Should, when he pleafes, and on whom he will,
Wage war, with any, or with no pretence
Of provocation giv'n, or wrong suftain'd,
And force the beggarly laft doit, by means
That his own humour dictates, from the clutch
Of poverty, that thus he may procure
His thoufands, weary of penurious life,
A fplendid opportunity to die?

Say ye, who (with less prudence than of old,
Jotham afcrib'd to his affembled trees
In politic convention) put your truft
I' th' fhadow of a bramble, and reclin'd
In fancied peace beneath his dang'rous branch,
Rejoice in him, and celebrate his sway,

Where find ye paffive fortitude? Whence springs,
Your felf-denying zeal, that holds it good
To ftroke the prickly grievance, and to hang
His thorns with ftreamers of continual praise?
We too are friends to loyalty. We love

The king who loves the law; refpects his bounds,
And reigns content within them. Him we ferve
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 powr's,
Or covet more than freemen chufe to grant:
Beyond that mark is treason.

He is ours,

T'adminifter, to guard, t' adorn the state,

But

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 boaft your love
Of kings, between your loyalty and ours.
We love the man. The paultry 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 instinct, crouches to the rod,
And licks the foot that treads it in the dust.
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

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Caufelefs, 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, deserves them well,
The ftate that Atrives for liberty, though foil'd,
And forc'd t' abandon what she bravely fought,
Deferves at least applause for her attempt,

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 fcorn of danger, and united hearts,
The fureft prefage of the good they seek *.

Then fhame to manhood, and opprobrious more
To France, than all her loffes and defeats,
Old, or of later date, by fea or land,

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 supply'd from age to age,
With mufic, fuch as fuits their fov'reign ears,
The fighs and groans of miserable 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 that values liberty, confines

His

*The author hopes that he shall not be cenfured for unnecessary warmth upon so interesting a subject. He is aware that it is become almost fashionable to stigmatize fuch fentiments as no better than empty declamation. But it is an ill fymptom, and peculiar to modern

times.

His zeal for her predominance within

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No narrow bounds; her caufe engages him
Wherever pleaded. 'Tis the cause of man.

There dwell the moft forlorn of human kind
Immur'd, though unaccus'd, condemn'd untried,
Cruelly fpar'd, and hopeless of escape.
There, like the visionary emblem feen
By him of Babylon, life ftands a stump,
And filletted about with hoops of brass,

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 pace,
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, that has chid
Its long delay, feels ev'ry welcome stroke
Upon his heart-ftrings trembling with delight-
To fly for refuge from distracting thought,
To fuch amusements as ingenious woe
Contrives, hard-fhifting and without her tools-
To read engraven on the mouldy walls,
In ftagg'ring types, his predeceffor's tale,
A fad memorial, and subjoin his own----
To turn purveyor to an overgorg'd
And bloated spider, till the pamper'd peft
Is made familiar, watches his approach,

Comes

Comes at his call, and serves him for a friend--
To wear out time in numb'ring to and fro,
The ftuds that thick embofs his iron door,
Then downward, and then upward, then aslant,
And then alternate, with a fickly hope,
By dint of change, to give his tasteless task
Some relish, till the fum exactly found
In all directions, he begins again..

Oh comfortless exiftence! henim'd around
With woes, which who, that suffers, would not kneel i

And beg for exile, or the pangs of death?

That man fhould thus encroach on fellow man,
Abridge him of his juft and native rights,
Eradicate him, tear him from his hold
Upon th' endearments of domeftic life,
And focial, nip his fruitfulness and use,
And doom him for, perhaps, an heedlefs word,
To barrennefs, and folitude, and tears,
Moves indignation. Makes the name of king,
(Of king, whom fuch prerogative can please)
As dreadful as the Manichean God,
Ador'd through fear, ftrong only to deftroy.

'Tis liberty alone that gives the flow'r
Of Beeting life its luftre and perfume,
And we are weeds without it. All conftraint, -
Except what wisdom lays on evil men,

Is evil; hurts the faculties, impedes

Their progress in the road of science; blinds
The eyefight of difcov'ry, and begets

In