State he refign'd to those whom state could please,
Careless of majesty, his wish was ease;
Pleasure, and pleasure only was his aim;
Kings of lefs wit might hunt the bubble fame;
Dignity, thre his reign, was made a sport,
Nor dar'd Decorum fhew her face at Court;
Morality was held a standing jeft,
And Faith a neceffary fraud at best;
Courtiers, their monarch ever in their view,
Poffefs'd great talents, and abus'd them too :
Whate'er was light, impertinent, and vain,
Whate'er was loofe, indecent, and profane,
(So ripe was Folly, Folly to acquit)
Stood all abfolv'd in that poor bauble, Wit.
In gratitude, alas! but little read,
He let his father's fervants beg their bread,
His father's faithful fervants, and his own,
To place the foes of both around his throne.

Bad counfels he embrac'd thro' indolence,
Thro' love of ease, and not thro' want of fense;
He faw them wrong, but rather let them go
As right, than take the pains to make them fo.
Women rul'd all, and Minifters of State
Were for commands at toilettes forc'd to wait;
Women, who have, as monarchs grac'd the land,
But never govern'd well at fecond-hand.

To make all other errors flight appear,
In mem'ry fix'd ftand Dunkirk and Tangier ;
In mem'ry fix'd fo deep, that time in vain
Shall ftrive to wipe thofe records from the brain,
Amboyna ftands-Gods, that a King fhould hold
In fuch high eftimate vile paltry gold,
And of his duty be fo carelefs found,
That, when the blood of fubjects from the ground
For vengeance call'd, he fhould reject their cry,
And, brib'd from honour, lay his thunders by,
Give Holland peace, whilft English victims groan'd,
And butcher'd fubjects wander'd unaton'd!
O, dear, deep injury to England's fame,
To them, to us, to all! to him deep fhame!
Of all the paffions which from frailty spring,
Av'rice is that which leaft becomes a King.

To crown the whole, fcorning the public good,
Which thro' his reign he little understood,
Or little heeded, with too narrow aim
He reaffum'd a bigot brother's claim;
And, having made time-ferving Senates bow,
Suddenly died, that brother best knew how.

No matter how-he flept amongst the dead,
And James his brother reigned in his stead.
But fuch a reign-fo glaring an offence

In ev'ry ftep 'gainst Freedom, Law, and Senfe,
'Gainft all the rights of Nature's gen'ral plan,
'Gainft all which conftitutes an Englishman,
That the relation would mere fiction feem,
The mock creation of a poet's dream,
And the poor bard's would, in this sceptic age,
Appear as falfe as their hiftorian's page.

Ambitious Folly feiz'd the feat of Wit,
Chriftians were forc'd by bigots to fubmit;
Pride without fenfe, without religion zeal,
Made daring inroads on the common-weal;
Stern Perfecution rais'd her iron rod,

And call'd the pride of Kings, the power of God;
Confcience and Fame were facrific'd to Rome,
And England wept at Freedom's facred tomb.

Her laws defpis'd, her conftitution wrench'd
From its due nat'ral frame, her rights retrench'd

Beyond a coward's fuff'rance, confcience forc'd,
And healing juftice from the Crown divorc'd,
Each moment pregnant with vile acts of pow'r,
Her patriot Bithops fentenc'd to the Tow'r,
Her Oxford (who yet loves the Stuart name)
Branded with arbitrary marks of fhame,
She wept-but wept not long; to arms the flew,
At Honour's call th' avenging fword she drew,
Turn'd all her terrors on the tyrant's head,
And fent him in defpair to beg his bread;
Whilft the (may ev'ry State in fuch distress
Dare with tuch zeal, and meet with fuch fuccefs)
Whilft the (may Gotham, fhould my abject mind
Chufe to enflave rather than free mankind.
Purfue her steps, tear the proud tyrant down,
Nor let me wear if I abufe the crown)
Whilft the thro' ev'ry age, in ev'ry land,
Written in gold let Revolution ftand)
Whilft fhe, fecur'd in Liberty and Larv,
Found what the fought, a faviour in Naffau.

CAN

AN the fond mother from herfelf depart,
Can fhe forget the darling of her heart,
The little darling whom the bore and bred,
Nurs'd on her knees, and at her bofom fed?
To whom the feem'd her ev'ry thought to give,
And in whofe life alone fhe feem'd to live?
Yes, from herself the mother may depart,
She may forget the darling of her heart,
The little darling whom the bore and bred,
Nurs'd on her knees, and at her bofom fed,
To whom the feem'd her ev'ry thought to give,
And in whofe life alone fhe feem'd to live;
But I cannot forget, whilft Life remains,
And pours her current thro' these fwelling veins,
Whilft Mem'ry offers up at Reafon's fhrine,
But I cannot forget that Gotham's mine.

Can the ftern mother, than the brutes more wild,
From her difnatur'd breaft tear her young child;
Flesh or her flesh, and of her bone the bone,
And dash the fmiling babe against a stone?
Yes, the ftern mother, than the brutes more wild,
From her difnatur'd breaft may tear her child;
Flesh of her flesh, and of her bone the bone,
And dash the fmiling babe against a stone ;
But I, (forbid it Heav'n) but I can ne'er
The love of Gotham from this bofom tear;
Can ne'er fo far true Royalty pervert
From its fair courfe, to do my people hurt.

With how much cafe, with how much confidence, As if, fuperior to each grofler fenfe, Reafon had only, in full pow'r array'd, To manifeft her will, and be obey'd, Men make refolves, and pafs into decrees The motions of the mind! With how much ease In fuch refolves doth Paffion make a flaw, And bring to nothing what was rais'd to law!

In empire young, fcarce warm on Gotham's throne, The dangers and the fweets of pow'r unknown, Pleas'd, tho' I fcarce know why, like fome young child, Whofe little fenfes each new toy turns wild, How do I hold fweet dalliance with my crown, And wanton with dominion! how lay down,

Without the fanction of a precedent,
Rules of moft large and abfolute extent;
Rules, which from fenfe 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 ftak'd on me, and all their weal or woe
Muft from my good or evil conduct flow,
Will I, or can 1, on a fair review,
As I affume that name, deferve it too?
Have I well weigh'd the great, the noble part
I'm now to play? Have I explor'd my heart,
That labyrinth of fraud, that deep dark cell,
Where, unfufpected e'en by me, may dwell
Ten thoufand follies? Have I found out there
What I am fit to do, and what to bear?
Have I trac'd ev'ry paffion to its rife,
Nor fpar'd one lurking feed of treach'rous vice?
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 ftamp of Heav'n ; which wears
The nearest, beft refemblance we can shew
Of God above thro' all his works below.

To till the voice of difcord in the land,
To make weak Faction's difcontented band,
Detected, weak, and crumbling to decay,
With hunger pinch'd, on their own vitals prey;
Like brethren in the felf-fame int'refts warm'd,
Like diff'rent bodies with one foul inform'd,
To make a nation, nobly rais'd above
All meaner thought, grow up in common love;
To give the laws due vigour, and to hold
That facred balance, temperate, yet bold,
With fuch an equal hand, that those who fear
May yet approve, and own my juftice clear;
To be a common father, to fecure
The weak from violence, from pride the poor;
Vice and her fons to banish in difgrace,
To make Corruption dread to fhew her face;
To bid afflicted Virtue take new state,
And be at laft acquainted with the great;
Of all religions to elect the best,

Nor let her priests be made a standing jeft;
Rewards for worth with lib'ral hand to carve,
To love the arts, nor let the artists starve;
To make fair plenty through the realin increase,
Give fame in war, and happiness in peace;
To fee my people virtuous, great and free,
And know that all those bleffings flow from me ;
O'tis a joy too exquifite, a thought
Which flatters Nature more than flatt'ry ought;
Tis a great, glorious task, for man too hard,

But not lefs great, lefs glorious the reward,
The best reward which here to man is giv'n,
'Tis more than earth, and little short of heav'n;
A talk (if fuch comparison may be)
The fame in nature, diff'ring in degree,
Like that which God, on whom for aid I call,
Performs with eafe, 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 gliftens, must be lin'd with down!
With outfide fhow and vain appearance caught,
They look no farther, and, by Folly taught,
Prize high the toys of thrones, but never find
One of the many cares which lurk behind.

The

gem they worship, which a crown adorns, Nor once fufpect that crown is lin'd with thorns, O might Reflection Folly's place fupply,

Would we one moment ufe her piercing eye, Then fhould we know what woe f grandeur fprings,

And learn to pity, not to envy kings.

The villager, born humbly and bred hard, Content his wealth, and Poverty his guard, In action fimply juft, in confcience clear, By guilt untainted, undisturb'd by fear, His means but feanty, and his wants but few, Labour his bufinefs and his pleafure too, Enjoys more comforts in a fingle hour, Than ages give the wretch condemn'd to pow'r. Call'd up by health he rifes with the day, And goes to work as if he went to play, Whistling off toils, one half of which might make The floutest Atlas of a palace quake;

Gainft heat and cold, which make us cowards faint,

Harden'd by conftant use, without complaint
He bears what we fhould think it death to bear;
Short are his meals, and homely is his fare;
His thirit he flakes at fome pure neighb'ring brook,
Nor afks for fauce where appetite stands cook.
When the dews fall, and when the fun retires
Behind the mountains, when the village fires,
Which, waken'd all at once, speak fupper nigh,
At diftance catch and fix his longing eye,
Homeward he hies, and with his manly brood
Of raw-bon'd cubs enjoys that clean, coarfe food,
Which, feafon'd with good-humour, his fond bride
'Gainft his return is happy to provide ;

Then, free from care, and free from thought, he

creeps

Into his ftraw, and 'till the morning fleeps.

Not fo the King-With anxious cares opprefs'd, His bofom labours, and admits not reft.

A glorious wretch, he fweats beneath the weight
Of Majefty, and gives up ease for state.
E'en when his fmiles, which, by the fools of pride,
Are treafur'd and preferv'd from fide to fide,
Fly round the court, e'en when compell'd by form,
He feems most calm, his foul is in a storm!
Care, like a spectre, feen by him alone,
With all the neft of vipers, round his throne
By day crawls full in view; when Night bids Sleep
Sweet nurfe of Nature o'er the fenfes creep,
When Mifery herself no more complains,
And flaves, if poffible, forget their chains,
Tho' his fenfe weakens, tho' his eyes grow dim,
That reft which comes to all, comes not to him.
E'en at that hour, Care, tyrant Care, forbids
The dew of fleep to fall upon his lids;
From night to night the watches at his bed;
Now, as one mop'd, fits brooding o'er his head;
Anon fhe ftarts, and, borne on raven's wings,
Croaks forth aloud-" Sleep was not made fur
Kings."

Thrice hath the Moon, who governs this vaft ball,
Who rules moft abfolute o'er me, and all;
To whom by full conviction taught to bow,
At new, at full, I pay the duteous vow;
Thrice hath the Moon her wonted courfe purfu'd,
Thrice hath the loft her form, and thrice renew'd,
Since (bleffed be that feafon, for before

I was a mere, mere mortal, and no more,

One of the herd, a lump of common clay,
Inform'd with life to die and pafs away)
Since I became a King, and Gotham's throne,
With full and ample pow'r became my own;
Thrice hat the Moon her wonted courfe purfu'd,
Thrice hath the loft her form, and thrice
new'd,

Since Sleep, kind Sleep, who like a friend fupplies
New vigour for new toil, hath clos'd these eyes.
Nor, if my toils are anfwer'd with fuccefs,
And I am made an inftrument to blefs
The people whom I love, fhall I repine;
Theirs be the benefit, the labour mine.

re

Mindful of that high rank in which I stand,
Of millions Lord, fole ruler in the land,
Let me, and Reason fhall her aid afford,
Rule my own fpirit, of myfelf be lord.
With an ill grace that Monarch wears his crown,
Who, ftern and hard of nature, wears a frown
'Gainst faults in other men, yet all the while
Meets his own vices with a partial smile.
How can a King (yet on record we find
Such Kings have been, fuch curfes of mankind)
Enforce that law 'gainft fome poor fubject elf,
Which Confcience tells him he hath broke himself?
Can he fome petty rogue to justice call
For robbing one, when he himself robs all?
Muft not, unless extinguifh'd, Confcience fly
Into his cheek, and blaft his fading eye,

To fcourge th' oppreffor, when the State, distress'd
And funk to ruin, is by him opprefs'd?
Against himself doth he not fentence give?
If one must die, t'other's not fit to live.

Weak is that throne, and in itself unfound,
Which takes not folid virtue for its ground;
All envy pow'r in others, and complain
. Of that which they would perish to obtain.
Nor can thofe fpirits, turbulent and bold,
Not to be aw'd by threats, nor bought with gold,
Be hufh'd to peace, but when fair legal fway
Makes it their real int'reft to obey;

When Kings, and none but fools can then rebel,
Not lefs in virtue than in pow'r excel.

Be that my object, that my conftant care,
And may my foul's best wishes center there.
Be it my task to feek, nor feek in vain,
Not only how to live, but how to reign;
And, to thofe virtues which from Reason spring,
And grace the man, join those which grace the King.
First (for ftrict duty bids my care extend
And reach to all, who on that care depend,
Bids me with fervants keep a fteady hand,
And watch o'er all my proxies in the land)
Firft (and that method Reafon fhall support)
Before I look into, and purge my Court,
Before I cleanfe the table of the State,
Let me fix things which to myself relate.
That done, and all accounts well fettled here,
In refolution firm, in honour clear,
Tremble, ye flaves, who dare abuse your trust,
Who dare be villains, when your King is juft.
Are there, amongst thofe officers of State
To whom our facred pow'r we delegate,
Who hold our place and office in the realm,
Who, in our name commiffion'd, guide the helm ;
Are there, who, trufting to our love of eafe,
Opprefs our fubjects, wrest our juft decrees,

And make the laws, warp'd from their fair intent,
To fpeak a language which they never meant ;
Are there fuch men, and can the fools depend
On holding out in fafety to their end?
Can they fo much, from thoughts of danger free.
Deceive themselves, fo much misdeem of me,
To think that I will prove a Statesman's tool,
And live a stranger where I ought to rule?
What, to myself, and to my State unjust,
Shall I from Minifters take things on truft,
And, finking low the credit of my throne,
Depend upon dependants of my own?
Shall I, moft certain fource of future cares,
Not ufe my judgment, but depend on their's?
Shall I, true puppet-like, be mock'd with state,
Have nothing but the name of being great;
Attend at councils which I must not weigh;
Do what they bid : and what they dictate say;
Enrob'd, and hoisted up into my chair,
Only to be a royal cypher there?

Perish the thought-'tis treafon to my throne-
And who but thinks it, could his thoughts be known,
Infults me more, than he, who leagu'd with Hell,
Shall rife in arms, and 'gainst my crown rebel.

The wicked Statesman, whofe falfe heart pursues
A train of guilt; who acts with double views,
And wears a double face; whofe base designs
Strike at his monarch's throne; who undermines
E'en whilst he seems his wishes to fupport;
Who feizes all departments, packs a court,
Maintains an agent on the judgment-feat

To fcreen his crimes, and make his frauds compleat ;

New-models armies, and around the throne
Will fuffer none but creatures of his own;
Confcious of fuch his bafeness well may try,
Against the light to fhut his master's eye,
To keep him coop'd, and far remov'd from thofe,
Who, brave and honeft, dare his crimes difclofe,
Nor ever let him in one place appear,

Where Truth, unwelcome Truth, may wound his

ear.

Attempts like thefe, well weigh'd, themselves proclaim,

And, whilft they publish, baulk their author's aim.
Kings must be blind, into fuch fnares to run;
Or worse, with open eyes must be undone.
The Minister of honesty and worth
Demands the day to bring his actions forth;
Calls on the fun to shine with fiercer rays,
And braves that trial which must end in praife.
None fly the day, and feek the fhades of night,
But thofe whofe actions cannot bear the light;
None with their King in ignorance to hold,
But those who feel that knowledge muft unfold
Their hidden guilt, and that dark mift difpell'd
By which their places and their lives are held;
Confufion wait them, and by Juftice led,
In vengeance fall on ev'ry traitor's head.

Aware of this, and caution'd 'gainst the pit
Where Kings have oft been loft, fhall I fubmit,
And ruft in chains like thefe? Shall I give way,
And whilst my helpless fubjects fall a prey
To pow'r abus'd, in ignorance fit down,
Nor dare affert the honour of my crown?
When itern rebellion (if that odious name
Juftly belongs to thofe, whofe only aim