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 | Poems on Affairs of State |  |
I cannot
hold, hot struggling Rage aspires,
And crouds my free-born Breast with noble Fires.
Whilst prudent Fools squeak Treason thro the Nose,
And whine a quivering Vote in sneaking Prose,
My Muse soars out of reach, and dares despise
What e'er below attempts to tyrannize.
Tho I by some base Nero should be clad
In such a Gown as the old Christians had,
In Clouds of Satyr up to Heav'n I'de roll;
For he could burn my Shell, but not my Soul.
Tho Nature her auspicious Aid refuse,
Revenge and Anger shall inspire my Muse:
Nature has giv'n me a complaining part,
And bleeding England a resenting Heart.
And crouds my free-born Breast with noble Fires.
Whilst prudent Fools squeak Treason thro the Nose,
And whine a quivering Vote in sneaking Prose,
My Muse soars out of reach, and dares despise
What e'er below attempts to tyrannize.
Tho I by some base Nero should be clad
In such a Gown as the old Christians had,
In Clouds of Satyr up to Heav'n I'de roll;
For he could burn my Shell, but not my Soul.
Tho Nature her auspicious Aid refuse,
Revenge and Anger shall inspire my Muse:
Nature has giv'n me a complaining part,
And bleeding England a resenting Heart.
| Poems on Affairs of State | |