Si te fortè meæ gravis uret farcina chartæ,
Abjicito.
HOR. Lib. I. Epift. 13.
A. You told me, I remember, glory, built
On felfish principles, is fhame and guilt;
The deeds that men admire as half divine,
Stark naught, because corrupt in their defign.
Strange doctrine this! that without fcruple tears
The laurel that the very lightning spares;
Brings down the warrior's trophy to the duft,
And eats into his bloody fword 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 fide.
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 heaven bestows.
And, when recording history displays
Feats of renown, though wrought in ancient days,
Tells of a few ftout hearts that fought and died
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 base 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 poft-horns of all Europe, lays her wafte.
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 monster that has plagu'd the nations yet :
The globe and fceptre in fuch hands mifplac'd,
Thofe enfigns of dominion, how difgrac'd!
The glass that bids man mark the fleeting hour,
And death's own fcythe, would better speak his
pow'r;
Then grace the bony phantom in their stead
With the king's fhoulder-knot and gay cockade;
Clothe the twin brethren in each other's dress,
The fame their occupation and fuccefs.
A. '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 feem to think, man made for them. B. Seldom, alas! the pow'r of logic reigus With much fufficiency in royal brains;
Such reas'ning falls like an inverted cone,
Wanting it's proper base to stand upon.
Man made for kings! thofe optics are but dim
That tell you fo-say, 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 store,
Juft what the toy will fell for, and no more.
Oh! bright occafions of difpenfing good,
How feldom us'd, how little understood!
To pour in virtue's lap her just reward,
Keep vice restrain'd behind a double guard;
To quell the faction that affronts the throne
By filent magnanimity alone;
To nurse with tender care the thriving arts,
Watch ev'ry beam philosophy imparts;
To give religion her unbridled 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 fword with confcientious awe,
Nor draw it but when duty bids him draw;
To fheath it in the peace-reftoring close
With joy beyond what victory bestows;
Bleft country, where thefe kingly glories fhine;
Bleft England, if this happiness be thine!
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