Poetical Works by Charles Churchill Part 13

In her own full and perfect blaze of light, Virtue breaks forth too strong for human sight; The dazzled eye, that nice but weaker sense, Shuts herself up in darkness for defence: 110 But to make strong conviction deeper sink, To make the callous feel, the thoughtless think, Like G.o.d, made man, she lays her glory by, And beams mild comfort on the ravish'd eye: In earnest most, when most she seems in jest, She worms into, and winds around, the breast, To conquer Vice, of Vice appears the friend, And seems unlike herself to gain her end.

The sons of Sin, to while away the time Which lingers on their hands, of each black crime 120 To hush the painful memory, and keep The tyrant Conscience in delusive sleep, Read on at random, nor suspect the dart Until they find it rooted in their heart.

'Gainst vice they give their vote, nor know at first That, cursing that, themselves too they have cursed; They see not, till they fall into the snares, Deluded into virtue unawares.

Thus the shrewd doctor, in the spleen-struck mind, When pregnant horror sits, and broods o'er wind, 130 Discarding drugs, and striving how to please, Lures on insensibly, by slow degrees, The patient to those manly sports which bind The slacken'd sinews, and relieve the mind; The patient feels a change as wrought by stealth, And wonders on demand to find it health.

Some few, whom Fate ordain'd to deal in rhymes In other lands, and here, in other times, Whom, waiting at their birth, the midwife Muse Sprinkled all over with Castalian dews, 140 To whom true Genius gave his magic pen, Whom Art by just degrees led up to men; Some few, extremes well shunn'd, have steer'd between These dangerous rocks, and held the golden mean; Sense in their works maintains her proper state, But never sleeps, or labours with her weight; Grace makes the whole look elegant and gay, But never dares from Sense to run astray: So nice the master's touch, so great his care, The colours boldly glow, not idly glare; 150 Mutually giving and receiving aid, They set each other off, like light and shade, And, as by stealth, with so much softness blend, 'Tis hard to say where they begin or end: Both give us charms, and neither gives offence; Sense perfects Grace, and Grace enlivens Sense.

Peace to the men who these high honours claim, Health to their souls, and to their memories fame!

Be it my task, and no mean task, to teach A reverence for that worth I cannot reach: 160 Let me at distance, with a steady eye, Observe and mark their pa.s.sage to the sky; From envy free, applaud such rising worth, And praise their heaven, though pinion'd down to earth!

Had I the power, I could not have the time, Whilst spirits flow, and life is in her prime, Without a sin 'gainst Pleasure, to design A plan, to methodise each thought, each line Highly to finish, and make every grace, In itself charming, take new charms from place. 170 Nothing of books, and little known of men, When the mad fit comes on, I seize the pen, Rough as they run, the rapid thoughts set down.

Rough as they run, discharge them on the town.

Hence rude, unfinish'd brats, before their time, Are born into this idle world of Rhyme, And the poor slattern Muse is brought to bed 'With all her imperfections on her head.'

Some, as no life appears, no pulses play Through the dull dubious ma.s.s, no breath makes way, 180 Doubt, greatly doubt, till for a gla.s.s they call, Whether the child can be baptized at all; Others, on other grounds, objections frame, And, granting that the child may have a name, Doubt, as the s.e.x might well a midwife pose, Whether they should baptize it Verse or Prose.

E'en what my masters please; bards, mild, meek men, In love to critics, stumble now and then.

Something I do myself, and something too, If they can do it, leave for them to do. 190 In the small compa.s.s of my careless page Critics may find employment for an age: Without my blunders, they were all undone; I twenty feed, where Mason can feed one.

When Satire stoops, unmindful of her state, To praise the man I love, curse him I hate; When Sense, in tides of pa.s.sion borne along, Sinking to prose, degrades the name of song, The censor smiles, and, whilst my credit bleeds, With as high relish on the carrion feeds 200 As the proud earl fed at a turtle feast, Who, turn'd by gluttony to worse than beast, Ate till his bowels gush'd upon the floor, Yet still ate on, and dying call'd for more.

When loose Digression, like a colt unbroke, Spurning Connexion and her formal yoke, Bounds through the forest, wanders far astray From the known path, and loves to lose her way, 'Tis a full feast to all the mongrel pack To run the rambler down, and bring her back. 210 When gay Description, Fancy's fairy child, Wild without art, and yet with pleasure wild, Waking with Nature at the morning hour To the lark's call, walks o'er the opening flower Which largely drank all night of heaven's fresh dew, And, like a mountain nymph of Dian's crew, So lightly walks, she not one mark imprints, Nor brushes off the dews, nor soils the tints; When thus Description sports, even at the time That drums should beat, and cannons roar in rhyme, 220 Critics can live on such a fault as that From one month to the other, and grow fat.

Ye mighty Monthly Judges! in a dearth Of letter'd blockheads, conscious of the worth Of my materials, which against your will Oft you've confess'd, and shall confess it still; Materials rich, though rude, inflamed with thought, Though more by Fancy than by Judgment wrought Take, use them as your own, a work begin Which suits your genius well, and weave them in, 230 Framed for the critic loom, with critic art, Till, thread on thread depending, part on part, Colour with colour mingling, light with shade, To your dull taste a formal work is made, And, having wrought them into one grand piece, Swear it surpa.s.ses Rome, and rivals Greece.

Nor think this much, for at one single word, Soon as the mighty critic fiat's heard, Science attends their call; their power is own'd; Order takes place, and Genius is dethroned: 240 Letters dance into books, defiance hurl'd At means, as atoms danced into a world.

Me higher business calls, a greater plan, Worthy man's whole employ, the good of man, The good of man committed to my charge: If idle Fancy rambles forth at large, Careless of such a trust, these harmless lays May Friends.h.i.+p envy, and may Folly praise.

The crown of Gotham may some Scot a.s.sume, And vagrant Stuarts reign in Churchill's room! 250 O my poor People! O thou wretched Earth!

To whose dear love, though not engaged by birth, My heart is fix'd, my service deeply sworn, How, (by thy father can that thought be borne?-- For monarchs, would they all but think like me, Are only fathers in the best degree) How must thy glories fade, in every land Thy name be laugh'd to scorn, thy mighty hand Be shorten'd, and thy zeal, by foes confess'd, Bless'd in thyself, to make thy neighbours bless'd, 260 Be robb'd of vigour; how must Freedom's pile, The boast of ages, which adorns the isle And makes it great and glorious, fear'd abroad, Happy at home, secure from force and fraud; How must that pile, by ancient Wisdom raised On a firm rock, by friends admired and praised, Envied by foes, and wonder'd at by all, In one short moment into ruins fall, Should any slip of Stuart's tyrant race, Or b.a.s.t.a.r.d or legitimate, disgrace 270 Thy royal seat of empire! But what care, What sorrow must be mine, what deep despair And self-reproaches, should that hated line Admittance gain through any fault of mine!

Cursed be the cause whence Gotham's evils spring, Though that cursed cause be found in Gotham's king.

Let War, with all his needy ruffian band, In pomp of horror stalk through Gotham's land Knee-deep in blood; let all her stately towers Sink in the dust; that court which now is ours 280 Become a den, where beasts may, if they can, A lodging find, nor fear rebuke from man; Where yellow harvests rise, be brambles found; Where vines now creep, let thistles curse the ground; Dry in her thousand valleys be the rills; Barren the cattle on her thousand hills; Where Power is placed, let tigers prowl for prey; Where Justice lodges, let wild a.s.ses bray; Let cormorants in churches make their nest, And on the sails of Commerce bitterns rest; 290 Be all, though princes in the earth before, Her merchants bankrupts, and her marts no more; Much rather would I, might the will of Fate Give me to choose, see Gotham's ruin'd state By ills on ills thus to the earth weigh'd down, Than live to see a Stuart wear a crown.

Let Heaven in vengeance arm all Nature's host, Those servants who their Maker know, who boast Obedience as their glory, and fulfil, Unquestion'd, their great Master's sacred will; 300 Let raging winds root up the boiling deep, And, with Destruction big, o'er Gotham sweep; Let rains rush down, till Faith, with doubtful eye, Looks for the sign of mercy in the sky; Let Pestilence in all her horrors rise; Where'er I turn, let Famine blast my eyes; Let the earth yawn, and, ere they've time to think, In the deep gulf let all my subjects sink Before my eyes, whilst on the verge I reel; Feeling, but as a monarch ought to feel, 310 Not for myself, but them, I'll kiss the rod, And, having own'd the justice of my G.o.d, Myself with firmness to the ruin give, And die with those for whom I wish to live.

This, (but may Heaven's more merciful decrees Ne'er tempt his servant with such ills as these!) This, or my soul deceives me, I could bear; But that the Stuart race my crown should wear, That crown, where, highly cherish'd, Freedom shone Bright as the glories of the midday sun; 320 Born and bred slaves, that they, with proud misrule, Should make brave freeborn men, like boys at school, To the whip crouch and tremble--Oh, that thought!

The labouring brain is e'en to madness brought By the dread vision; at the mere surmise The thronging spirits, as in tumult, rise; My heart, as for a pa.s.sage, loudly beats, And, turn me where I will, distraction meets.

O my brave fellows! great in arts and arms, The wonder of the earth, whom glory warms 330 To high achievements; can your spirits bend, Through base control (ye never can descend So low by choice) to wear a tyrant's chain, Or let, in Freedom's seat, a Stuart reign?

If Fame, who hath for ages, far and wide, Spread in all realms the cowardice, the pride, The tyranny and falsehood of those lords, Contents you not, search England's fair records; England, where first the breath of life I drew, Where, next to Gotham, my best love is due; 340 There once they ruled, though crush'd by William's hand, They rule no more, to curse that happy land.

The first,[160] who, from his native soil removed, Held England's sceptre, a tame tyrant proved: Virtue he lack'd, cursed with those thoughts which spring In souls of vulgar stamp, to be a king; Spirit he had not, though he laugh'd at laws.

To play the bold-faced tyrant with applause; On practices most mean he raised his pride, And Craft oft gave what Wisdom oft denied. 350 Ne'er could he feel how truly man is blest In blessing those around him; in his breast, Crowded with follies, Honour found no room; Mark'd for a coward in his mother's womb, He was too proud without affronts to live, Too timorous to punish or forgive.

To gain a crown which had, in course of time, By fair descent, been his without a crime, He bore a mother's exile; to secure A greater crown, he basely could endure 360 The spilling of her blood by foreign knife, Nor dared revenge her death who gave him life: Nay, by fond Pear, and fond Ambition led, Struck hands with those by whom her blood was shed.[161]

Call'd up to power, scarce warm on England's throne, He fill'd her court with beggars from his own: Turn where you would, the eye with Scots was caught, Or English knaves, who would be Scotsmen thought.

To vain expense unbounded loose he gave, The dupe of minions, and of slaves the slave; 370 On false pretences mighty sums he raised, And d.a.m.n'd those senates rich, whom poor he praised; From empire thrown, and doom'd to beg her bread, On foreign bounty whilst a daughter fed, He lavish'd sums, for her received, on men Whose names would fix dishonour on my pen.

Lies were his playthings, parliaments his sport; Book-worms and catamites engross'd the court: Vain of the scholar, like all Scotsmen since, The pedant scholar, he forgot the prince; 380 And having with some trifles stored his brain, Ne'er learn'd, nor wish'd to learn, the art to reign.

Enough he knew, to make him vain and proud, Mock'd by the wise, the wonder of the crowd; False friend, false son, false father,[162] and false king, False wit, false statesman, and false everything, When he should act, he idly chose to prate, And pamphlets wrote, when he should save the state.

Religious, if religion holds in whim; To talk with all, he let all talk with him; 390 Not on G.o.d's honour, but his own intent, Not for religion's sake, but argument; More vain if some sly, artful High-Dutch slave, Or, from the Jesuit school, some precious knave Conviction feign'd, than if, to peace restored By his full soldiers.h.i.+p, worlds hail'd him lord.

Power was his wish, unbounded as his will, The power, without control, of doing ill; But what he wish'd, what he made bishops preach, And statesmen warrant, hung within his reach 400 He dared not seize; Fear gave, to gall his pride, That freedom to the realm his will denied.

Of treaties fond, o'erweening of his parts, In every treaty of his own mean arts He fell the dupe; peace was his coward care, E'en at a time when Justice call'd for war: His pen he'd draw to prove his lack of wit, But rather than unsheath the sword, submit.

Truth fairly must record; and, pleased to live In league with Mercy, Justice may forgive 410 Kingdoms betray'd, and worlds resign'd to Spain, But never can forgive a Raleigh slain.

At length, (with white let Freedom mark that year) Not fear'd by those whom most he wish'd to fear, Not loved by those whom most he wish'd to love, He went to answer for his faults above; To answer to that G.o.d, from whom alone He claim'd to hold, and to abuse the throne; Leaving behind, a curse to all his line, The b.l.o.o.d.y legacy of Right Divine.[163] 420 With many virtues which a radiance fling Round private men; with few which grace a king, And speak the monarch; at that time of life When Pa.s.sion holds with Reason doubtful strife, Succeeded Charles, by a mean sire undone, Who envied virtue even in a son.

His youth was froward, turbulent, and wild; He took the Man up ere he left the Child; His soul was eager for imperial sway, Ere he had learn'd the lesson to obey. 430 Surrounded by a fawning, flattering throng, Judgment each day grew weak, and humour strong; Wisdom was treated as a noisome weed, And all his follies left to run to seed.

What ills from such beginnings needs must spring!

What ills to such a land from such a king!

What could she hope! what had she not to fear!

Base Buckingham[164] possess'd his youthful ear; Strafford and Laud, when mounted on the throne, Engross'd his love, and made him all their own; 440 Strafford and Laud, who boldly dared avow The traitorous doctrine taught by Tories now; Each strove to undo him in his turn and hour, The first with pleasure, and the last with power.

Thinking (vain thought, disgraceful to the throne!) That all mankind were made for kings alone; That subjects were but slaves; and what was whim, Or worse, in common men, was law in him; Drunk with Prerogative, which Fate decreed To guard good kings, and tyrants to mislead; 450 Which in a fair proportion to deny Allegiance dares not; which to hold too high, No good can wish, no coward king can dare, And, held too high, no English subject bear; Besieged by men of deep and subtle arts, Men void of principle, and d.a.m.n'd with parts, Who saw his weakness, made their king their tool, Then most a slave, when most he seem'd to rule; Taking all public steps for private ends, Deceived by favourites, whom he called friends, 460 He had not strength enough of soul to find That monarchs, meant as blessings to mankind, Sink their great state, and stamp their fame undone, When what was meant for all, they give to one.

Listening uxorious whilst a woman's prate[165]

Modell'd the church, and parcell'd out the state, Whilst (in the state not more than women read) High-churchmen preach'd, and turn'd his pious head; Tutor'd to see with ministerial eyes; Forbid to hear a loyal nation's cries; 470 Made to believe (what can't a favourite do?) He heard a nation, hearing one or two; Taught by state-quacks himself secure to think, And out of danger e'en on danger's brink; Whilst power was daily crumbling from his hand, Whilst murmurs ran through an insulted land, As if to sanction tyrants Heaven was bound, He proudly sought the ruin which he found.

Twelve years, twelve tedious and inglorious years,[166]

Did England, crush'd by power, and awed by fears, 480 Whilst proud Oppression struck at Freedom's root, Lament her senates lost, her Hampden mute.

Illegal taxes and oppressive loans, In spite of all her pride, call'd forth her groans; Patience was heard her griefs aloud to tell, And Loyalty was tempted to rebel.

Each day new acts of outrage shook the state, New courts were raised to give new doctrines weight; State inquisitions kept the realm in awe, And cursed Star-Chambers made or ruled the law; 490 Juries were pack'd, and judges were unsound; Through the whole kingdom not one Pratt was found.

From the first moments of his giddy youth He hated senates, for they told him truth.

At length, against his will compell'd to treat, Those whom he could not fright, he strove to cheat; With base dissembling every grievance heard, And, often giving, often broke his word.

Oh, where shall hapless Truth for refuge fly, If kings, who should protect her, dare to lie? 500 Those who, the general good their real aim, Sought in their country's good their monarch's fame; Those who were anxious for his safety; those Who were induced by duty to oppose, Their truth suspected, and their worth unknown, He held as foes and traitors to his throne; Nor found his fatal error till the hour Of saving him was gone and past; till power Had s.h.i.+fted hands, to blast his hapless reign, Making their faith and his repentance vain. 510 Hence (be that curse confined to Gotham's foes!) War, dread to mention, Civil War arose; All acts of outrage, and all acts of shame, Stalk'd forth at large, disguised with Honour's name; Rebellion, raising high her b.l.o.o.d.y hand, Spread universal havoc through the land; With zeal for party, and with pa.s.sion drunk, In public rage all private love was sunk; Friend against friend, brother 'gainst brother stood, And the son's weapon drank the father's blood; 520 Nature, aghast, and fearful lest her reign Should last no longer, bled in every vein.

Unhappy Stuart! harshly though that name Grates on my ear, I should have died with shame To see my king before his subjects stand, And at their bar hold up his royal hand; At their commands to hear the monarch plead, By their decrees to see that monarch bleed.

What though thy faults were many and were great?

What though they shook the basis of the state? 530 In royalty secure thy person stood, And sacred was the fountain of thy blood.

Vile ministers, who dared abuse their trust, Who dared seduce a king to be unjust, Vengeance, with Justice leagued, with Power made strong, Had n.o.bly crush'd--'The king could do no wrong.'

Yet grieve not, Charles! nor thy hard fortunes blame; They took thy life, but they secured thy fame.

Their greatest crimes made thine like specks appear, From which the sun in glory is not clear. 540 Hadst thou in peace and years resign'd thy breath At Nature's call; hadst thou laid down in death As in a sleep, thy name, by Justice borne On the four winds, had been in pieces torn.

Pity, the virtue of a generous soul, Sometimes the vice, hath made thy memory whole.

Misfortunes gave what Virtue could not give, And bade, the tyrant slain, the martyr live.

Ye Princes of the earth! ye mighty few!

Who, worlds subduing, can't yourselves subdue; 550 Who, goodness scorn'd, wish only to be great; Whose breath is blasting, and whose voice is fate; Who own no law, no reason, but your will, And scorn restraint, though 'tis from doing ill; Who of all pa.s.sions groan beneath the worst, Then only bless'd when they make others cursed; Think not, for wrongs like these, unscourged to live; Long may ye sin, and long may Heaven forgive; But when ye least expect, in sorrow's day, Vengeance shall fall more heavy for delay; 560 Nor think that vengeance heap'd on you alone Shall (poor amends!) for injured worlds atone; No, like some base distemper, which remains, Transmitted from the tainted father's veins, In the son's blood, such broad and general crimes Shall call down vengeance e'en to latest times, Call vengeance down on all who bear your name, And make their portion bitterness and shame.

From land to land for years compell'd to roam, Whilst Usurpation lorded it at home, 570 Of majesty unmindful, forced to fly, Not daring, like a king, to reign or die, Recall'd to repossess his lawful throne, More at his people's seeking than his own, Another Charles succeeded. In the school Of Travel he had learn'd to play the fool; And, like pert pupils with dull tutors sent To shame their country on the Continent, From love of England by long absence wean'd, From every court he every folly glean'd, 580 And was--so close do evil habits cling-- Till crown'd, a beggar; and when crown'd, no king.

Those grand and general powers, which Heaven design'd, An instance of his mercy to mankind, Were lost, in storms of dissipation hurl'd, Nor would he give one hour to bless a world; Lighter than levity which strides the blast, And, of the present fond, forgets the past, He changed and changed, but, every hope to curse, Changed only from one folly to a worse: 590 State he resign'd to those whom state could please; Careless of majesty, his wish was ease; Pleasure, and pleasure only, was his aim; Kings of less wit might hunt the bubble Fame; Dignity through his reign was made a sport, Nor dared Decorum show her face at court; Morality was held a standing jest, And Faith a necessary fraud at best.

Courtiers, their monarch ever in their view, Possess'd great talents, and abused them too; 600 Whate'er was light, impertinent, and vain, Whate'er was loose, indecent, and profane, (So ripe was Folly, Folly to acquit) Stood all absolved in that poor bauble, Wit.

In grat.i.tude, alas! but little read, He let his father's servants beg their bread-- His father's faithful servants, and his own, To place the foes of both around his throne.

Bad counsels he embraced through indolence, Through love of ease, and not through want of sense; 610 He saw them wrong, but rather let them go As right, than take the pains to make them so.

Women ruled all, and ministers of state Were for commands at toilets forced to wait: Women, who have, as monarchs, graced the land, But never govern'd well at second-hand.

To make all other errors slight appear, In memory fix'd, stand Dunkirk[167] and Tangier;[168]

In memory fix'd so deep, that Time in vain Shall strive to wipe those records from the brain, 620 Amboyna[169] stands--G.o.ds! that a king could hold In such high estimate vile paltry gold, And of his duty be so careless found, That when the blood of subjects from the ground For vengeance call'd, he should reject their cry, And, bribed from honour, lay his thunders by, Give Holland peace, whilst English victims groan'd, And butcher'd subjects wander'd unatoned!

Oh, dear, deep injury to England's fame, To them, to us, to all! to him deep shame! 630 Of all the pa.s.sions which from frailty spring, Avarice is that which least becomes a king.

To crown the whole, scorning the public good, Which through his reign he little understood, Or little heeded, with too narrow aim He rea.s.sumed a bigot brother's claim, And having made time-serving senates bow, Suddenly died--that brother best knew how.

No matter how--he slept amongst the dead, And James his brother reigned in his stead: 640 But such a reign--so glaring an offence In every step 'gainst freedom, law, and sense, 'Gainst all the rights of Nature's general plan, 'Gainst all which const.i.tutes an Englishman, That the relation would mere fiction seem, The mock creation of a poet's dream; And the poor bards would, in this sceptic age, Appear as false as _their_ historian's page.

Ambitious Folly seized the seat of Wit, Christians were forced by bigots to submit; 650 Pride without sense, without religion Zeal, Made daring inroads on the Commonweal; Stern Persecution raised her iron rod, And call'd the pride of kings, the power of G.o.d; Conscience and Fame were sacrificed to Rome, And England wept at Freedom's sacred tomb.

Her laws despised, her const.i.tution wrench'd From its due natural frame, her rights retrench'd Beyond a coward's sufferance, conscience forced, And healing Justice from the Crown divorced, 660 Each moment pregnant with vile acts of power, Her patriot Bishops sentenced to the Tower, Her Oxford (who yet loves the Stuart name) Branded with arbitrary marks of shame, She wept--but wept not long: to arms she flew, At Honour's call the avenging sword she drew, Turn'd all her terrors on the tyrant's head, And sent him in despair to beg his bread; Whilst she, (may every State in such distress Dare with such zeal, and meet with such success!) 670 Whilst she, (may Gotham, should my abject mind Choose to enslave rather than free mankind, Pursue her steps, tear the proud tyrant down, Nor let me wear if I abuse the crown!) Whilst she, (through every age, in every land, Written in gold, let Revolution stand!) Whilst she, secured in liberty and law, Found what she sought, a saviour in Na.s.sau.

Book III

Can the fond mother from herself depart?[170]

Can she forget the darling of her heart, The little darling whom she bore and bred, Nursed on her knees, and at her bosom fed; To whom she seem'd her every thought to give, And in whose life alone she seem'd to live?

Yes, from herself the mother may depart, She may forget the darling of her heart, The little darling whom she bore and bred, Nursed on her knees, and at her bosom fed, 10 To whom she seem'd her every thought to give, And in whose life alone she seem'd to live; But I cannot forget, whilst life remains, And pours her current through these swelling veins, Whilst Memory offers up at Reason's shrine; But I cannot forget that Gotham's mine.

Can the stern mother, than the brutes more wild, From her disnatured breast tear her young child, Flesh of her flesh, and of her bone the bone, And dash the smiling babe against a stone? 20 Yes, the stern mother, than the brutes more wild, From her disnatured breast may tear her child, Flesh of her flesh, and of her bone the bone, And dash the smiling babe against a stone; But I, (forbid it, Heaven!) but I can ne'er The love of Gotham from this bosom tear; Can ne'er so far true royalty pervert From its fair course, to do my people hurt.

With how much ease, with how much confidence-- As if, superior to each grosser sense, 30 Reason had only, in full power array'd, To manifest her will, and be obey'd-- Men make resolves, and pa.s.s into decrees The motions of the mind! with how much ease, In such resolves, doth pa.s.sion make a flaw, And bring to nothing what was raised to law!

In empire young, scarce warm on Gotham's throne, The dangers and the sweets of power unknown, Pleased, though I scarce know why, like some young child, Whose little senses each new toy turns wild, 40 How do I hold sweet dalliance with my crown, And wanton with dominion, how lay down, Without the sanction of a precedent, Rules of most large and absolute extent; Rules, which from sense of public virtue spring, And all at once commence a Patriot King!

But, for the day of trial is at hand, And the whole fortunes of a mighty land Are staked on me, and all their weal or woe Must from my good or evil conduct flow, 50 Will I, or can I, on a fair review, As I a.s.sume that name, deserve it too?

Have I well weigh'd the great, the n.o.ble part I'm now to play? have I explored my heart, That labyrinth of fraud, that deep dark cell, Where, unsuspected e'en by me, may dwell Ten thousand follies? have I found out there What I am fit to do, and what to bear?

Have I traced every pa.s.sion to its rise, Nor spared one lurking seed of treacherous vice? 60 Have I familiar with my nature grown?

And am I fairly to myself made known?

A Patriot King!--why, 'tis a name which bears The more immediate stamp of Heaven; which wears The nearest, best resemblance we can show Of G.o.d above, through all his works below.

To still the voice of Discord in the land; To make weak Faction's discontented band, Detected, weak, and crumbling to decay, With hunger pinch'd, on their own vitals prey; 70 Like brethren, in the self-same interests warm'd, Like different bodies, with one soul inform'd; To make a nation, n.o.bly raised above All meaner thought, grow up in common love; To give the laws due vigour, and to hold That secret balance, temperate, yet bold, With such an equal hand, that those who fear May yet approve, and own my justice clear; To be a common father, to secure The weak from violence, from pride the poor; 80 Vice and her sons to banish in disgrace, To make Corruption dread to show her face; To bid afflicted Virtue take new state, And be at last acquainted with the great; Of all religions to elect the best, Nor let her priests be made a standing jest; Rewards for worth with liberal hand to carve, To love the arts, nor let the artists starve; To make fair Plenty through the realm increase, Give fame in war, and happiness in peace; 90 To see my people virtuous, great, and free, And know that all those blessings flow from me; Oh! 'tis a joy too exquisite, a thought Which flatters Nature more than flattery ought; 'Tis a great, glorious task, for man too hard; But no less great, less glorious the reward, The best reward which here to man is given, 'Tis more than earth, and little short of heaven; A task (if such comparison may be) The same in Nature, differing in degree, 100 Like that which G.o.d, on whom for aid I call, Performs with ease, and yet performs to all.

How much do they mistake, how little know Of kings, of kingdoms, and the pains which flow From royalty, who fancy that a crown, Because it glistens, must be lined with down!

With outside show, and vain appearance caught, They look no further, and, by Folly taught, Prize high the toys of thrones, but never find One of the many cares which lurk behind. 110 The gem they wors.h.i.+p which a crown adorns, Nor once suspect that crown is lined with thorns.

Oh, might Reflection Folly's place supply, Would we one moment use her piercing eye, Then should we find what woe from grandeur springs, And learn to pity, not to envy kings!

The villager, born humbly and bred hard, Content his wealth, and Poverty his guard, In action simply just, in conscience clear, By guilt untainted, undisturb'd by fear, 120 His means but scanty, and his wants but few, Labour his business, and his pleasure too, Enjoys more comforts in a single hour Than ages give the wretch condemn'd to power.

Call'd up by health, he rises with the day, And goes to work, as if he went to play, Whistling off toils, one half of which might make The stoutest Atlas of a palace quake; 'Gainst heat and cold, which make us cowards faint, Harden'd by constant use, without complaint 130 He bears what we should think it death to bear; Short are his meals, and homely is his fare; His thirst he slakes at some pure neighbouring brook, Nor asks for sauce where appet.i.te stands cook.

When the dews fall, and when the sun retires Behind the mountains, when the village fires, Which, waken'd all at once, speak supper nigh, At distance catch, and fix his longing eye, Homeward he hies, and with his manly brood Of raw-boned cubs enjoys that clean, coa.r.s.e food, 140 Which, season'd with good-humour, his fond bride 'Gainst his return is happy to provide; Then, free from care, and free from thought, he creeps Into his straw, and till the morning sleeps.