Laurels won in the Field of Honour.

Brings down the warrior's trophy to the dust,
And eats into his bloody sword like rust.

B. I grant that, men continuing what they are
Fierce, avaricious, proud, there must be war.
And never meant the rule should be applied
To him that fights with justice on his side.

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Let laurels, drench'd in pure Parnassian dews, Reward his mem'ry, dear to ev'ry muse, Who, with a courage of unshaken root, In honour's field advancing his firm foot, Plants it upon the line that Justice draws, And will prevail or perish in her cause. 'Tis to the virtues of such men, man owes His portion in the good that heav'n bestows. And, when recording history displays Feats of renown, though wrought in ancient days; Tells of a few stout hearts that fought and died Where duty plac'd them, at their country's side; / The man that is not mov'd with what he reads,

That takes not fire at their heroic deeds

Infamy of Ambition.

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Unworthy of the blessings of the brave,
Is base in kind, and born to be a slave.
But let eternal infamy pursue
The wretch to nought but his ambition true
Who, for the sake of filling with one blast
The post-horns of all Europe, lays her waste..
Think yourself station'd on a tow'ring rock,
To see a people scatter'd like a flock,
Some royal mastiff panting at their heels,
With all the savage thirst a tyger feels;
Then view him self-proclaim'd in a gazette
Chief monster that has plagu'd the nations yet ;
The globe and sceptre in such hands misplac'd,
Those ensigns of dominion, how disgrac'd
The glass that bids man mark the fleeting hour,
And death's own scythe, would better speak his pow'r,
Then grace the bony phantom in their stead
With the king's shoulder-knot and gay cockade;
Clothe the twin brethren in each other's dress,
The same their occupation and success.

Man made for Kings!-rather they for him.

A. 'Tis your belief the world was made for man; King's do but reason on the self same plan: Maintaining your's, you cannot their's condemn, Who think, or seem to think, man made for them, B. Seldom, alas! the pow'r of logic reigns With much sufficiency in royal brains: Such reas'ning falls like an inverted cone, Wanting its proper base to stand upon. Man made for kings! those optics are but dim That tell you so-say, rather, they for him. That were indeed a king-ennobling thought, Could they, or would they, reason as they ought The diadem, with mighty projects lin'd, To catch renown by ruining mankind, Is worth, with all its gold and glitt'ring store, Just what the toy will sell for, and no more. Oh! bright occasions of dispensing good, How seldom used, how little understood! To pour in virtue's lap her just reward. Keep vice restrain'd behind a double guard;

To give Religion her unbounded Scope.

To quell the faction that affronts the throne

By silent magnanimity alone;

To nurse with tender care the thriving arts,
Watch every beam philosophy imparts;
To give religion her unbridl'd scope,
Nor judge by statute a believer's hope;
With close fidelity and love unfeign'd,
To keep the matrimonial bond unstain'd;
Covetous only of a virtuous praise;
His life a lesson to the land he sways;
To touch the sword with conscientious awe,
Nor draw it but when duty bids him draw;
To sheathe it in the peace-restoring close
With joy beyond what victory bestows;
Blest country, where these kingly glories shine!
Blest England, if this happiness be thine.

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A. Guard what you say; the patriotic tribe Will sneer, and charge you with a bribe. - B. A bribe? The worth of his three kingdoms I defy, To lure me to the baseness of a lie.

Wit strikes indiscriminately.

And, of all lies, (be that one poet's boest)
The lie that flatters I abhor the most.

Those arts be their's who hate his gentle reign,
But he that loves him has no need to feign.

A. Your smooth eulogium, to one crown address'd, Seems to imply a censure on the rest.

B. Quevedo, as he tells his sober tale, Ask'd, when in hell, to see the royal jail; Approv'd their method in all other things; But where, good sir, do you confine your kings? There-said his guide-the group is full in view. Indeed!-replied the Don-there are but few. His black interpreter the charge disdain'dFew, fellow?-there are all that ever reign'd: Wit undistinguishing, is apt to strike The guilty and not guilty, both alike. I grant the sarcasm is too severe, And we can readily refute it here; While Alfred's name, the father of his age, And the Sixth Edward's grace th' historic page,

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