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POEMS.

TABLE TALK.

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Si te forte mea gravis uret sarcina chartae,
Abiicito—: Ho». Lib. I. £pist. 13.

A.xov told me, I remember, glory, built
On gelfish principles, is shame and guilt,
The deeds, that men admire as half divine,
Stark naught, because corrupt in their design.
Strange doctrine this! that without scruple tears
The laurel, that the \ery lightning spares;
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.

Let laurels, drenched in pure Parnassian dews, Reward his memory, dear to every muse, Who, with a courage of unshaken root, In honour's field advancing his firm foot*

voi. 1. B

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 heaven 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 placed them, at their country's side;
The man that is not moved with what he reads,
That takes not fire at their heroic deeds,
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 Wast
The post-horns of all Europe, lays her waste.
Think yourself stationed on a towering reek,
To see a people scattered like a floek,
Some royal mastiff panting at their heeeh,
With all the savage thirst a tyger feel's;
Then view himself proclaimed in a gazette
Chief monster, that has plagned the nations yet*:
The globe-and sceptre in such hand* misplatetr,
Those ensigns of dominion, how disgraced!
The glass that bids man mark the fleeting hour,
And death-'s own scythe would better speak his

power j Then grace the bony phantom in their stead With the king's shoulder knot and gay cockadte; Clothe the twin brethren in each other's drpss, The same their occupation and success.

J. Tis your belief the World was made for man; Kings 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. Sejdom, alas! the power of logic reigns
With much sufficiency in royal brains;
Such reasoning falls like an inverted cone,
Wanting its proper base to stand upon.
Man made forcings! 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 lined
To catch renown by ruining mankind,
Is worth, with all its gold and glittering 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 restrained behind a double guard:
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 unbridled scope,
Nor judge by statute a believer's hope;
With close fidelity and love unfeigned
To keep the matrimonial bond unstained;
Covetous only of a virtuous praise;
His life 3 lesson to the land he sways;

To touch the sword with conscientious awe,
Nor draw it but when duty bids him draw;
To sheath 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!

A. Guard what you say; the patriotic trihe 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. And, of all lies, (be that one poet's boast) 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 addressed, Seems to imply a censure on the rest.

B. Quevedo, as he tells his sober tale, Afked, when in hell, to see the royal jail; Approved 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 disdained— Few, fellow >—There are all that ever reigned. "Wit, undistinguishing, is apt lo 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,

\nd the Sixth Edward's grace the historic page.

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