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To quell the faction, that affronts the throne, Before whose infant eyes the flatterer bows,
By silent magnanimity alone;

And binds a wreath about their baby brows;
To nurse with tender care the thriving arts; Whom Education stiffens into state,
Watch every beam Philosophy imparts; And Death awakens from that dream too late.
To give Religion her unbridled scope,

Oh! if Servility, with supple knees,
Nor judge by statute a believer's hope;

Whose trade it is to smile, to crouch, to please; With close fidelity and love unfeigned,

If smooth Dissimulation, skilled to grace To keep the matrimonial bond unstained; A devil's purpose with an angel's face; Covetous only of a virtuous praise;

If smiling peeresses, and simpering peers,
His life a lesson to the land he sways;

Encompassing his throne a few short years;
To touch the sword with conscientious awe, If the gilt carriage and the pampered steed,
Nor draw it but when duty bids him draw; That wants no driving, and disdains the lead;
To sheathe it in the peace-restoring close, If guards, mechanically formed in ranks,
With joy beyond what victory bestows; Playing, at beat of drum, their martial pranks,
Blest country, where these kingly glories shine! Shouldering and standing as if struck to stone,
Blest England, if this happiness be thine! While condescending majesty looks on!

A. Guard what you say, the patriotic tribe If monarchy consist in such base things,
Will sncer, and charge you with a bribe Sighing, I say again, I pity kings!
B. A bribe?

To be suspected, thwarted, and withstood,
The worth of his three kingdoms I defy, E'en when he labours for his country's good;
To lure me to the baseness of a lie:

To see a band called patriot for no cause,
And, of all lies (be that one poet's boast,) But that they catch at popular applause,
The lie that flatters I abhor the most.

Careless of all th' anxiety he feels,
Those arts be theirs, who hate his gentle reign; Hook disappointment on the public wheels;
But he that loves him has no need to feign. With all their flippant fluency of tongue,

A. Your smooth eulogium to one crown addrest, Most confident when palpably most wrong;
Seems to imply a censure on the rest.

If this be kingly, then farewell for me
B. Quevedo, as he tells his sober tale, All kingship; and may I be poor and free!
Asked, when in hell, to see the royal jail; To be the table talk of clubs up-stairs,
Approved their method in all other things: To which th' unwashed artificer repairs,
But where, good sir, do you confine your kings? T'indulge his genius after long fatigue,
There—said his guide-the group is full in view. By diving into cabinet intrigue;
Indeed ?—replied the don—there are but few. (For what kings deem a toil, as well they may,
His black interpreter the charge disdained To him is relaxation and mere play;)
Few, fellow ?—there are all that ever reigned. To win no praise when well-wrought plans prevail,
Wit, undistinguishing, is apt to strike

But to be rudely censured when they fail;
The guilty and not guilty both alike:

To doubt the love his favourites may pretend, I grant the sarcasm is too severe,

And in reality to find no friend; And we can readily refute it here;

If he indulge a cultivated taste, While Alfred's name, the father of his age,

His galleries with the works of art well graced,
And the sixth Edward's grace th' historic page. To hear it called extravagance and waste;

A. Kings then, at last, have but the lot of all: If these attendants, and if such as these,
By their own conduct they must stand or fall. Must follow royalty, then welcome ease;
B. True. While they live, the courtly laureat However humbled and confined the sphere,

Happy the state that has not these to fear.
His quitrent ode, his peppercorn of praise; A. Thus men, whose thoughts contemplative
And many a dunce, whose fingers itch to write, have dwelt
Adds, as he can, his tributary mite.

On situations that they never felt,
A subject's faults a subject may proclaim, Start up sagacious, covered with the dust,
A monarch's errors are forbidden game!

Of dreaming study and pedantic rust,
Thus, free from censure, overawed by fear, And prate and preach about what others prove,
And praised for virtues that they scorn to wear, As if the world and they were hand and glove.
The fleeting forms of majesty engage

Leave kingly backs to cope with kingly cares;
Respect, while stalking o'er life's narrow stage; They have their weight to carry, subjects theirs;
Then leave their crimes for history to scan, Poets, of all men, ever least regret
And ask, with busy scorn, was this the man? Increasing taxes and the nation's debt.

I pity kings, whom Worship waits upon Could you contrive the payment, and rehearse
Obsequious from the cradle to the throne; The mighty plan, oracular, in verse,

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erer bows, No bard, howe'er majestic, old or new, Is alwas happy, reign whoever may,
aby brows; Should claim my fixed attention more than you. And laughs the sense of misery far away.

B. Not Brindley nor Bridgewater would essay He drinks his simple beverage with a gust;
To turn the course of Helicon that way; And, feasting on an onion and a crust,

Nor would the Nine consent the sacred tide We never feel th’ alacrity and joy
uch, to please Should purl amidst the traffic of Cheapside, With which he shouts and carols Vive la Roi,
Or tinkle in 'Change Alley, to amuse

Filled with as much true merriment and glee, face;

The leathern ears of stockjobbers and Jews. As if he heard his king say-Slave, be frec. ng peers, 4. Vouchsafe, at least, to pitch the key of rhyme Thus happiness depends, as Nature shows, short years;

To themes more pertinent, if less sublime. Less on exterior things than most suppose, ered steed, When ministers and ministerial arts;

Vigilant over all that he has made, ains the lead;

Patriots, who love good places at their hearts; Kind Providence attends with gracious aid;

When admirals, extolled for standing still, Bids equity throughout his works prevail, artial pranks Or doing nothing with a deal of skill;

And weighs the nations in an even scale; Cruck to store,

Gen'rals, who will not conquer when they may, He can encourage Slavery to a smile,

Firm friends to peace, to pleasure, and good pay; And fill with discontent a British isle, things,

When Freedom, wounded almost to despair, A. Freeman, and slave then, if the case be such,
Though Discontent alone can find out where; Stand on a level; and you prove too much:.
When themes like these employ the poet's tongue, If all men indiscriminately share
I hear as mute as if a syren sung.

His fostering power, and tutelary care,
Or tell me, if you can, what power maintains, As well be yoked by Despotism's hand,
o cause,
A Briton's scorn of arbitrary chains:

As dwell at large in Britain's chartered land.
That were a theme might animate the dead, B. No. Freedom has a thousand charms to
And move the lips of poets cast in lead.

B. The cause, tho' worth the search, may yet That slaves, howe'er contented, never know.

The mind attains beneath her happy reign,
Conjecture and remark, however shrewd. The growth, that Nature meant she should attain;
They take perhaps a well-directed aim,

The varied fields of science, ever new,
Who seek it in his climate and his frame. Opening and wider opening on her view,
Liberal in all things else, yet Nature here

She ventures onward with a prosperous force,
With stern severity deals out the year,

While no base fear impedes her in her course.
Winter invades the spring, and often pours

Religion, richest favour of the skies,
A chilling flood on summer's drooping flowers; Stands most revealed before the freeman's eyes;
Unwelcome vapcurs quench autumnal beams, No shades of superstition blot the day,

Liberty chases all that gloom away:
The peasants urge their harvest, ply the fork The soul emancipated, unopprest,
With double toil, and shiver at their work; Free to prove all things, and hold fast the best,
Thus with a rigour for his good designed,

Learns much; and to a thousand listening minds
She rears her favourite man of all mankind. Communicates with joy the good she finds:
His form robust and of elastic tone,

Courage in arms, and ever prompt to show
Proportioned well, half muscle and half bone, His manly fore head to the fiercest foe;
Supplies with warm activity and force

Glorious in war, but for the sake of peace,
A mind well lodged, and masculine of course. His spirits rising as his toils increase,
Hence Liberty, sweet Liberty inspires

Guards well what arts and industry have won,
And keeps alive his fierce but noble fires.

And Freedom claims him for her first-born son.
Patient of constitutional control,

Slaves fight for what were better cast away,
He bears it with meek manliness of soul;

The chains that binds them, and a tyrant's sway;
But if Authority grow wanton, wo

But they that fight for freedom, undertake
To him that treads upon his free-born toe;'

The noblest cause mankind can have at stake:
One step beyond the boundary of the laws Religion, virtue, truth, whate'er we call
Fires him at once in Freedom's glorious cause." A blessing-freedom is the pledge of all.
Thus proud Prerogative, not much revered, O Liberty! the prisoner's pleasing dream,
Is seldom felt

, though sometiines seen and heard; The poet's muse, his passion, and his theme;
And in his cage, like parrot fine and gay,

Genius is thine, and thou art Fancy's nurse;
Is kept to strat, look big, and talk away.

Lost without th' ennobling powers of verse;
Born in a climate softer far than ours,

Heroic song from thy free touch acquires
Not formed, like us, with such Herculean powers, its clearest tone, the rapture it inspires :
The Frenchman, easy, debonair, and brisk, Place me where Winter breathes his keenest air,
Give him his lass, his fiddle, and his frisk,

And I will sing, if Liberty be there;

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And I will sing at Liberty's dear feet,

He stood, as some inimitable hand
In Afric's torrid clime, or India's fiercest heat. Would strive to make a Paul or Tully stand.
A. Sing where you please; in such a cause I No sycophant or slave, that dared oppose

Her sacred cause, but trembled when he rose; grant An English poet's privilege to rant;

And every venal stickler for the yoke But is not Freedom--at least is not ours

Felt himself crushed at the first word he spoke. Too apt to play the wanton with her powers,

Such men are raised to station and command, Grow freakish, and, o'erleaping every mound,

When Providence means mercy to a land, Spread anarchy and terror all around?

He speaks, and they appear; to him they owe B. Agreed. But would you sell or slay your Skill to direct, and strength to strike the blow; horse

To manage with address, to seize with power
For bounding and curveting in his course? The crisis of a dark decisive hour;
Or if, when ridden with a careless rein,

So Gideon earned a victory not his own;
He break away, and seek the distant plain? Subserviency his praise, and that alone.
No. His high mettle, under good control,

Poor England! thou art a devoted deer, Gives him Olympic speed, and shoots him to the Beset with every ill but that of fear. goal.

The nations hunt; all mark thee for a prey; Let discipline employ her wholesome arts;

They swarm around thee, and thou stand'st at Let magistrates alert perform their parts;

bay, Not skulk or put on a prudential mask,

Undaunted still, though wearied and perplexed; As if their duty were a desperate task;

Once Chatham saved thee; but who saves thee next? Let active laws apply the needful curb,

Alas! the tide of pleasure sweeps along

All, that should be the boast of British song.
To guard the peace that Riot would disturb;
And Liberty, preserved from wild excess,

'Tis not the wreath, that once adorned thy brow, Shall raise no feuds for armies to suppress.

The prize of happier times, will

serve When Tumult lately burst his prison-door,

Our ancestry, a gallant, chieftain race, And set plebeian thousands in a roar;

Patterns of every virtue, every grace, When he usurped Authority's just place

Confessed a God; they kneeled before they fought, And dared to look his master in the face

And praised him in the victories he wrought. When the rude rabble's watch-word was-De-Now from the dust of ancient days bring forth

Their sober zeal, integrity, and worth; stroy, And blazing London seemed a second Troy;

Courage, ungraced by these, affronts the skies,

Is but the fire without the sacrifice.
Liberty blushed and hung her drooping head,
Beheld their progress with the deepest dread;

The stream, that feeds the wellspring of the heart Blushed, that effects like these she should pro

Not more invigorates life's noblest part, duce,

Than virtue quickens, with a warmth divine, Worse than the deeds of galley-slaves broke loose. The powers, that Sin has brought to a decline. She loses in such storms her very name,

A. Th' inestimable Estimate of Brown And fierce Licentiousness should bear the blame. Rose like a paper kite, and charmed the town;

But measures, planned and executed well, Incomparable gem! thy worth untold;

Shifted the wind that raised it, and it fell. Cheap though blood-bought, and thrown away He trod the very self-same ground you tread,

when sold; May no foes ravish thee, and no false friend

And victory refuted all he said.

B. And yet his judgment was not framed amiss; Betray thee, while professing to defend! Prize it, ye ministers; ye monarchs, spare;

Its error, if it erred, was merely this Ye Patriots, guard it with a miser's care.

He thought the dying hour already come,

And a complete recovery struck him dumb.
A. Patriots, alas! the few that have been found

But that effeminacy, folly, lust,
Where most they flourish, upon English ground, Enervate and enfeeble, and needs must;
The country's need have scantily supplied, And that a nation shamefully debased,
And the last left the scene, when Chatham died. Will be despised and trampled on at last,

B. Not so—the virtue still adorns our age, Unless sweet Penitence her powers renew;
Though the chief actor died upon the stage. Is truth, if history itself be true.
In him Demosthenes was heard again;

There is a time, and Justice marks the date, Liberty taught him her Athenian strain;

For long-forbearing Clemency to wait; She clothed him with authority and awe, That hour elapsed, the incurable revolt Spoke from his lips, and in his looks gave law. Is punished, and down comes the thunderbolt. His speech, his form, his action, full of grace, If Mercy then put by the threat’ning blow, And all his country beaming in his face, Must she perform the same kind office now?

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May she! and, if offended Heaven be still To the lascivious pipe and wanton song,
Accessible, and prayer prevail, she will. That charm down fear, they frolic it along,

'Tis not, however, insolence and noise, With mad rapidity and unconcern,
he me
The tempest of tumultuary joys,

Down to the gulf, from which is no return.
Nor is it yet despondence and dismay

They trust in navies, and their navies fail-
Will win her visits, or engage her stay; God's curse can cast away ten thousand sail !
Prayer only, and the penitential tear,

They trust in armies, and their courage dies; and. Can call her smiling down, and fix her here. In wisdom, wealth, in fortune, and in lies;

But all they trust in withers, as it must,
But when a country (one that I could name)

When He commands, in whom they place no trust.
In prostitution sinks the sense of shame:
When infamous Vénality, grown bold,

Vengeance at last pours down upon their coast

A long despised, but now victorious host;
Writes on his bosom, to be let or sold ;
When Perjury, that Heaven-defying vice,

Tyranny sends the chain that must abridge
Sells oaths by tale, and at the lowest price;

The noble sweep of all their privilege;

Gives liberty the last, the mortal shock;
Stamps God's own name upon a lie just made,
To turn a penny in the way of trade;

Slips the slave's collar on, and snaps the lock.
When Avarice starves (and never hides his face) Mean you tổ prophesy, or but to preach?

A. Such lofty strains embellish what you teach; Two or three millions of the human race,

B. I know the mind, that feels indeed the fire
And not a tongue inquires, how, where, or when, The muse imparts, and can command the lyre,
Though conscience will have twinges now and

Acts with a force, and kindles with a zeal,
When profanation of the sacred cause

Whate'er the theme, that others never feel.

If human woes her soft attention claim,
In all its parts, times, ministry, and laws,
Bespeaks a land, once Christian, fallen and lost,

A tender sympathy pervades the frame;
In all, that wars against the title most;

She pours a sensibility divine
What follows next let cities of great name,

Along the nerve of every feeling line.

But if a deed, not tamely to be borne,
her bietet And regions long since desolate proclaim.
Nineveh, Babylon, and ancient Rome,

Fire indignation and a sense of scorn,
Speak to the present time, and times to come;-

The strings are swept with a power, so loud,

The storm of music shakes the astonished crowd.
They cry aloud, in every careless ear,
Stop, while ye may; suspend your mad career;

So, when remote futurity is brought
O learn from our example and our fate,

Before the keen inquiry of her thought,
Learn wisdom and repentance, ere too late.

A terrible sagacity informs

The poet's heart; he looks to distant storms; Not only Vice disposes and prepares

He hears the thunder ere the tempest lowers; The mind, that slumbers sweetly in her snares,

And, armed with strength surpassing human To stoop to Tyranny's usurped command,

powers, And bend her polished neck beneath his hand,

Seizes events as yet unknown' to man, (A dire effect, by one of Nature's laws,

And darts his soul into the dawning plan. elle Unchangeably connected with its cause;)

Hence, in a Roman mouth, the graceful name
But Providence himself will intervene,

Of prophet and of poet was the same;
To throw his dark displeasure o'er the scene.

Hence British poets too the priesthood shared,
All are his instruments; each form of war,
What burns at home, or threatens from afar,

And every hallowed druid was a bard.
Nature in arms, her elements at strife,

But no prophetic fires to me belong;
The storms, that overset the joys of life,

I play with syllables, and sport in song.
Are but the rods to scourge a guilty land,

A. At Westminster, where little poets strive

To set a distich upon six and five,
And waste it at the bidding of his hand.
He gives his word, and Mutiny soon roars

Where discipline helps th' opening buds of sense,

And makes his pupils proud with silver pence,
In all her gates, and shakes her distant shores ;
The standards of all nations are unfurled ;

I was a poet too; but modern taste

Is so refined, and delicate, and chaste,
She has one foe, and that one foe the world:

That verse, whatever fire the fancy warms,
And, if he doom that people with a frown,

Without a creamy smoothness has no charms.
And mark them with a seal of wrath pressed down, Thus, all success depending on an ear,
Obduracy takes place; callous and tough,
The reprobated race grows judgment-proof:

And thinking I might purchase it too dear,
Eamh shakes beneath them, and enveri roars A ne truthne ut short to make a period round,

I judged a man of sense could scarce do worse,

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B. Thus reputation is a spur to wit, Like him unnoticed, I, and such as I,
And some wits flag through fear of losing it. Spread little wings, and rather skip than fly;
Give me the line that ploughs its stately course Perched on the meagre produce of the land,
Like a proud swan,conquering the stream by force, 'An ell or two of prospect we command;
That, like some cottage beauty, strikes the heart, Bụt never peep beyond the thorny bound
Quite unindebted to the tricks of art.

Or oaken fence, that hens the paddock round.
When Labour and when Dullness, club in hand, ' In Eden, ere yet innocence of heart
Like the two figures at St. Dunstan's stand, Had faded, poetry was not an art:
Beating alternately, in measured time,

Language, above all teaching, or, if taught,
The clock-work tintinabulum of rhyme, Only by gratitude and glowing thought,
Exact and regular the sounds will be;

Elegant as simplicity, and warm But such mere quarter-strokes are not for me. As ecstacy, unmanacled by forin; From him, who rears a poem lank and long,

Not prompted, as in our degenerate days, To him who strains his all into a song

By low ambition and the thirst of praise;
Perhaps some bonny Caledonian air,

Was natural as is the flowing stream,
All birks and braes, though he was never there; And yet magnificent. A God the theme !
Or, having whelped a prologue with great pains; That theme on earth exhausted, though above
Feels himself spent, and fumbles for his brains; 'Tis found as everlasting as his love.
A prologue interdashed with many a stroke-

Man lavished all his thoughts on human things-
An art contrived to advertise a joke,

The feats of heroes, and the wrath of kings; So that the jest is clearly to be seen,

But still, while Virtue kindled his delight, Not in the words—but in the gap between: The song was moral, and so far was right. Manner is all in all, whate'er is writ,

'Twas thus, till Luxury seduced the mind The substitute for genius, sense, and wit.

To joys less innocent, as less refined; To dally much with subjects mean and low

Then genius danced a bacchanal; he crowned Proves that the mind is weak, or makes it so.

The brimming goblet, seized the thyrsus,

bound Neglected talents rust into decay,

His brows with ivy, rushed into the field And every effort ends in pushpin play.

Of wild imagination, and there reeled,

The victim of his own lascivious fires,
The man, that means success, should soar above
A soldier's feather, or a lady's glove;

And dizzy with delight, profaned the sacred wires. Else, summoning the muse to such a theme,

Anacreon, Horace played in Greece and Rome The fruit of all her labour is whipped cream.

This bedlam part; and others nearer home. As if an eagle flew aloft, and then

When Cromwell fought for power, and while he Stooped from its highest pitch to pounce a wren.

reigned As if the poet, purposing to wed,

The proud protector of the power he gained, Should carve himself a wife in gingerbread.

Religion, harsh, intolerant, austere,

Parent of manners like herself severe,
Ages elapsed cre Homer's lamp appeared,
And ages ere the Mantuan swan was heard.

Drew a rough copy of the Christian face,

Without the smile, the sweetness, or the grace;
To carry nature lengths imknown before,
To give a Milton birth, asked ages more.

The dark and sullen humour of the time
Thus Genius rose and set at ordered times,

Judged every effort of the muse a crime; And shot a dayspring into distant climes,

Verse, in the finest mould of fancy cast, Ennobling every region that he chose;

Was lumber in an age so void of taste: He sunk in Greece, in Italy he rose :

But when the Second Charles assumed the sway, And tedious years of Gothic darkness past,

And arts revived beneath a softer day; Emerged, all splendour, in our isle at last.

Then, like a bow long forced into a curve, Thus lovely halcyons dive into the main,

The mind, released from too constrained a nerve, Then show far off their shining plumes again.

Flew to its first position with a spring, A. Is genius only found in epic lays ?

That made the vaulted roofs of pleasure ring. Prove this, and forfeit all pretence to praise.

His court, the dissolute and hateful school Make their heroic powers your own at once,

Of Wantonness, where vice was taught by rule, Or candidly confess yourself a dunce.

Swarmed with a scribbling herd, as deep inlaid

With brutal lust as ever Circe made.
B. These were the chief: cach interval of night From these a long succession, in the rage
Was graced with many an undulating light.
In less illustrious bards his beauty shone

Of rank obscenity, debauched their age;

Nor ceased, till, ever anxious to redress A meteor, or a star; in these the sun.

The abuses of her sacred charge, the press, The nightingale may claim the topmost hough, The muse instructed a well-nurtured train While the poor grasshopper must chirp below. Of abler votaries to cleanse the stain,

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