 | The Roman Revenge |  |
PROLOGUE.
Tell
me, ye matchless Fair! Ye fearless Brave!
Is there one Briton—born to be a Slave?
No.—While your Prince half Europe's Rights maintains,
Nor Souls, nor Bodies, here, can stoop to Chains.
Angels, and Englishmen, like Homage, pay:
Bow, but, from Love,—and, but by Choice obey.
Loyal, to Reason's Rights, not Slavery's Awe,
The Sons of Freedom serve the Kings, of Law.
Act, with no Clogs on Sense, no Clouds on Art,
But let in Truth's whole Light, to chear the Heart.
Is there one Briton—born to be a Slave?
No.—While your Prince half Europe's Rights maintains,
Nor Souls, nor Bodies, here, can stoop to Chains.
Angels, and Englishmen, like Homage, pay:
Bow, but, from Love,—and, but by Choice obey.
Loyal, to Reason's Rights, not Slavery's Awe,
The Sons of Freedom serve the Kings, of Law.
Act, with no Clogs on Sense, no Clouds on Art,
But let in Truth's whole Light, to chear the Heart.
Such, once, was Rome—to Strength, not Luxury, train'd:
Then Liberty was Hers, and Virtue reign'd:
Safe, in her own felt Power, aud bluntly brave,
She scorn'd alike to be—or make—a Slave.
No puny Popeling, yet, Man's Birth-right Stole:
Foe, to th' invaded Empire—of the Soul!
Plain, prideless Rule bound short Ambition's Plea:
But left Thought, Art, Faith, Hope, and Conscience free.
Then Liberty was Hers, and Virtue reign'd:
Safe, in her own felt Power, aud bluntly brave,
She scorn'd alike to be—or make—a Slave.
No puny Popeling, yet, Man's Birth-right Stole:
Foe, to th' invaded Empire—of the Soul!
Plain, prideless Rule bound short Ambition's Plea:
But left Thought, Art, Faith, Hope, and Conscience free.
Far other Fame was hers, when Church-craft reign'd,
Then, every Cherub's Face, with Gall, was stain'd:
Sweet-ey'd Religion, sow'rd, by priestly heaven,
Frown'd on pale Peace—and shook her Keys at Heaven.
More than her Maker's Rights, She found too small,
And murmur'd, that his Grants cou'd give—but All.
Wil'd, Inconsistent, Blasphemous, and Vain,
Revers'd God's Laws—to propogate his Reign!
Her Creeds taught Curses.—Her proud Schools Debate
Nothing, but Fool, a Flattery, 'scap'd her Hate.
She lov'd Obedience,—but she lov'd it, blind:
And, safelier to subdue, debas'd Mankind.
No Pardon, there, let Britain's Sins presume;
Freedom, and Truth, are Heretics—at Rome.
Religion's Dark'ners will no Reverence feel
For Faith, that bears no Craft, and blinds no Zeal:
Learning, uncurb'd by Cant; Truth, wash'd from Wiles,
An Earth, that Reasons—and a Heaven that smiles:
Homage, that no Sedition can betray,
Yet Liberty, that laughs at lawless Sway.
Then, every Cherub's Face, with Gall, was stain'd:
Sweet-ey'd Religion, sow'rd, by priestly heaven,
Frown'd on pale Peace—and shook her Keys at Heaven.
More than her Maker's Rights, She found too small,
And murmur'd, that his Grants cou'd give—but All.
Wil'd, Inconsistent, Blasphemous, and Vain,
Revers'd God's Laws—to propogate his Reign!
Her Creeds taught Curses.—Her proud Schools Debate
Nothing, but Fool, a Flattery, 'scap'd her Hate.
She lov'd Obedience,—but she lov'd it, blind:
And, safelier to subdue, debas'd Mankind.
No Pardon, there, let Britain's Sins presume;
Freedom, and Truth, are Heretics—at Rome.
Religion's Dark'ners will no Reverence feel
For Faith, that bears no Craft, and blinds no Zeal:
Learning, uncurb'd by Cant; Truth, wash'd from Wiles,
An Earth, that Reasons—and a Heaven that smiles:
Homage, that no Sedition can betray,
Yet Liberty, that laughs at lawless Sway.
Such had the World's vain Mistress, then, been fram'd,
When this Night's Story Rome's Attention claim'd;
Freedom had nurs'd no Son, to blast her Reign,
And Cæsar had a Soul, without one Stain.
When this Night's Story Rome's Attention claim'd;
Freedom had nurs'd no Son, to blast her Reign,
And Cæsar had a Soul, without one Stain.
| The Roman Revenge | |