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Yet let me yield my Rachael honour due,
The tendereit wife, the nobleft heroine too!
Anxious to save her husband's honeft name,
Dear was his life, but dearer still his fame!
When suppliant prayers no pardon could obtain,
And, wond'rous strange! e'en Bedford's gold prov'd vain;
The informer's part her generous foul abhorr'd,
Tho' life preserv'd had been the sure reward ;
Let impious Escrick act such treacherous scenes,
And Ihrink from death by such opprobrious means.
O my lov'd Rachael ! all-accomplish'd fair !
Source of my joy, and foother of my care !
Whose heavenly virtues, and unfading charms,
Have bless'd thro' happy years my peaceful arms !
Parting with thee into my cup was thrown;
It's harshest dregs else had not forc’d a groan !
But all is o'er-these eyes have gaz'd their lafi
And now the bitterness of death is paft.
Burnet and Tillotson, with pious care,
My fleeting soul for heavenly bliss prepare ;
Wide to my view the glorious realms display,
Pregnant with joy, and bright with endless day.
Charm’d, as of old when Israel's prophet sang,
Whose words distill'd like manna from his tongue,
While the great.bard sublimest truths explorid,
Each ravilh'd hearer wonder'd and ador'd ;
So rapt, fo charm'd, my foul begins to rise,
Spurns the base earth, and seems to reach the skies!
But when, descending from the facred theme,
Of boundless power, and excellence supreme,
They would, for man, and his precarious throne,
Exact obedience, due to Heaven alone,
Forbid refiftance to his worst commands,
And place God's thunderbolts in mortal hands;
The vifion finks to life's contracted span,
And rising passion speaks me still a man.
What ! shall a tyrant trample on the laws,
And stop the source whence all his power he draws !
His country's rights to foreign foes betray, boty
Lavish her wealth, yet stipulate for pay!
To shameful falfhoods veral flavés suborn,
And dare to laugh the virtuous man to scorn!
Deride religion, justice, honour, fame,
And hardly know of honefty the name!
In luxury's lap lie screen'd from cares and pains,
And only toil to forge his fubjects chains !
And shall he hope the publick voice to drown,
The voice which gave, and can resume his crown!
When Conscience bares her horrors, and the dread
Of sudden vengeance, bursting o'er his head,
Wrings his black soul ; when injur'd nations groan,
And cries of millions shake his tottering throne ;
Shall flattering churchmen soothe his guilty ears,
With tortur'd texts, to calm his growing fears ;
power above th' etherial climes,
And call down Heaven to sanctify his crimes !
O impious doctrine Servile priests away!
Your prince you poison, and your God betray.
Hapless the monarch, who, in evil hout,
Drinks from your cup the draught of lawless power!
The magick potion boils within his veins,
And locks each sense in adamantine chains;
Reason revolts, insatiate thirst ensues,
The wild delirium each fresh draught renews ;
In vain his people urge him to refrain,
His faithful servants fupplicate in vain ;
He quaffs at length, impatient of controul, --
The bitter drege that lurk within the bowl.
Zeal your pretence, but wealth and power your aimne,
You e'en could make a Solomon of James.
Behold the pedant, thron’d in aukward state,
Absorb'd in pride, ridiculously great ;
His courtiers seem to tremble at his nod,
His prelates call his voice, the voice of God;
Weakness and vanity with them combine,
And James helieves his majesty divine.
Presumptuous wretch! Almighty Power to scan,
him less than man!
By your delusions to the scaffold led,
Martyr'd by you, a royal Charles has bled.
Teach, then, yè fycophants ! O teach his son,
The gloomy paths of tyranny to fun!
Teach him to prize religion's sacred claim,
Teach him how virtue leads to honest fame;
How freedom's wreathe a monarch's brows adorns,
Nor, basely fawning, plant his couch with thorns.
Point to his view his people's love alone,
The solid basis of his stedfaft throne ;
Chosen by them their deareft rights to guard,
The bad to punish, and the good reward,
Clement and just let him the sceptre fway,
And willing subjects shall with pride obey,
Shall vie to execute his high commands,
His throne their hearts, his sword and Thield their hands,
Happy the prince ! thrice firmly fix'd his crown!
Who builds on publick good his chatte renown;
Studious to bless, who knows no second aim,
His people's interest, and his own, the fame;
The ease of millions refts upon his cares,
And thus Heav'n's high prerogative he shares.
Wide from the throne the bless'd contagion spreads,
O’er all the land it's gladdening influence sheds ;
Faction's discordant sounds are heard no more,
And foul Corruption Aies th' indignant shore,
His minifters with joy their courses run,
And borrow luftre from the royal fun.
But, should come upitart, train’d in Slavery's school, Learn'd in the maxims of despotick rule,
Full fraught with forms, and grave pedantick pride,
(Mysterious cloak, the minds defects to hide !)
Sordid in small things, prodigal in great,
Saving for minions, squandering for the state-
Should such a miscreant, born for England's bane,
Obfcure the glories of a prosperous reign ;
Gain, by the semblance of each praiseful art,
A pious prince's unsuspecting heart;
Envious of worth, and talents not his own,
Chase all experienc'd merit from the throne ;
To guide the helm a motley crew compose,
Servile to him, the king's and country's foes ;
Meanly descend each paultry place to fill,
With tools of power, and panders to his will ;
Brandishing high the fcorpion scourge o'er all,
Except such flaves as bow the knee to Baal-
Should Albion's fate decree the baneful hour,
Short be the date of his detefted power !
Soon may his sovereign break his iron rods,
And hear his people for their voice is God's !
Cease then your wiles, ye fawning courtiers, cease!
Suffer your rulers to repose in peace :
By reason led, give proper names to things,
God made them men, the people made them kings ;
To all their acts but legal powers belong,
Thus England's monarch never can do wrong;
of right divine let foolish Filmer dream,
The publick welfare is the law fupreme.
Lives there a wretch, whose base degen'rate soul
Can crouch beneath a tyrant's ftern controul ?
Cringe to his nod, ignobly kiss the hand
In galling chains that binds his native land ?
Purchas'd by gold, or aw'd by flavish fear,
Abandon all his ancestors held dear?
Tamely behold that fruit of glorious toil,
England's Great Charter, made a ruffian's spoil ;
Hear, unconcern'd, his injur'd country groan,
Nor stretch an arm to hurl him from the throne ?
Let such to Freedom forfeit all their claims,
And Charles's minions be the flaves of James !
But soft awhile-Now, Cavendish, attend
The warm effufions of thy dying friend ;
Fearless who dares his inmoft thoughts reveal,
When thus to Heaven he makes his last appeal.
• All-gracious God, whose goodness knows no bounds ! • Whose power the ample universe surrounds! • In whose great balance, infinitely just, • Kings are but men, and men are only duft ; • At thy tribunal, low thy suppliant falls, • And here condemn'd, on thee for mercy calls !
- Thou hear'it not, Lord, an hypocrite complain! And sure with thee hypocrisy were vain; • To thy all-piercing eye the heart lies bare, • Thou know'st my fins, and, knowing, still canf spare !
Though partial power it's ministers may awe, • And murder here by specious forms of law; • The axe, which executes the harsh decree, • But wounds the Aefh, to set the spirit free ! :: • Well may the man a tyrant's frown despise, • Who, spurning earth, to heaven for refuge flies; • And on thy mercys when his foes prevail, < Builds his firm truft that rock can never fail !
· Hear then, Jehovah! hear thy fervant's prayer ! • Be England's welfare thy peculiar care ! • Defend her laws, her worship, chaste and pure, • And guard her rights while heaven and earth endure ! • O let not ever fell tyrannick fway · His blood-stain'd standard on her fhores display! • Nor fiery zeal usurp thy holy name, • Blinded with blood, and wrapt in rolls of fame! • In vain let Slavery fhake her threat'ning chain, • And Persecution wave her torch iu vain !