Thus happiness depends, as nature shows, And fill with discontent a British isle. A. Freeman and slave then, if the case be such, Stand on a level; and you prove too much: If all men indiscriminately share His fostering power, and tutelary care, As well be yoked by despotism's hand, As dwell at large in Britain's chartered land. B. No. Freedom has a thousand charms to show, That slaves, however contented, never know. The mind attains beneath her happy reign Opening and wider opening on her view, Religion, richest favour of the skies, Stands most revealed before the freeman's eyes; No shades of superstition blot the day, Liberty chases all that gloom away; The soul emancipated, unoppressed, Free to prove all things and hold fast the best, Guards well what arts and industry have won, The noblest cause mankind can have at stake: Genius is thine, and thou art fancy's nurse; Its clearest tone, the rapture it inspires: Place me where winter breathes his keenest air, And I will sing, if liberty be there; And I will sing at liberty's dear feet, In Afric's torrid clime, or India's fiercest heat. A. Sing where you please; in such a cause I grant An English poet's privilege to rant; But is not freedom-at least is not our's Too apt to play the wanton with her powers, B. Agreed. But would you sell or slay your horse No. His high mettle, under good controul, Gives him Olympic speed, and shoots him to the goal. Let discipline employ her wholesome arts; Let magistrates alert perform their parts, Not skulk or put on a prudential mask, As if their duty were a desperate task; And dared to look his master in the face; When the rude rabble's watch-word was-de stroy, And blazing London seemed a second Troy; Liberty blushed, and hung her drooping head, Beheld their progress with the deepest dread; Blushed, that effects like these she should produce, Worse than the deeds of galley-slaves broke loose. She loses in such storms her very name, And fierce licentiousness should bear the blame. Incomparable gem! thy worth untold; Cheap, though blood-bought; and thrown away when sold; May no foes ravish thee, and no false friend A. Patriots, alas! the few that have been found, Where most they flourish, upon English ground, The country's need have scantily supplied, And the last left the scene when Chatham died. Would strive to make a Paul or Tully stand. Her sacred cause, but trembled when he rose ; And every venal stickler for the yoke Felt himself crushed at the first word he spoke. |