 | Poems on Affairs of State |  |
A Prologue design'd for Tamerlane, but never spoke.
Written by Dr. G**th.
To day a mighty Hero comes to warm
Your curdling Blood, and bid you, Britains, arm.
To Valour much he owes, to Vertue more;
He fights to save, and conquers to restore.
He strains no Texts, nor makes Dragoons perswade;
He likes Religion, but he hates the Trade.
Born for Mankind, they by his Labours live;
Their Property is his Prerogative.
His Sword destroys less than his Mercy saves,
And none, except his Passions, are his Slaves.
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In Council greatest, and in Camps no less:
Brave, but not Cruel; VVise without Deceit;
Born for an Age curs'd with a Bajazet.
But you, disdaining to be too secure,
Ask his Protection, and yet grudg his Power.
VVith you a Monarch's Right is in dispute;
VVho give Supplies, are only Absolute.
Britain, for shame your factious Feuds decline,
Too long you've labour'd for the Bourbon Line:
Assert lost Rights, an Austrian Prince alone
Is born to nod upon a Spanish Throne.
A Cause no less cou'd on Great Eugene call,
Steep Alpine Rocks require an Hannibal:
He shows you your lost Honour to retrieve;
Our Troops will fight, when once the Senate give.
Quit your Cabals and Factions, and in spite
Of Whig and Tory in this Cause unite.
One Vote will then send Anjou back to France,
There let the Meteor end his airy Dance:
Else to the Mantuan Soil he may repair,
(E'en Abdicated Gods were Latium's Care)
At worst, he'll find some Cornish Borough here.
| Poems on Affairs of State | |