 | Poems on several occasions |  |
AN EPISTLE TO ME.
Dear Sir,
Nor wild ambition nor mean hopes of gainProvoke your friend to tempt the watery main.
A long-weigh'd scheme, to full perfection brought,
Bids strain each nerve, and quicken every thought.
Nor flies he toil, nor fears he tyrants' rage,
Nor still 'gainst numbers wordy war to wage.
He flies a wicked land, from heaven withdrawn;
Where Aires and Hoadly stain the fur and lawn;
Where dire oppression wears the garb of laws;
Where ------ owns aloud the devil's cause;
Where the press groans with licensed blasphemies;
Where father Francis in long exile dies;
Where faith with virtue's punish'd as a crime;
Where the gull'd Tories Sandys and Pulteney join,
To their ambition give up church and laws,
Give up their party's and their country's cause,
578
But which Whig ministry shall rule the brute!
Vanquish'd or victor, since his country's lost,
His duty bids him seize another post;
Whence rallied, honest men may make a stand,
Regain their own, or plant a better, land.
| Poems on several occasions | |