and of her bone the bone, And dash the smiling babe against a stone? 20 Yes, the stern mother, than the brutes more wild, From her disnatured breast may tear her child, Flesh of her flesh, and of her bone the bone, And dash the smiling babe against a stone; But I, (forbid it, Heaven!) but I can ne'er The love of Gotham from this bosom tear; Can ne'er so far true royalty pervert From its fair course, to do my people hurt. With how much ease, with how much confidence— As if, superior to each grosser sense, 30 Reason had only, in full power array'd, To manifest her will, and be obey'd— Men make resolves, and pass into decrees The motions of the mind! With how much ease, In such resolves, doth passion make a flaw, And bring to nothing what was raised to law!
In empire young, scarce warm on Gotham's throne, The dangers and the sweets of power unknown, Pleased, though I scarce know why, like some young child, Whose little senses each new toy turns wild, 40 How do I hold sweet dalliance with my crown, And wanton with dominion, how lay down, Without the sanction of a precedent, Rules of most large and absolute extent; Rules, which from sense of public virtue spring, And all at once commence a Patriot King! But, for the day of trial is at hand, And the whole fortunes of a mighty land Are staked on me, and all their weal or woe Must from my good or evil conduct flow, 50 Will I, or can I, on a fair review, As I assume that name, deserve it too? Have I well weigh'd the great, the noble part I'm now to play? Have I explored my heart, That labyrinth of fraud, that deep dark cell, Where, unsuspected e'en by me, may dwell Ten thousand follies? Have I found out there What I am fit to do, and what to bear? Have I traced every passion to its rise, Nor spared one lurking seed of treacherous vice?
60 Have I familiar with my nature grown? And am I fairly to myself made known?
A Patriot King!—why, 'tis a name which bears The more immediate stamp of Heaven; which wears The nearest, best resemblance we can show Of God above, through all his works below.