 | Advice to his Grace |  |
Advice to His GRACE.
Awake, vain Man; 'tis time th'Abuse to see;Awake, and guard thy heedless Loyalty
From all the Snares are laid for It and Thee.
No longer let that busie juggling Crew
(Who to their own mis-deeds entitle You,)
Abuse Your ear: Consider, Sir, the State
Of our unhappy Isle, disturb'd of late
With causeless Jealousies, ungrounded Fear,
Obstinate Faction, and Seditious Care;
Gone quite distracted for Religion's sake;
And nothing their hot Brains can cooler make,
(So great's the deprivation of their sence,)
But the excluding of their lawful Prince:
A Prince, in whose each Act is clearly shown,
That Heaven design'd Him to adorn a Throne;
Which (tho' He scorns by Treason to pursue,)
He ne'r will quit, if it become His due.
Then lay betimes Your mad Ambition down;
Nor let the dazling Lustre of a Crown
Bewitch Your Thoughts; but think what mighty care
Attends the Crowns that lawful Princes wear;
But when ill Title's added to the weight,
How insupportable's the Load of State!
Believe those working Brains Your Name abuse;
You only for their Property doe use:
And when they're strong enough to stand alone;
You, as an useless Thing, away'l be thrown.
Think too, how dear you have already paid,
For the fine Projects Your false Friends had laid.
When by the Rabbles fruitless Zeal You lost
Your Royal Fathers Love, Your growing Fortune cross'd;
Say, was Your Bargain, think ye, worth the Cost?
Remember what Relation, Sir, you bear
To Royal Charles; Subject and Son You are;
Two Names that strict Obedience does require;
What Frenzy then does Your rash Thoughts Inspire,
Thus by Disloyal Deeds to add more Cares,
To them of the bright Burden that he wears?
Why with such eager speed hunt You a Crown
You're so unfit to wear, were it Your own?
With Bows, and Legs, and little Arts, You try,
A rude, unthinking Tumults love to buy:
And he who stoops to do so mean a Thing,
Shows He, by Heaven, was ne're design'd for King.
Would You be Great? do Things are Great and Brave;
And scorn to be the Mobile's dull Slaves:
Tell the base Great Ones, and the shouting Throng,
You scorn a Crown worn in anothers wrong.
Prove Your high Birth by Deeds Noble and Good;
But strive not to Legitimate Your Bloud.
Ephelia
| Advice to his Grace | |