Let laurels, drench'd in pure Parnaffian dews,
Reward his mem'ry, dear to ev'ry mufe,
Who, with a courage of unfhaken 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 fuch men, man owes
His portion in the good that heav'n bestows,
And when recording history displays

Feats of renown, though wrought in antient days,
Tells of a few ftout hearts that fought and dy'd ́
Where duty plac'd them, at their country's fide;
The man that is not mov'd with what he reads,
That takes not fire at their heroic deeds,
Unworthy of the bleffings of the brave,
Is bafe in kind and born to be a flave.

But let eternal infamy pursue

The wretch to nought but his ambition true,
Who, for the fake of filling with one blast
The post-horns of all Europe, lays her waste.
Think yourself station'd on a tow'ring rock,
To fee a people scatter'd like a flock,
Some royal maftiff panting at their heels,
With all the favage thirft a tyger feels;
Then view him felf-proclaim'd in a gazette,
Chief monfter that has plagu'd the nations yet;


The globe and fceptre in fuch hands misplac'd,
Those ensigns of dominion, how disgrac'd!
The glass that bids man mark the fleeting hour,
And death's own fcythe would better speak his pow'r;
Then grace the boney phantom in their stead
With the king's shoulder-knot and gay cockade;
Cloath the twin brethren in each other's dress,
The fame their occupation and success.


A. 'Tis belief the world was made for man, Kings do but reafon on the self-fame plan; Maintaining your's you cannot their's condemn, Who think, or feem to think, man made for them. B. Seldom, alas! the power of logic reigns With much fufficiency in royal brains. Such reas'ning falls like an inverted cone, Wanting its proper base to stand upon. Man made for kings! thofe optics are but dim That tell you fo-fay rather, they for him. That were indeed a king-ennobling thought, Could they, or would they, reafon 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 ftore, Juft what the toy will fell for, and no more. Oh! bright occafions of difpenfing good, How feldom ufed, how little underflood!

To pour in virtue's lap her just reward,
Keep vice reftrain'd behind a double guard,
To quell the faction that affronts the throne,
By filent magnanimity alone;

To nurfe with tender care the thriving arts,
Watch every beam philofophy imparts;
To give religion her unbridl'd scope,
Nor judge by ftatute 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 leffon to the land he sways;
To touch the sword with confcientious awe,
Nor draw it but when duty bids him draw,
To fheath it in the peace-restoring close,
With joy, beyond what victory bestows;
Bleft country! where these kingly glories shine,
Bleft England! if this happiness be thine.

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

And of all lies (be that one poet's boast)
The lie that flatters I abhor the most.
Thofe arts be their's that hate this gentle reign,
But he that loves him has no need to feign.

A. Your

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

B. Quevedo, as he tells his fober tale,
Ask'd, when in hell, to fee 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 groupe is full in view.
Indeed? Replied the Don-there are but few.
His black interpreter the charge difdain'd
Few, fellow? There are all that ever reign'd.
Wit undistinguishing is apt to strike
The guilty and not guilty, both alike.
I grant the farcasm is too fevere,

And we can readily refute it here,
While Alfred's name, the father of his age,
And the Sixth Edward's grace th' hiftoric page.
A. Kings then at last have but the lot of all,
By their own conduct they must stand or fall,

B. True. While they live, the courtly laureat pays

His quit-rent ode, his pepper-corn of praise,
And many a dunce whose fingers itch to write,
Adds, as he can, his tributary mite;

A fubject's faults a subject may proclaim,

A monarch's errors are forbidden game.
Thus free from cenfure, over-aw'd by fear,
And prais'd for virtues that they scorn to wear,

B 3


The fleeting forms of majesty engage
Refpect, while ftalking o'er life's narrow stage,
Then leave their crimes for hiftory to scan,
And afk with bufy fcorn, Was this the man?

I pity kings whom worship waits upon
Obfequicus, from the cradle to the throne,
Before whofe infant eyes the flatt'rer bows,
And binds a wreath about their baby brows.
Whom education ftiffens into ftate,

And death awakens from that dream too late.
Oh! if fervility with fupple knees,

Whofe trade it is to fmile, to crouch, to pleafe;
If fmcoth diffimulation, fkill'd to grace

A devil's purpofe with an angel's face;
If fmiling peereffes and fimp'ring peers,
Incompaffing his throne a few short years;
If the gilt carriage and the pamper'd steed,
That wants no driving and difdains the lead;
If guards, mechanically form'd in ranks,
Playing, at beat of drum, their martial pranks;
Should'ring and ftanding as if ftruck to stone,
While condefcending majefty looks on;
If monarchy consists in such base things,
Sighing, I fay again, I pity kings!

To be fufpected, thwarted, and withstood,
Ev'n when he labours for his country's good;


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