For monarchs, would they all but think like me,
Are only fathers in the best degree)
How must thy glories fade, in ev'ry 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,
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 rais'd
On a firm rock, by friends admir'd and prais'd,
Envy'd by foes, and wonder'd at by all,
In one short moment into ruins fall,
Should any slip of Stuart's tyrant race,
Or bastard or legitimate, disgrace
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!
Curs'd be the cause whence Gotham's evils spring,
Though that curs'd cause be found in Gotham's
king.

Let War, with all his needy, ruffian band,
In pomp of horrour stalk through Gotham's land
Knee-deep in blood; let all her stately tow'rs
Sink in the dust; that court which now is our's
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 vallies be the rills;
Barren the cattle on her thousand hills;
Where Pow'r is plac'd, let tigers prowl for prey;
Where Justice lodges, let wild asses bray;
Let cormorants in churches make their nest,
And on the sails of commerce bitterns rest;
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 Heav'n 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;
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 horrours 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,
Not for myself, but them, I'll kiss the rod,
And, having own'd the justice of my God,
Myself with firmness to the ruin give,

And die with those for whom I wish'd 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 mid-day Sun;

Born and bred slaves, that they, with proud misrule, Should make brave, free-born men, like boys at

school,

To the whip crouch and tremble-O, that thought
The lab'ring 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 passage, 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 warins
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,
There once they rul'd, though crush'd by William's
hand,

They rul'd no more, to curse that happy land.

The first, who, from his native soil remov'd,
Held England's sceptre, a tame tyrant prov'd:
Virtue he lack'd, curs'd with those thoughts which
In souls of vulgar stamp to be a king; [spring
Spirit he had not, though he laugh'd at laws,
To play the bold-fac'd tyrant with applause;
On practices most mean he rais'd his pride,
And Craft oft gave, what Wisdom oft denied.

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 timourous 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
The spilling of her blood by foreign knife,
Nor dar'd revenge her death who gave him life;
Nay, by fond fear and fond ambition led, [shed.
Struck hands with those by whom her blood was
Call'd up to pow'r, 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;
On false pretences mighty sums he rais'd, [prais'd:
And damn'd those senates rich, whom, poor, he
From empire thrown, and doom'd to beg her bread,
On foreign bounty whilst a daughter 5 fed,
He lavish'd sums, for her receiv'd, 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,
And having with some trifles stor'd his brain,
Ne'er learn'd, or wish'd to learn the arts 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, and false king,
False wit, false statesman, and false ev'ry thing,

5 The queen of Bohemia, grandmother of George the First.

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,
Not on God'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 restor❜d
By his fall soldiership, worlds hail'd him lord.
Pow'r was his wish, unbounded as his will,
The pow'r, without control, of doing ill.

But what he wish'd, what he made bishops preach,
And statesmen warrant, hung within his reach
He dar'd 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 ev'ry treaty of his own mean arts He fell the dupe: peace was his coward care, Een 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, pleas'd to live In league with Mercy, Justice may forgive 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 lov'd by those, whom most he wish'd to love, He went to answer for his faults above; To answer to that God, from whom alone He claim'd to hold, and to abuse the throne; Leaving behind, a curse to all his line, The bloody legacy of right divine.

With many virtues which a radiance fling Round private men; with few which grace a king, And speak the monarch; at the time of life When Passion 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. 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 let 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 possess'd his youthful ear; Strafford and Laud, when mounted on the throne, Engross'd his love, and made him all their own; Strafford and Laud, who boldly dar'd avow The trait'rous doctrines taught by Tories now: Each strove t' undo him, in his turn and hour, The first with pleasure, and the last with pow'r. 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; 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; Besieg'd by men of deep and subtle arts, Men void of principle, and damn'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,
Deceiv'd by favourites, whom he called friends,
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;
List'ning uxorious, whilst a woman's prate
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;
Made to believe (what can't a fav'rite 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 pow'r was daily crumbling from his hand,
Whilst murmurs ran through an insulted land,
As if to sanction tyrants Heav'n was bound,
He proudly sought the ruin which he found.

Twelve years, twelve tedious and inglorious years, Did England, crush'd by pow'r and aw'd by fears, 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 rais'd to give new doctrines weight; State-inquisitions kept the realm in awe,

And curs'd star-chambers made, or rul'd the law; 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 ev'ry grievance heard, And, often giving, often broke his word. O where shall helpless Truth for refuge fly, If kings, who should protect her, dare to lie?

Those who, the gen'ral good their real aim, Sought in their country's good their monarch's fame; Those who were anxious for his safety; those Who were induc'd by duty to oppose; Their truth suspected, and their worth unknown, He held as foes, and traitors to his throne; Nor found his fatal errour till the hour Of saving him was gone and past; till pow'r Had shifted hands, to blast his hapless reign, Making their faith and his repentance vain.

Hence (be that curse confin'd 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, disguis'd with Honour's name; Rebellion, raising high her bloody hand, Spread universal havoc through the land; With zeal for party, and with passion 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; Nature, aghast, and fearful lest her reign Should last no longer, bled in ev'ry 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 bases of the state,
In royalty secure thy person stood,
And sacred was the fountain of thy blood.
Vile ministers, who dar'd abuse their trust,
Who dar'd seduce a king to be unjust, [strong,
Vengeance, with Justice leagu'd, with Pow'r made
Had nobly crush'd: the king could do no wrong.
Yet grieve not, Charles, nor thy hard fortunes
blame;

They took thy life, but they secur'd thy fame.
Their greater crimes made thine like specks appear,
From which the Sun in glory is not clear.
Had'st thou in peace and years resign'd thy breath
At Nature's call; had'st 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 gen'rous soul,
Sometimes the vice, hath made thy mem'ry 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;
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 passions groan beneath the worst,
Then only bless'd when they make others curst;
Think not for wrongs like these unscourg'd to live;
Long may ye sin, and long may Heav'n forgive :
But when ye least expect, in sorrow's day,
Vengeance shall fall more heavy for delay;
Nor think that vengeance heap'd on you alone
Shall (poor amends) for injur'd worlds atone:
No; like some base distemper, which remains,
Transmitted from the tainted father's veins,
In the son's blood, such broad and gen'ral 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,
Of majesty unmindful, forc'd 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 ev'ry court he ev'ry folly glean'd,
And was, so close do evil habits cling,

Till crown'd, a beggar; and when crown'd, no king. Those grand and gen'ral pow'rs which Heav'n 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 chang'd and chang'd, but, ev'ry hope to curse,
Chang'd only from one folly to a worse;
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 dar'd 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 abus'd them too:
Whate'er was light, impertinent, and vain,
Whate'er was loose, indecent, and profane,
(So ripe was Folly, Folly to acquit)
Stood all absolv'd in that poor bauble, Wit.
In gratitude, 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 embrac'd through indolence,
Through love of ease, and not through want of sense;
He saw them wrong, but rather let them go
As right, than take the pains to make them so.
Women rul'd all, and ministers 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 second-hand.

To make all other errours slight appear, In mem'ry fix'd, stand Dunkirk and Tangier ; In mem❜ry fix'd so deep, that Time in vain Shall strive to wipe those records from the brain, Amboyna stands-Gods! that a king should 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, brib'd from honour, lay his thunders by, Give Holland peace, whilst English victims groan'd, And butcher'd subjects wander'd unaton'd! O, dear, deep injury to England's fame, To them, to us, to all! to him, deep shame! Of all the passions which from frailty spring, Av'rice 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 reassum'd 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.
But such a reign-so glaring an offence
In ev'ry step 'gainst freedom, law, and sense,
'Gainst all the rights of Nature's general plan,
'Gainst all which constitutes 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 seiz'd the seat of Wit,
Christians were forc'd by bigots to submit ;
Pride without sense, without religion Zeal,
Made daring inroads on the common-weal;
Stern Persecution rais'd her iron rod,
And call'd the pride of kings, the power of God;
Conscience and Fame were sacrific'd to Rome,
And England wept at Freedom's sacred tomb.

Her laws despis'd, her constitution wrench'd
From its due natʼral frame, her rights retrench'd
Beyond a coward's suff'rance, conscience forc'd,
And healing justice from the crown divore'd,
Each moment pregnant with vile acts of pow'r,
Her patriot bishops sentenc'd to the Tow'r,
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 th' avenging sword she drew,
Turn'd all her terrours on the tyrant's head,
And sent him in despair to beg his bread;
Whilst she (may ev'ry state in such distress
Dare with such zeal, and meet with such success)
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 ev'ry age, in ev'ry land,
Written in gold let Revolution stand)
Whilst she, secur'd in liberty and law,
Found what she sought, a saviour in Nassau.

BOOK III.

CAN the fond mother from herself depart,
Can she forget the darling of her heart,
The little darling whom she bore and bred,
Nurs'd on her knees, and at her bosom fed?
To whom she seem'd her ev'ry 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,
Nurs'd on her knees, and at her bosom fed,
To whom she seem'd her ev'ry 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 Mem'ry 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 disnatur'd breast tear her young child;
Flesh of her flesh, and of ber bone the bone,
And dash the smiling babe against a stone?
Yes, the stern mother, than the brutes more wild,
From her disnatur'd 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 Heav'n!) 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,
Reason had only, in full pow'r array'd,
To manifest her will, and be obey'd,
Men make resolves, and pass into decrees

The motions of the mind! With how much ease
In such resolves doth passion make a flaw,`
And bring to nothing what was rais'd to law!

In empire young, scarce warm on Gotham's throne, The dangers and the sweets of pow'r unknown, Pleas'd, though I scarce know why, like some young child,

Whose little senses each new toy turns wild,
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 stak'd on me, and all their weal or woe
Must from my good or evil conduct flow,

Will I, or can I, on a fair review,

As I assume that name, deserve it too?
Haye 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, 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 trac'd ev'ry passion to its rise,
Nor spar'd one lurking seed 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 stamp of Heav'n; which wears
The nearest, best resemblance we can show
Of God 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; Like brethren in the self-same int'rests warm'd, Like diff'rent bodies with one soul 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 sacred 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; 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 lib'ral 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; To see my people virtuous, great and free, And know that all those blessings flow from me; O'tis a joy too exquisite, a thought Which flatters Nature more than flatt'ry ought; 'Tis a great, glorious task, for man too hard, But not less great, less glorious the reward, The best reward which here to man is giv'n, Tis more than Earth, and little short of Heav'n; A task (if such comparison may be) The same in Nature, diff'ring in degree, Like that which God, 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 lin'd 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.
The gem they worship, which a crown adorns,
Nor once suspect that crown is lin'd with thorns.
O might Reflection Folly's place supply,
Would we one moment use her piercing eye,
Then should we know what woe from grandeur
And learn to pity, not to envy kings. [springs,

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,

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 pow'r.
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
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 neighb'ring brook,
Nor asks for sauce where appetite 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-bon'd cubs enjoys that clean, coarse food,
Which, season'd with good-humour, his fond bride
'Gainst his return is happy to provide; [creeps
Then, free from care, and free from thought, he
Into his straw, and till the morning sleeps.

Not so the king-With anxious cares oppress'd,
His bosom labours, and admits not rest.
A glorious wretch, he sweats beneath the weight
Of majesty, and gives up ease for state.
E'en when his smiles, which, by the fools of pride,
Are treasur'd and preserv'd from side to side,
Fly round the court, e'en when compell'd by form,
He seems most calm, his soul is in a storm!
Care, like a spectre, seen by him alone,
With all her nest of vipers, round his throne
By day crawls full in view; when Night bids Sleep,
Sweet nurse of Nature, o'er the senses creep,
When Misery herself no more complains,
And slaves, if possible, forget their chains,
Though his sense weakens, though his eyes grow dim,
That rest which comes to all, comes not to him.
E'en at that hour, Care, tyrant Care, forbids
The dew of sleep to fall upon his lids;
From night to night she watches at his bed;
Now, as one mop'd, sits brooding o'er his head;
Anon she starts, and, borne on raven's wings,
Croaks forth aloud-"Sleep was not made for kings."
Thrice hath the Moon, who governs this vast ball,
Who rules most absolute 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 course pursu'd,
Thrice hath she lost her form, and thrice renew'd,
Since (blessed be that season, 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 pass away)
Since I became a king, and Gotham's throne,
With full and ample pow'r, became my own;
Thrice hath the Moon her wonted course pursu'd,
Thrice hath she lost her form, and thrice renew'd,
Since Sleep, kind Sleep, who like a friend supplies
New vigour for new toil, hath clos'd these eyes.
Nor, if my toils are answer'd with success,
And I am made an instrument to bless
The people whom I love, shall I repine;
Theirs be the benefit, the labour mine.

Mindful of that high rank in which I stand,
Of millions lord, sole ruler in the land,
Let me, and Reason shall her aid afford,
Rule my own spirit, of myself be lord.

With an ill grace that monarch wears his crown,
Who, stern 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, such curses of mankind)
Enforce that law 'gainst some poor subject elf,
Which Conscience tells him he hath broke himself?
Can he some petty rogue to justice call
For robbing one, when he himself robs all?
Must not, unless extinguish'd, Conscience fly
Into his cheek, and blast his fading eye,
To scourge th' oppressor, when the state, distress'd
And sunk to ruin, is by him oppress'd?
Against himself doth he not sentence give?
If one must die, t' other's not fit to live.

Weak is that throne, and in itself unsound,
Which takes not solid virtue for its ground;
All envy pow'r in others, and complain
Of that which they would perish to obtain.
Nor can those spirits, turbulent and bold,
Not to be aw'd by threats, nor bought with gold,
Be hush'd to peace, but when fair legal sway
Makes it their real int'rest to obey;
When kings, and none but fools can then rebel,
Not less in virtue than in pow'r excel.

Be that my object, that my constant care, And may my soul's best wishes centre there. Be it my task to seek, nor seek in vain, Not only how to live, but how to reign; And, to those virtues which from Reason spring, And grace the man, join those which grace the king. First (for strict duty bids my care extend And reach to all, who on that care depend, Bids me with servants keep a steady hand, And watch o'er all my proxies in the land) First (and that method Reason shall support) Before I look into, and purge my court, Before I cleanse the stable of the state, Let me fix things which to myself relate. That done, and all accounts well settled here, In resolution firm, in honour clear, Tremble, ye slaves, who dare abuse your trust, Who dare be villains, when your king is just.

Are there, amongst those officers of state To whom our sacred pow'r we delegate, Who hold our place and office in the realm, Who, in our name commission'd, guide the helm; Are there, who, trusting to our love of case, Oppress our subjects, wrest our just decrees, And make the laws, warp'd from their fair intent, To speak a language which they never meant ; Are there such men, and can the fools depend On holding out in safety to their end? Can they so much, from thoughts of danger free, Deceive themselves, so 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 ministers take things on trust, And, sinking low the credit of my throne, Depend upon dependants of my own? Shall I, most certain source of future cares, Not use my judgment, but depend on theirs? 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 cipher there?