The Works of Mr. Robert Gould In Two Volumes. Consisting of those Poems [and] Satyrs Which were formerly Printed, and Corrected since by the Author; As also of the many more which He Design'd for the Press. Publish'd from his Own Original Copies [by Robert Gould] |
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A Glance at Fanaticism;
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 | The Works of Mr. Robert Gould |  |
67
A Glance at Fanaticism;
A SATYR.
TO The Right Honourable JAMES Earl of ABINGDON, &c.
Lord Lieutenant of the County of
Oxford
.
There is in every one of these Considerations most
just Cause to fear, least our Hastiness to embrace
a thing of so perilous Consequence shou'd cause Posterity to feel those Evils, which as yet
are more easy for us to Prevent, than they wou'd be for them to Remedy.
Pref. to Hooker's Eccle. Pol. Speaking of the Presbyterian Discipline.
Happy the Times when Man Rejoyc'd to pay
All just Obedience to the Regal Sway:
Then 'twas thro' Vanquish'd France our Triumphs flew,
Arms our Delight, our Usage to subdue:
Then 'twas we humbl'd the high Pride of Spain,
And sunk it to the Bottom of the Main.
Nor stop'd our Britons here; but, with the Sun,
Round the vast Circuit of the Globe have run,
And came Home cover'd with the Lawrels won.
But Ah! What are we now become? A Den
Of Murd'rers, Monsters, and Perfidious Men!
What Vict'ries now dost thou, O Albion, win?
As once in Arms so now y'are chief in Sin,
Hiss'd at without, and Damn'd to Strife within.
All just Obedience to the Regal Sway:
Then 'twas thro' Vanquish'd France our Triumphs flew,
Arms our Delight, our Usage to subdue:
Then 'twas we humbl'd the high Pride of Spain,
And sunk it to the Bottom of the Main.
68
Round the vast Circuit of the Globe have run,
And came Home cover'd with the Lawrels won.
But Ah! What are we now become? A Den
Of Murd'rers, Monsters, and Perfidious Men!
What Vict'ries now dost thou, O Albion, win?
As once in Arms so now y'are chief in Sin,
Hiss'd at without, and Damn'd to Strife within.
What Beast so fierce but at the Lion's roar
Becomes as tame, as he was wild before?
Contended to Obey; but Man alone,
Cruel and Faithless, will no Homage own,
But in Contempt of it their Kings dethrone;
Tho' they well know (for Scripture makes it clear)
They stab at GOD in his Vicegerents here.
Becomes as tame, as he was wild before?
Contended to Obey; but Man alone,
Cruel and Faithless, will no Homage own,
But in Contempt of it their Kings dethrone;
Tho' they well know (for Scripture makes it clear)
They stab at GOD in his Vicegerents here.
The Impious Jews that never stopt at Ills,
But trac'd the Bent of their unbounded Wills,
Tho' one perhaps, drunk with Ambitious Rage,
(Whose horrid Thirst Blood only cou'd asswage)
All Ties of Faith and Nature might disown,
And on th'Anointed Blood erect his Throne;
I never read the Factious Chiefs did join,
Associated in one Damn'd Design;
Or that they were such vain Fantastick Things
T'Imagin, Heav'n design'd 'em all for Kings;
As our Flagitions Rebels did of late;
When they at once o'erwhelm'd the Church and State,
And made three Nations groan beneath the Weight;
Brought down their God-like Soveraign to the Block,
And then Proclaim'd 'twas Justice gave th'Inveterate Stroke!
But trac'd the Bent of their unbounded Wills,
Tho' one perhaps, drunk with Ambitious Rage,
(Whose horrid Thirst Blood only cou'd asswage)
All Ties of Faith and Nature might disown,
And on th'Anointed Blood erect his Throne;
I never read the Factious Chiefs did join,
Associated in one Damn'd Design;
Or that they were such vain Fantastick Things
T'Imagin, Heav'n design'd 'em all for Kings;
As our Flagitions Rebels did of late;
When they at once o'erwhelm'd the Church and State,
And made three Nations groan beneath the Weight;
Brought down their God-like Soveraign to the Block,
And then Proclaim'd 'twas Justice gave th'Inveterate Stroke!
But tell me Feinds, ye Hell-Instructed Crew,
(If Hell can Teach what 'twou'd have blush'd to do)
O tell me! Where's the Fame that does Succeed
That ever to be mourn'd, and Impious Deed!
Or was it done because it was your Will?
That Reason which with you makes Nothing Ill;
O curs'd Effect of Arbitrary Zeal!
(If Hell can Teach what 'twou'd have blush'd to do)
69
That ever to be mourn'd, and Impious Deed!
Or was it done because it was your Will?
That Reason which with you makes Nothing Ill;
O curs'd Effect of Arbitrary Zeal!
I know You'll say 'twas Your Design to be
From hateful Slavery and Oppression free:
But soon, by a Prepost'rous search, 'twas found
You lost the Substance, while You fear'd the Sound:
For when thro' all Your Treach'rous Paths y'ad ran,
Averse to all the Laws of God and Man,
Had you at last, with all the Strifes You wrought,
The ease, the Rest, and Liberty you sought?
Indeed 'twere most Absurd to think You shou'd;
The Way to Peace lies not thro' War and Blood.
No, no; that Mob-Asserter of Your Own,
That Dunghill You'd have lifted to the Throne,
That Idol which with Your own Hands You'd made,
And then with so much Frantick Zeal obey'd,
Did all Your Rights and Properties invade;
Those Properties You had so long enjoy'd,
And cou'd not be but by Your Leave destroy'd;
Those Rights which with an inexhausted Spring,
For ever flow'd from your Indulgent King.
Nay the base Sanhedrim, whose Lawless Pride
Had to their Prince his Regal Dues deny'd,
With open Hands the Tyrant's Lust supply'd,
Who their Proud Stores t'as low an Ebb did bring,
As they flow'd high when they deny'd their King.
So far we of our Senates may presume
Subversion still will be the Nations Doom
When e'er they Grant too much, or else too much assume:
The Balance never can be at a Poize
When Kings Oppress, or Crowds are wrought to Noise:
Curst be the Wretch that does for Gain, or Spite,
Depress, or Raise the Beam, when he may hold it Right.
By such a Crew He did the War Commence,
And made 'em Wretched at their own Expence.
A Just Reward for shedding Civil Gore,
A fond, Imagin'd Freedom to Restore,
When they had all their Hearts cou'd wish before.
From hateful Slavery and Oppression free:
But soon, by a Prepost'rous search, 'twas found
You lost the Substance, while You fear'd the Sound:
For when thro' all Your Treach'rous Paths y'ad ran,
Averse to all the Laws of God and Man,
Had you at last, with all the Strifes You wrought,
The ease, the Rest, and Liberty you sought?
Indeed 'twere most Absurd to think You shou'd;
The Way to Peace lies not thro' War and Blood.
No, no; that Mob-Asserter of Your Own,
That Dunghill You'd have lifted to the Throne,
That Idol which with Your own Hands You'd made,
And then with so much Frantick Zeal obey'd,
Did all Your Rights and Properties invade;
Those Properties You had so long enjoy'd,
And cou'd not be but by Your Leave destroy'd;
Those Rights which with an inexhausted Spring,
For ever flow'd from your Indulgent King.
Nay the base Sanhedrim, whose Lawless Pride
Had to their Prince his Regal Dues deny'd,
With open Hands the Tyrant's Lust supply'd,
Who their Proud Stores t'as low an Ebb did bring,
As they flow'd high when they deny'd their King.
So far we of our Senates may presume
Subversion still will be the Nations Doom
When e'er they Grant too much, or else too much assume:
The Balance never can be at a Poize
When Kings Oppress, or Crowds are wrought to Noise:
70
Depress, or Raise the Beam, when he may hold it Right.
By such a Crew He did the War Commence,
And made 'em Wretched at their own Expence.
A Just Reward for shedding Civil Gore,
A fond, Imagin'd Freedom to Restore,
When they had all their Hearts cou'd wish before.
But Lo! The Scene begins to shift! And Lo!
His God's, his Prince's, and his Country's Foe,
Whose Treach'ry and whose Guile had flourish'd long,
And been the Theme of many a Laureat's Song,
Has in his height of Grandeur met his Doom,
Prest with Three Kingdoms Curses to the Tomb;
Which cou'd not long such Villany Contain,
But from it's Entrals Spew'd Him back again.
Thus He, who, while He liv'd, no Freedom gave,
Had not, in Death, the Freedom of a Slave,
The slender Pittance of a Six-Foot-Grave.
Let not the Secta'rist urge he pass'd away
In Peace, for where there's Guilt no Peace can stay:
'Twas Heav'ns forbearance so much Time was lent,
To try Him first, and warn Him to Repent,
And next to shew the World He dyd'd Impenitent.
To all Conspic'ous in the Air he hung,
Like Haman the Reproach of Every Tongue.
Ravens, and all th'Insatiate Fowls of Prey,
That us'd to hover round where Carrion lay,
Croak't at the Tyrant, Croak't, and flew away.
And now of all his Noisy Pomp and Fame,
Nothing Survives but a Flagitious Name.
Thus Traitors, tho' they may a while shine bright,
Like Meteors, at a Blaze lose all their Light,
Then Sink to Horrors down, and Everlasting Night.
His God's, his Prince's, and his Country's Foe,
Whose Treach'ry and whose Guile had flourish'd long,
And been the Theme of many a Laureat's Song,
Has in his height of Grandeur met his Doom,
Prest with Three Kingdoms Curses to the Tomb;
Which cou'd not long such Villany Contain,
But from it's Entrals Spew'd Him back again.
Thus He, who, while He liv'd, no Freedom gave,
Had not, in Death, the Freedom of a Slave,
The slender Pittance of a Six-Foot-Grave.
Let not the Secta'rist urge he pass'd away
In Peace, for where there's Guilt no Peace can stay:
'Twas Heav'ns forbearance so much Time was lent,
To try Him first, and warn Him to Repent,
And next to shew the World He dyd'd Impenitent.
To all Conspic'ous in the Air he hung,
Like Haman the Reproach of Every Tongue.
Ravens, and all th'Insatiate Fowls of Prey,
That us'd to hover round where Carrion lay,
Croak't at the Tyrant, Croak't, and flew away.
And now of all his Noisy Pomp and Fame,
Nothing Survives but a Flagitious Name.
Thus Traitors, tho' they may a while shine bright,
Like Meteors, at a Blaze lose all their Light,
Then Sink to Horrors down, and Everlasting Night.
71
And now, methinks, I see the Sun appear,
Nor is it only Thought; for Lo! He's here!
With Gentle Beams he first restores the Day,
Then drives at once th'Unwholsome Damps away.
Ah! Welcome Sacred Sir! Welcome as Sight
To those, who from their Births have groap'd in Night,
And never hop'd to see Heav'ns Cheerful Light.
Welcome as Spring after a Bitter Frost!
Welcome as Peace, where Peace has long been lost!
What shall I say? O what Eternal Spring
Can furnish Words, or set my Thoughts on wing
To bless his Welcome, and his Praises Sing?
In vain, my Muse, that Lofty Pitch you'd fly,
Not practis'd yet to range along the Sky.
Now 'twas Offenders to the Covert run,
And blusht at all the Impious Deeds they'd done;
But Deeds of Darkness dare not view the Sun:
Too well they knew the Mischiefs they had wrought
Were Unreveng'd, and trembl'd at the Thought,
As fearing (what indeed the Bad might fear)
The Vengeance due to Treach'ry now was near:
But He, like Heav'n, at our Grand Parents Fall,
Gave 'em an Act of Grace, and Cancell'd all:
An Act that Reason's at a Loss to Scan,
And proves the Giver something more than Man!
Whose Goodness we in vain would Recommend,
For he Forgives as fast as we Offend.
O fatal Kindness! And O squander'd Grace!
Why so much Mercy on a Sect so base,
That ev'n revile his Bounty to his Face?
Nor is it only Thought; for Lo! He's here!
With Gentle Beams he first restores the Day,
Then drives at once th'Unwholsome Damps away.
Ah! Welcome Sacred Sir! Welcome as Sight
To those, who from their Births have groap'd in Night,
And never hop'd to see Heav'ns Cheerful Light.
Welcome as Spring after a Bitter Frost!
Welcome as Peace, where Peace has long been lost!
What shall I say? O what Eternal Spring
Can furnish Words, or set my Thoughts on wing
To bless his Welcome, and his Praises Sing?
In vain, my Muse, that Lofty Pitch you'd fly,
Not practis'd yet to range along the Sky.
Now 'twas Offenders to the Covert run,
And blusht at all the Impious Deeds they'd done;
But Deeds of Darkness dare not view the Sun:
Too well they knew the Mischiefs they had wrought
Were Unreveng'd, and trembl'd at the Thought,
As fearing (what indeed the Bad might fear)
The Vengeance due to Treach'ry now was near:
But He, like Heav'n, at our Grand Parents Fall,
Gave 'em an Act of Grace, and Cancell'd all:
An Act that Reason's at a Loss to Scan,
And proves the Giver something more than Man!
Whose Goodness we in vain would Recommend,
For he Forgives as fast as we Offend.
O fatal Kindness! And O squander'd Grace!
Why so much Mercy on a Sect so base,
That ev'n revile his Bounty to his Face?
Say then, Ye bold Fanaticks of the Times,
You that succeed your Fathers in their Crimes,
And learn the Art of Cursing Kings betimes;
What makes you thus Seditiously complain,
And loath the Blessings of a Peaceful Reign?
What you wou'd have we know not—But we know
You might be Happy—If you wou'd be so.
Has not your God (if any God you own,
But I'm afraid you rather think there's none:
For Heav'n from whence the best Instruction springs,
Enjoins a strict Obedience to our Kings:)
Has He not sav'd from Rebels Impious Steel,
And the worse Fury of Misguided Zeal,
This Gracious Prince, and bless'd us with his Reign;
In whom his Martyr'd Father seems to Live again?
A Prince who has thro' all Misfortunes trod,
With the Unshaken Patience of a God:
Not He who liv'd ev'n to his Maker's Heart,
Had more of Trouble, and with less Desert.
Traduc'd both in a Brother and a Wife,
With open Rage pursu'd, and secret Trains for Life.
And as the Ancients tell how, heretofore,
Atlas all Heav'n upon his Shoulders bore,
So He; a Theme for like Immortal Songs,
At once sustains a World—A World of Wrongs:
Yet still Forgives, and Governs still in Peace,
And still the Arts, and still your Gains Increase;
The last too much; aud that, 'tis fear'd, the thing
That makes thee, London, murmur at thy King;
And hold thy Proud Luxurious Head, as high
As it once Low did in its Ashes lie:
When Heav'n whose Will had been so long withstood,
With Plague and Fire reveng'd the Martyr's Blood.
'Tis that inspires thy Crowds with Factious Rage,
The Crowd! Whose Fury nothing can asswage,
Nor Tears of Youth, nor Eloquence of Age:
It rowls o'er all with an impetuous Sway,
Like Rivers when they've forc'd their Banks away:
The Crowd! That does for ever look awry
On those Good Men Desert has mounted high,
And have an Inborn Hate to Monarchy:
And such a Crowd art Thou; A Mass combin'd
Of all Adulterate Mixtures we can find
That Poisons Loyalty and warps the Mind:
No Wonder then, with such a Race o'erspread
The Members shou'd Rebell against the Head.
Those Loyal Men that lodge within thy Wall,
(For some there are (tho' the Account is small)
Some few that never bow'd the Knee to Baal,)
Like Wounded Deer were from the rest Cashier'd,
Or bore the Brunt of all the Brutal Herd:
Witness, for Proof, th'Unparallell'd Abuse
(Beyond Example, and beyond Excuse!)
To your late Chief; which only hence cou'd Spring,
The Man was Honest, and he Lov'd his King:
And O for ever may he be belov'd,
By Albion Honour'd, and by Heav'n approv'd!
Whose Vertues are a Theme for Pens Divine!
And then how far above the Reach of Mine!
You that succeed your Fathers in their Crimes,
And learn the Art of Cursing Kings betimes;
72
And loath the Blessings of a Peaceful Reign?
What you wou'd have we know not—But we know
You might be Happy—If you wou'd be so.
Has not your God (if any God you own,
But I'm afraid you rather think there's none:
For Heav'n from whence the best Instruction springs,
Enjoins a strict Obedience to our Kings:)
Has He not sav'd from Rebels Impious Steel,
And the worse Fury of Misguided Zeal,
This Gracious Prince, and bless'd us with his Reign;
In whom his Martyr'd Father seems to Live again?
A Prince who has thro' all Misfortunes trod,
With the Unshaken Patience of a God:
Not He who liv'd ev'n to his Maker's Heart,
Had more of Trouble, and with less Desert.
Traduc'd both in a Brother and a Wife,
With open Rage pursu'd, and secret Trains for Life.
And as the Ancients tell how, heretofore,
Atlas all Heav'n upon his Shoulders bore,
So He; a Theme for like Immortal Songs,
At once sustains a World—A World of Wrongs:
Yet still Forgives, and Governs still in Peace,
And still the Arts, and still your Gains Increase;
The last too much; aud that, 'tis fear'd, the thing
That makes thee, London, murmur at thy King;
And hold thy Proud Luxurious Head, as high
As it once Low did in its Ashes lie:
When Heav'n whose Will had been so long withstood,
With Plague and Fire reveng'd the Martyr's Blood.
'Tis that inspires thy Crowds with Factious Rage,
The Crowd! Whose Fury nothing can asswage,
Nor Tears of Youth, nor Eloquence of Age:
It rowls o'er all with an impetuous Sway,
Like Rivers when they've forc'd their Banks away:
73
On those Good Men Desert has mounted high,
And have an Inborn Hate to Monarchy:
And such a Crowd art Thou; A Mass combin'd
Of all Adulterate Mixtures we can find
That Poisons Loyalty and warps the Mind:
No Wonder then, with such a Race o'erspread
The Members shou'd Rebell against the Head.
Those Loyal Men that lodge within thy Wall,
(For some there are (tho' the Account is small)
Some few that never bow'd the Knee to Baal,)
Like Wounded Deer were from the rest Cashier'd,
Or bore the Brunt of all the Brutal Herd:
Witness, for Proof, th'Unparallell'd Abuse
(Beyond Example, and beyond Excuse!)
To your late Chief; which only hence cou'd Spring,
The Man was Honest, and he Lov'd his King:
And O for ever may he be belov'd,
By Albion Honour'd, and by Heav'n approv'd!
Whose Vertues are a Theme for Pens Divine!
And then how far above the Reach of Mine!
Not Envy can it Self this Truth deny,
That (tho' by Birth and State advanc'd so high)
More Pride in Your Humility is shown,
Than is in all his Grandeur on a Throne.
Mark how e'en from the Royal Diadem
His Love descends, the Love which You condemn,
To make You sensible of Yours to Him.
Look thro' Your Thankless Faction far and wide,
What have they ask't Him for He e'er deny'd?
Unless it were (Invincible Constraint!)
What Nature, Law and Conscience cou'd not Grant:
And yet ev'n then (with Anguish in his Eye)
He griev'd that Heav'n forbid Him to comply:
That (tho' by Birth and State advanc'd so high)
More Pride in Your Humility is shown,
Than is in all his Grandeur on a Throne.
Mark how e'en from the Royal Diadem
His Love descends, the Love which You condemn,
To make You sensible of Yours to Him.
Look thro' Your Thankless Faction far and wide,
What have they ask't Him for He e'er deny'd?
Unless it were (Invincible Constraint!)
What Nature, Law and Conscience cou'd not Grant:
And yet ev'n then (with Anguish in his Eye)
He griev'd that Heav'n forbid Him to comply:
74
His Brother, too, whom Your Inveterate Hate
Brands with the Name of Traytor to the State,
But falsly;—Not more False was He that made
Perj'ry, that God-less Crime, a Gainful Trade;
That Oath-Monopolist, who quite engrost
Th'Employ himself, while Temple Nights, at most,
Were then but Interlopers of the Post:
So false! Ev'n You your Selves cou'd not deny
But that your Conscience gave your Tongues the Lye:
For why shou'd He Conspire against a Throne
That Legally may come to be his Own?—
No, that's a Work for Him that's born to none.
Has not that Prince our Glory made his Care?
And born with Patience all that Man can bear?
Who, tho' your Envy does his Fame pursue,
He still has Fought both for Your Rights and You.
In Foreign Lands his Conduct He has shown,
And found no Valour Braver than his Own;
Conquest his daily Prize:—and as Success
Crown'd Him at Land, 'twas on the Sea no less:
Where on the Deck, for his Dear Countries Good
Whose Cause He Fought, He has undaunted stood
Amidst the Wildest Rage of Canon's Roar,
Whose Sound has frighted Cowards on the Shore.
One wou'd have thought, who from afar had seen,
They in the Bosom of the Clouds had been,
And round their Heads Light'ning and Thunder flew,
And thro' the Air Ten Thousand Terrors threw:
The Sun himself look't Pale, amaz'd to see
Deaths winged Darts as thick as Atoms flee;
And Nature was Concern'd as well as He.
Not so our Hero; who did still appear
Fierce as a Storm, and was himself a War.
O who in such a Cause wou'd Danger shun,
Blest with so brave a Chief to lead 'em on!
Who scorn'd to check his Rage, or leave the Fray,
Till he had drove their Shatter'd Fleet away;
Too wise to trust th'Event of such another Day:
But having Wasted half their Strength in Fight,
Wing'd by their Cowardice, and Screen'd by Night,
Thought best to save the other half by Flight.
Thus He, sole Victor, did our Fame regain,
And rode without a Rival o'er the Conquer'd Main.
Brands with the Name of Traytor to the State,
But falsly;—Not more False was He that made
Perj'ry, that God-less Crime, a Gainful Trade;
That Oath-Monopolist, who quite engrost
Th'Employ himself, while Temple Nights, at most,
Were then but Interlopers of the Post:
So false! Ev'n You your Selves cou'd not deny
But that your Conscience gave your Tongues the Lye:
For why shou'd He Conspire against a Throne
That Legally may come to be his Own?—
No, that's a Work for Him that's born to none.
Has not that Prince our Glory made his Care?
And born with Patience all that Man can bear?
Who, tho' your Envy does his Fame pursue,
He still has Fought both for Your Rights and You.
In Foreign Lands his Conduct He has shown,
And found no Valour Braver than his Own;
Conquest his daily Prize:—and as Success
Crown'd Him at Land, 'twas on the Sea no less:
Where on the Deck, for his Dear Countries Good
Whose Cause He Fought, He has undaunted stood
Amidst the Wildest Rage of Canon's Roar,
Whose Sound has frighted Cowards on the Shore.
One wou'd have thought, who from afar had seen,
They in the Bosom of the Clouds had been,
And round their Heads Light'ning and Thunder flew,
And thro' the Air Ten Thousand Terrors threw:
The Sun himself look't Pale, amaz'd to see
Deaths winged Darts as thick as Atoms flee;
And Nature was Concern'd as well as He.
Not so our Hero; who did still appear
Fierce as a Storm, and was himself a War.
O who in such a Cause wou'd Danger shun,
Blest with so brave a Chief to lead 'em on!
75
Till he had drove their Shatter'd Fleet away;
Too wise to trust th'Event of such another Day:
But having Wasted half their Strength in Fight,
Wing'd by their Cowardice, and Screen'd by Night,
Thought best to save the other half by Flight.
Thus He, sole Victor, did our Fame regain,
And rode without a Rival o'er the Conquer'd Main.
Enrich'd by Princes so profusely Good,
As near Ally'd in Clemency, as Blood,
What Frenzy is it makes You think y'are Poor?
And dream of Want amid'st so vast a Store?
But as when some Wild Rav'nous Beast of Prey
Has seiz'd a Lamb which in his Passage lay,
The Blood's first Suck't; and finding that so Sweet,
He crams his Maw with the Delicious Meat:
Yet the same Moment, painted with the Gore,
Rouzes again, and roams the Woods for more,
So You, flesh'd with your former Royal Bait,
Grow mad, and for another Banquet wait,
In the Subversion of the Regal State.
As near Ally'd in Clemency, as Blood,
What Frenzy is it makes You think y'are Poor?
And dream of Want amid'st so vast a Store?
But as when some Wild Rav'nous Beast of Prey
Has seiz'd a Lamb which in his Passage lay,
The Blood's first Suck't; and finding that so Sweet,
He crams his Maw with the Delicious Meat:
Yet the same Moment, painted with the Gore,
Rouzes again, and roams the Woods for more,
So You, flesh'd with your former Royal Bait,
Grow mad, and for another Banquet wait,
In the Subversion of the Regal State.
From whence else can our wild Divisions Spring
But scorn of Truth, and hatred to your King?
Is He your Foe that does your Battels Fight,
And make the Publick Good his chief Delight?
Can it be just, if his Estate shou'd fall,
To Seize it, and bestow on M---h all
His Right? His Scepter, Diadem, and Ball?
What British Soul that has the least Pretence
To Vertue, Honour, Loyalty and Sense,
Will leave the true to serve a Spurious Prince?
The Ancient Heathens, rather than have none,
Wou'd hew their Deities from Wood and Stone:
Dagon, before he took his Fatal Fall,
By his own Votaries was thought Lord of All:
To Him in their Distress for aid they'd fly:
But Israel's only God was hatefull in their Eye.
But Heav'n forbid we shou'd their Steps pursue,
Or, to Adore the False, Blaspheme the True:
Whose Laws, tho' Spurn'd at by Fanatick Spite,
Instruct us to Distinguish Wrong from Right:
Right, when we all the True Succession own,
Wrong, when the Rabble's Patriot mounts the Throne:
Right, when our Gracious Monarch we obey,
Whose Care is as Extensive as his Sway;
But Wrong against such Goodness to declaim,
And with base Libels strive to Wound his Fame;
Which You in Vain wou'd Blast with Envious Rage,
For that shall ever live to shame th'ingrateful Age.
But scorn of Truth, and hatred to your King?
Is He your Foe that does your Battels Fight,
And make the Publick Good his chief Delight?
Can it be just, if his Estate shou'd fall,
To Seize it, and bestow on M---h all
His Right? His Scepter, Diadem, and Ball?
What British Soul that has the least Pretence
To Vertue, Honour, Loyalty and Sense,
Will leave the true to serve a Spurious Prince?
The Ancient Heathens, rather than have none,
Wou'd hew their Deities from Wood and Stone:
76
By his own Votaries was thought Lord of All:
To Him in their Distress for aid they'd fly:
But Israel's only God was hatefull in their Eye.
But Heav'n forbid we shou'd their Steps pursue,
Or, to Adore the False, Blaspheme the True:
Whose Laws, tho' Spurn'd at by Fanatick Spite,
Instruct us to Distinguish Wrong from Right:
Right, when we all the True Succession own,
Wrong, when the Rabble's Patriot mounts the Throne:
Right, when our Gracious Monarch we obey,
Whose Care is as Extensive as his Sway;
But Wrong against such Goodness to declaim,
And with base Libels strive to Wound his Fame;
Which You in Vain wou'd Blast with Envious Rage,
For that shall ever live to shame th'ingrateful Age.
But after all, what can the meaning be
Of Bellowing after Rights and Liberty,
When there's on Earth no Nation, else so free?
Of all the Lands by which Y'are compass'd round,
Point me out one with half your Freedoms crown'd.
Compare our happy State with France, or Spain's;
Here Tyranny, and there the Inquisition reigns.
With their Free States compare, we Win again;
France but one Tyrant has, and there perhaps they've Ten.
'Tis only here where Property can thrive,
Cherish'd and Guarded by Prerogative.
The Young in Wantonness the World may Roam:
But can they find more Blessings than they taste at Home?
The Old and Studious may enjoy their ease,
And this may Plough the Land and that the Seas;
Ev'n Crowds too may almost do what they please:
But Ah! Destructive was that rash Design
That gave 'em Liberty in Things Divine;
To choose their Worship, (their own Judges made,)
As Folly, Fancy, or as Interest Sway'd;
Or, when they thought those did not Guide 'em Right,
To take a Faith in Prejudice and Spite.
O Management! ev'n yet to be deplor'd!
The Harbinger of Murder, Fire and Sword!
Who does not know it Caus'd us heretofore
One Civil War?—and will produce us more.
For when the Conscience it's own Way may go,
How Boundless, Wild a Monster do's it grow!
Pulpits are dwindl'd into Tubs, and Kings
Themselves esteem'd Unnecessary Things.
All wholsom Doctrin's banish'd with the Creed,
And Blockheads Preach that never learn'd to Read.
When e'er the State-Artificer wou'd have
The People Rulers, and the Prince a Slave,
Let Toleration to the Crowd be shewn,
And then the Enthusiast Teachers Loo 'em on,
Confusion Triumphs, and the Work is done:
A Course of many Ages it must be
Before that State again knows Peace and Unitie.
In vain all healing Remedies are try'd,
The more we Labour, they the more Divide:—
'Tis best then when such Liberty's deny'd.
Does not your Land with Milk and Hony flow?
Canaan cou'd scarce such Crops of Plenty show,
Or Jordan's Lov'd and Unpolluted Streams
Produce more Wonders than our Bounteous Thames.
Do not all things that Feast the Eye and Ear,
The Tast and Smell, for ever Flourish here?
Having all this, what wou'd you more possess?
Having so much, why would You make it less?
Why shou'd the pleasant sounds of Concord cease?
Or are you Sated with the Sweets of Peace?
Why do you your Pernicious Doctrin Sow?
And thro' the Land Seditious Libels strow?
Spurn at the Vert'ous, Villify the Just,
As if their Loyalty debauch'd their Trust?
Why all this rank Invet'racy and hate?
Unless you'd trace your Predecessors Fate,
In all the Blood they shed from Forty one to Eight:
For they, like you, mouth'd after Libertie,
And they, like you, were conscious they were Free:
Yet, tho' you know how ill their Fury far'd
(Their Chief Enslaving whom the War had spar'd)
In Opposition to all Sacred Laws,
Once more you wou'd Revive their Impious Cause;
Once more o'erthrow the Church, the State, the King,
And from Blest Order make Confusion Spring:
That wild Confusion that of late did rave,
And sent so many Thousands to the Grave.
Of Bellowing after Rights and Liberty,
When there's on Earth no Nation, else so free?
Of all the Lands by which Y'are compass'd round,
Point me out one with half your Freedoms crown'd.
Compare our happy State with France, or Spain's;
Here Tyranny, and there the Inquisition reigns.
With their Free States compare, we Win again;
France but one Tyrant has, and there perhaps they've Ten.
'Tis only here where Property can thrive,
Cherish'd and Guarded by Prerogative.
The Young in Wantonness the World may Roam:
But can they find more Blessings than they taste at Home?
The Old and Studious may enjoy their ease,
And this may Plough the Land and that the Seas;
Ev'n Crowds too may almost do what they please:
77
That gave 'em Liberty in Things Divine;
To choose their Worship, (their own Judges made,)
As Folly, Fancy, or as Interest Sway'd;
Or, when they thought those did not Guide 'em Right,
To take a Faith in Prejudice and Spite.
O Management! ev'n yet to be deplor'd!
The Harbinger of Murder, Fire and Sword!
Who does not know it Caus'd us heretofore
One Civil War?—and will produce us more.
For when the Conscience it's own Way may go,
How Boundless, Wild a Monster do's it grow!
Pulpits are dwindl'd into Tubs, and Kings
Themselves esteem'd Unnecessary Things.
All wholsom Doctrin's banish'd with the Creed,
And Blockheads Preach that never learn'd to Read.
When e'er the State-Artificer wou'd have
The People Rulers, and the Prince a Slave,
Let Toleration to the Crowd be shewn,
And then the Enthusiast Teachers Loo 'em on,
Confusion Triumphs, and the Work is done:
A Course of many Ages it must be
Before that State again knows Peace and Unitie.
In vain all healing Remedies are try'd,
The more we Labour, they the more Divide:—
'Tis best then when such Liberty's deny'd.
Does not your Land with Milk and Hony flow?
Canaan cou'd scarce such Crops of Plenty show,
Or Jordan's Lov'd and Unpolluted Streams
Produce more Wonders than our Bounteous Thames.
Do not all things that Feast the Eye and Ear,
The Tast and Smell, for ever Flourish here?
Having all this, what wou'd you more possess?
Having so much, why would You make it less?
78
Or are you Sated with the Sweets of Peace?
Why do you your Pernicious Doctrin Sow?
And thro' the Land Seditious Libels strow?
Spurn at the Vert'ous, Villify the Just,
As if their Loyalty debauch'd their Trust?
Why all this rank Invet'racy and hate?
Unless you'd trace your Predecessors Fate,
In all the Blood they shed from Forty one to Eight:
For they, like you, mouth'd after Libertie,
And they, like you, were conscious they were Free:
Yet, tho' you know how ill their Fury far'd
(Their Chief Enslaving whom the War had spar'd)
In Opposition to all Sacred Laws,
Once more you wou'd Revive their Impious Cause;
Once more o'erthrow the Church, the State, the King,
And from Blest Order make Confusion Spring:
That wild Confusion that of late did rave,
And sent so many Thousands to the Grave.
But, Cruel Men, be yet advis'd and hear:
The Specious Veil is off, and now quite bare,
Stript to your Guilt, your Cloven Feet appear;
True Fiends all o'er, and only fit to go
And murmur in your Grand Cabal below.
You'd best be Cautious then, and have a Care,
Ingratitude will find no Favour there,
Tho' it has miss'd the Stroke of Justice here:—
As yet I mean has miss'd of;—for I've seen
A Morning, tho' all Cloudless and Serene,
Chang'd from a Glorious to a Gloomy Scene.
The thick'ning Sky has furious Storms foretold,
And Lo! Loud Thunder thro' the Air has rowl'd:
Mountains, which one wou'd think stood firm as Fate,
Have reel'd, as if they bent beneath their Weight,
When Streight the Sun, with his Commanding Ray,
Storm, Wind and Rain has Chas'd at once away,
And with fresh Glories dress'd the New-born Day!
So in the Sad Distractions of the State,
When Mighty Charles shall yield to Mightier Fate,
But may it first be long; (for Monarch's Breath
Is frail like Ours, and must resign to Death;)
What cou'd we wish shou'd that black Hour arrive,
And York, the Nations other Prop, alive?
But that he mount to the Imperial Throne,
By Birth, and by the World's Consent his Own.
What Hero else were fit to carry on
That General Good Charles has so well begun?
In such a Cause like Days bright Lord He'd rise,
And dart his Glories thro' the Sullen Skies,
Dissolve, or Drive the Factious Gloom away,
Unrip Cabals where Treasons brooding lay,
And shew 'em all to the full View of Day;
While by a Justice, suited to the Time,
He Punish'd Treach'ry equal to the Crime:
But Ah! 'twere better, least this Time shou'd come,
Now to turn Loyal, and divert your Doom.
The Specious Veil is off, and now quite bare,
Stript to your Guilt, your Cloven Feet appear;
True Fiends all o'er, and only fit to go
And murmur in your Grand Cabal below.
You'd best be Cautious then, and have a Care,
Ingratitude will find no Favour there,
Tho' it has miss'd the Stroke of Justice here:—
As yet I mean has miss'd of;—for I've seen
A Morning, tho' all Cloudless and Serene,
Chang'd from a Glorious to a Gloomy Scene.
The thick'ning Sky has furious Storms foretold,
And Lo! Loud Thunder thro' the Air has rowl'd:
Mountains, which one wou'd think stood firm as Fate,
Have reel'd, as if they bent beneath their Weight,
79
Storm, Wind and Rain has Chas'd at once away,
And with fresh Glories dress'd the New-born Day!
So in the Sad Distractions of the State,
When Mighty Charles shall yield to Mightier Fate,
But may it first be long; (for Monarch's Breath
Is frail like Ours, and must resign to Death;)
What cou'd we wish shou'd that black Hour arrive,
And York, the Nations other Prop, alive?
But that he mount to the Imperial Throne,
By Birth, and by the World's Consent his Own.
What Hero else were fit to carry on
That General Good Charles has so well begun?
In such a Cause like Days bright Lord He'd rise,
And dart his Glories thro' the Sullen Skies,
Dissolve, or Drive the Factious Gloom away,
Unrip Cabals where Treasons brooding lay,
And shew 'em all to the full View of Day;
While by a Justice, suited to the Time,
He Punish'd Treach'ry equal to the Crime:
But Ah! 'twere better, least this Time shou'd come,
Now to turn Loyal, and divert your Doom.
| The Works of Mr. Robert Gould | |