A collection of original poems and translations :: :: University of Virginia Library

The Minister that's Brave and Just,
True to his King's and Country's Trust,
Defies the Tyrant Faction;
Howe'er its many Heads may stare,
Grown dreadful with a Gorgon Air
Of general Distraction.

Not threatning B---d who commands
The restless City's furious Bands,
And brandishes her Dagger;
Not thundring P---y, tho' he awes
The S**n**te to desert his Cause,
His steady Soul can stagger.

267

Th'impending Storm, that louder grows
From shrinking Friends, and swelling Foes,
Intrepidly he faces:
Untouch'd with Guilt, he knows no Fears,
And only Greater yet appears
Divested of his Places.

Thus Somers, for great Service done,
Thus Marlborough, for Realms o'er run,
Were by their Country treated;
Who now quaff Nectar's flowing Tide,
With just Godolphin by their Side,
Celestially seated.

Thus our great Founder William rose,
By Opposition of his Foes,
To his Immortal Glory:
Thus our brave George advanced to Fame,
And still shall have Old Steady's Name
In everlasting Story.

269

George thus address'd his Brother Gods,
Assembled in their blest Abodes,
And Britain's Fate debating:
Long have the S---s ceas'd to reign,
Since J---'s Priests and foreign Queen
Drove on his Abdicating.

Soon as he from the Church withdrew
His Grace by solemn Promise due
And broke all Limitation,
His forfeit Crown by just Decree
Was doom'd to William and to Me,
To save a sinking Nation.

The Bigot King shall now no more
Hold Commerce with Rome's Scarlet Whore,
And back her Superstition;
No more shall S---'s perjur'd House
Britain's Credulity abuse,
While plotting her Perdition.

271

But Foes subdued my Pity meet,
William's fam'd Boyne gave one Defeat,
And my Dunblain another:
My Coward Cousin now I own,
Since Scotland proves him J---'s Son,
Whoever was his Mother.

Nay, Frauds forgotten, I'm content
He should be rank'd in right Descent:
Let but the British Ocean
Still rore between his Sons and mine,
And let the Royal Exiles reign,
Where they can find Promotion.

Since Tyranny has met its Fate,
And Liberty in Church and State
Now triumphs o'er its ruin;
Britain shall stand most truly Great,
And see her Foes bow at her Feet,
For Peace most humbly suing.

273

Her Fleets shall all around proclame
To distant Shores her dreaded Name,
In Peals of British Thunder:
Cross from the Old World to the New
Their Sails shall fly, her Fame pursue,
And fill both Worlds with wonder.

Nor shall she seek for Golden Mines,
That base Allay to grand Designs,
That stain to the victorious:
Shou'd Heroes, after Actions bold,
Turn Misers, and now thirst for Gold,
How must they fall inglorious!

No Bounds shall check her conqu'ring Arms,
Whenever a just Cause alarms,
And Wrongs are to be righted:
Nor scorching Suns, nor freezing Poles
Shall bar my Britons daring Souls,
When once to War excited.

275

But these great Things, that I relate,
Can only be her glorious Fate,
On this express Condition;
That with false Zeal no more she burns,
No more to S------'s Race returns,
And Papal Imposition.

To raise again that hated Line,
Shou'd e'er a factions People join,
Grown Mad with too much Freedom;
Again my Pow'rs shall take the Field,
Again the Coward Chiefs shall yield,
And Sword or Ax shall bleed 'em.

Thrice shou'd Rebellion rear her Head,
With Front of Brass, but Heart of Lead,
Still bent upon Restoring;
Before my Sons thrice shall she fly,
Thrice at their Feet in vain shall lie
Wives for their Lords imploring.

277

But whither wou'd my Muse aspire?
Forbear to tune the merry Lyre
To Themes past thy attaining:
For to attempt, in humble Odes,
The Acts of Heroes, Speech of Gods,
At best is but profaning.