University of Virginia Library

Cambray! whilst of Seraphick Love you write,
The noblest Image in the clearest Light:
A Love by no self Interest debas'd,
But on th'Almighty's high Perfection plac'd.
A Love in which true Piety consists,
That soars to Heaven without the help of Priests.
Let partial Rome the great Attempt oppose,
Support the Cheat from which the Income flows;
Her Censures may condemn, but not confute,
If best your elevated Notions suit.
With what to Reason seems the Almighty's due,
They have, at least, an Air of being true.
And what can animated Clay produce,
Beyond a Guess, in Matters so abstruse?
But when, descending from the Imperial height;
You stoop of Sublunary Things to treat,
Minerva seems the Moral to dispence;
How great the Subject, how sublime the Sense.
Not the Alconian Bard with such a Flame
E'er sung of ruling Arts; your lofty Theam
In your Telemachus his Hero's Son
We see the great Original out-done.
There is in Vertue, sure, a hidden Charm,
To force Esteem, and Envy to disarm;
Else in a flatt'ring Court you ne'er had been design'd
T'instruct the future Troublers of Mankind.
Happy your Native Soil, at least by Nature so,
In none her Treasures more profusely flow:
The Hills adorn'd with Vines, with Flow'rs the Plain
Without the Sun's too near approach, serene:
But Heaven in vain does on the Vineyards smile,
The Monarch's Glory mocks the Labourer's Toil.
What tho' elaborate Brass with Nature strive,
And proud Equestrian Figures seem alive,
With various Terrors on their Basis wrought,
With yielding Citadels, surpriz'd or bought;
And here there Ruins of a taken Town,
There a Bombarded Steeple tumbling down:
Such Prodigies of Art and costly Pains
Serve but to gild th'unthinking Rabbles Chains.
Oh! abject State of such as tamely groan
Under a blind Dependency on One!
How far inferior to the Herds that range,
With native Freedom o'er the Woods and Plains?
With them no Fallacy of Schools prevail,
Nor of a Right Divine the nauseous Tale
Can give to one amongst themselves a Power,
Without controul, his Fellows to devour.
To Reasoning Human Kind alone belong
The Arts to hurt themselves by reasoning wrong.
Howe'er the foolish Notion first began,
Of trusting Absolute to lawless Man:
Howe'er a Tyrant may by Force subsist;
For who would be a Slave that can resist?
Those set the Casuist safest on the Throne,
Who make the People's Int'rest their own;
And chusing rather to be lov'd than fear'd,
Are Kings of Men not of a servile Herd.
Oh Liberty! too late desir'd, when lost,
Like Health, when wanted, thou art valued most.
In Regions where no Property is known,
Thro' which the Garone runs and rapid Rhone,
Where Peasants toil for Harvest not their own,
How gladly would they quit their Native Soil,
And change for Liberty their Wine and Oil.
As Wretches chain'd and labouring at the Oar.
In sight of Italy's delightful Shoar,
Reflect on their unhappy Fate the more.
Thy Laws have still their Force above the rest
Of Gothick Kingdom, happy Albion's blest.
Long since their ancient Freedom they have lost,
And servilely of their Subjection boast.
Thy better Fate the vain Attempts resists
Of faithless Monarchs, and designing Priests,
Unshaken yet the Government subsists.
While Streams of Blood the Continent o'erflow,
Red'ning the Maese, the Danube, and the Po,
Thy Thames, auspicious Isle, her Thunder sends
To crush thy Foes, and to relieve her Friends.
Say Muse, since no surprize, or foreign stroak,
Can hurt her, guarded by her Walls of Oak;
Since wholsome Laws her Liberty transfer
To future Ages, what can Albion fear?
Can she the dear-bought Treasures throw away?
Have Universities so great a sway?
The Muse is silent, cautious to reflect
On Mansions where the Muses keep their Seat.
Barren of Thought, and niggardly of Rhime,
My creeping Numbers are forbid to climb;
Vent'ring too far, my weary Genius fails,
And o'er my drooping Senses Sleep prevails.
An antick Pile near Thames's silver Stream,
Was the first Object of my airy Dream;
In ancient times a Consecrated Fane,
But since apply'd to Uses more Prophane:
Fill'd with a popular debating Throng,
Oft in the Right, and oft'ner in the Wrong:
Of Good and Bad, the variable Test,
Where the Religion that is voted best
Is still inclin'd to persecute the rest.
On the high Fabrick stood a Monster fell,
Of hideous Form, Second to none in Hell:
The Fury, to be more abhor'd and fear'd,
Her Teeth and Jaws with clods of Goar besmear'd,
Her parti-colour'd Robe obscenely stain'd
With pious Murthers, Freemen wrack'd and chain'd,
With the implacable and brutish Rage
Of fierce Dragoons, sparing no Sex nor Age.
With all the horrid Instruments of Death,
Of torturing Innocents to improve their Faith,
Clouding the Roof with their infectious Breath.
Thus she began, Are then my Labours vain,
That to the Powers of France have added Spain?
Vain my Attempts to make that Empire great;
And shall a Woman by Designs defeat,
Baffle th'Infernal Projects I've begun,
And break the Measures of my favourite Son?
Tho' far unlike the Heroes of her Race,
That made their Humours of their Laws take place,
And slighting Coronation Oath's, disdain'd
Their high Prerogative should be restrain'd.
Tho' her own Isle is blest with Liberty,
Has she a Right to set all Europe free?
Under this Roof, with Management, I may
The Progress of her Arms at least delay,
From a contagious Vapour I shall blow;
Within those Walls Breaches may wider grow.
Here let imaginary Fears be shown
Of Danger to the Church, when there is none.
From trivial Bills let warm Debates arise,
[illeg.]oment Sedition, and retard Supplies.
If once my treacherous Arts, and watchful Care,
Break the Confed'racy, and end the War,
Ador'd, in Hell I may in Triumph sit,
And Europe to one Potentate submit.

Waking at so detestable a Sound,
Which would all Order and all Peace confound,
I cry'd, Infernal Hag! be ever dumb;
Thee, with her Arms, let Anna overcome;
Who here reigns Queen, by Heavens on us bestow'd,
To right the Injur'd, and subdue the Proud.
[illeg.]s Rome of old gave Liberty to Greece,
Anna th'invaded sinking Empire frees.
The Allies her Faith, her Power the French proclaim,
Her Piety th'Opprest, the World her Fame.
[illeg.]t Anna's Name, dejected, pale, and scar'd,
The execrable Fantom disappear'd.