His thorns with ftreamers of continual praife?
We too are friends to loyalty. We love
The king who loves the law; refpects his bounds,
And reigns content within them; him we serve
Freely and with delight, who leaves us free ;
But recollecting ftill that he is man,
We truft him not too far, King though he be,
And king in England too, he may be weak,
And vain enough to be ambitious ftill;
May exercise amiss his proper pow'rs,
Or covet more than freemen chufe to grant :
Beyond that mark is treafon. He is ours,
T'administer, to guard, t' adorn the state,
But not to warp or change it. We are his,
To serve him nobly in the common cause,
True to the death, but not to be his flaves.
Mark now the diff'rence, ye that boast your
Of kings, between your loyalty and ours.
We love the man; the paltry pageant you.
We the chief patron of the commonwealth ;
You the regardless author of its woes.
We, for the fake of liberty, a king;
You chains and bondage, for a tyrant's fake.
Our love is principle, and has its root
In reason, is judicious, manly, free;
Yours, a blind inftinct, crouches to the rod,
And licks the foot that treads it in the duft.
Were kingship as true treasure as it seems,
Sterling, and worthy of a wife man's wish,
I would not be a king to be belov'd
Causeless, and daub'd with undifcerning praife,
Where love is mere attachment to the throne,
Not to the man who fills it as he ought,
Whofe freedom is by fuff'rance, and at will
Of a fuperior, he is never free,
Who lives, and is not weary of a life
Expos'd to manacles, deferves them well.
The state that strives for liberty, though foil'd,
And forc'd t' abandon what fhe bravely fought,
Deferves at least applaufe for her attempt,
And pity for her lofs. But that's a cause
Not often unfuccefsful: pow'r ufurp'd
Is weakness when oppos'd; confcious of wrong, 'Tis pufillanimous and prone to flight.
But flaves that once conceive the glowing thought
Of freedom, in that hope itself poffefs
All that the conteft calls for; fpirit, ftrength,
The scorn of danger, and united hearts,
The fureft prefage of the good they feek.*
Then fhame to manhood, and opprobrious more
To France than all her loffes and defeats,
Old or of later date, by fea or land,
*The author hopes that he fhall not be cenfured for unneceffary warmth upon fo interefting a fubject. He is aware that it is become almost fashionable to ftigmatize fuch fentiments as no better than empty declamation; but it is an ill fymptom, and peculiar to modern times.
Her house of bondage, worse than that of old
Which God aveng'd on Pharaoh-the Baftile.
Ye horrid tow'rs, th' abode of broken hearts,
Ye dungeons and ye cages of defpair,
That monarchs have supplied from age to age
With mufic fuch as fuits their fov'reign ears,
The fighs and groans of miferable men!
There's not an English heart that would not leap
To hear that ye were fall'n at last; to know
That ev❜n our enemies, fo oft employ'd
In forging chains for us, themselves were free.
For he who values liberty, confines
His zeal for her predominance within
No narrow bounds; her caufe engages him
Wherever pleaded. 'Tis the cause of man.
There dwell the most forlorn of human kind,
Immur'd though unaccus'd, condemn'd untry'd,
Cruelly fpar'd, and hopeless of escape.
There, like the vifionary emblem seen
By him of Babylon, life stands a stump,
And filletted about with hoops of brafs,
Still lives, though all its pleasant boughs are gone. To count the hour-bell and expect no change; And ever, as the fullen found is heard,
Still to reflect, that though a joyless note
To him whofe moments all have one dull
Ten thousand rovers in the world at large
Account it mufic; that it fummons fome
To theatre, or jocund feaft or ball:
The wearied hireling finds it a release
From labor; and the lover, who has chid
Its long delay, feels ev'ry welcome stroke
Upon his heart-strings, trembling with delight-
To fly for refuge from diftracting thought
To fuch amusements as ingenious woe
Contrives, hard-fhifting, and without her tools-
To read engraven on the mouldy walls,
In stagg'ring types, his predeceffor's tale,
A fad memorial, and fubjoin his own-
To turn purveyor to an overgorg'd
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