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The works of Mr. Thomas Brown

Serious and Comical, In Prose and Verse; In four volumes. The Fourth Edition, Corrected, and much Enlarged from his Originals never before publish'd. With a key to all his Writings

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His Speech to his Soldiers.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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His Speech to his Soldiers.

A King Entail'd by long Descent,
Equal almost to Time in its extent,
Robb'd of his Throne, for sure it must be so;
Nor God nor Nature can,
Only presumptuous Man,
Be guilty of so black an Overthrow.
What's worse, to palliate the pretence
Harmless Religion too is brought,
Falsly and indirectly us'd,
And all her sacred Mysteries abus'd,
Beyond what the dark Sibyls ever taught.
And can we bear, my Friends, this great Offence?
Can we stand idle by,
And see our Mother robb'd, at last condemn'd to die,
And not endeavour for some Recompence?

47

Envy and Fraud, Hypocrisie and Pride,
And bold Ambition, arm'd for Parricide;
The certain loss of Liberty and Laws,
And Usurpation, an intolerable Cause.
All these and more, have brought us here;
Let no Man doubt, let no Man fear,
His Cause is Just, and if he falls to day,
For so by chance he may.
At worst his Name shall wear
A large and noble Character;
But his exalted Soul shall fly
The boundless pitch of vast Eternity.
He spoke; his Soldiers much approve,
Despair and Fear quit ev'ry Breast,
Rage and Revenge their place possess'd:
And then with wond'rous Order t'wards the Foe they move.
But who th'Amazement and th'Affright can tell,
That on the other Army fell?
Or who, without Astonishment, can say,
The wonderous Things this great Man did that Day?
In vain their routed Squadrons fly,
In vain aloud for help they cry,
The Battle's lost, and they must yield, or die.
But, see of Human Things the brittle state!
The only best, and best deserving Man,
That should have breath'd beyond the common Span,
The last that meets Triumphantly his Fate;
As he was lifting up his Hand,
To give the finishing Command,
Comes a malicious random Shot,
And struck the Victor dead upon the spot.
Methinks I see the wounded Hero lie,
Too good to live, and yet to brave to die;
I hear him bless his Cause, and more he had to say,
But, oh! the hasty Soul could make no longer stay.
Unconquer'd Man, farewel!
Now thou art gone to dwell
Where thou shalt be intirely free,
From all the Curses of Mortality.

48

No anxious Thoughs shall wrack thy Breast,
No Factions shall disturb thy Rest;
Nor shalt thou be by Tyranny oppress'd.
Thy Learning and thy Parts,
Thy Knowledge in the noblest, useful Arts,
Thy Conversation and thy Wit,
Spoke thee for Earth unmeet, for Heaven only fit.
Live bless'd above, almost invok'd below;
Live, and accept this pious Vow,
Our Captain once, our Guardian Angel now.
Live and enjoy, those great Rewards are due,
To those who to their Prince are Faithful, Just and True.