Wide from the throne the blest contagion spreads,
O'er all the land its gladdening influence sheds,
Faction's discordant sounds are heard no more,
And foul corruption flies the indignant shore.
His ministers with joy their courses run,
And borrow lustre from the royal sun.
But should some upstart, train'd in Slavery's school,
Learn'd in the maxims of despotick rule,
Full fraught with forms, and grave pedantic pride,
(Mysterious cloak the mind's defects to hide!)
Sordid in small things, prodigal in great,
Saving for minions, squandering for the state-
Should such a miscreant, born for England's bane,
Obscure the glories of a prosperous reign;
Gain, by the semblance of each praiseful art,
A pious prince's unsuspecting heart;
Envious of worth, and talents not his own,
Chase all experienc'd merit from the throne;
To guide the helm a motley crew compose,
Servile to him, the king's and country's foes;
Meanly descend each paltry place to fill,
With tools of power, and panders to his will;
Brandishing high the scorpion scourge o'er all,
Except such slaves as bow their knee to Baal-
Should Albion's fate decree the baneful hour-
Short be the date of his detested power!
Soon may his sovereign break his iron rods,
And hear his people; for their voice is God's!
Cease then your wiles, ye fawning courtiers! cease,
Suffer your rulers to repose in peace;
By Reason led, give proper names to things,
God made them men, the people made them kings;
To all their acts but legal powers belong,
Thus England's monarch never can do wrong;
Of right divine let foolish Filmer dream,
The public welfare is the law supreme.
Lives there a wretch, whose base, degenerate soul
Can crouch beneath a tyrant's stern controul?
Cringe to his nod, ignobly kiss the hand
In galling chains that bind his native land?
Purchased by gold, or aw'd by slavish fear,
Abandon all his ancestors held dear?
Tamely behold that fruit of glorious toil,
England's great charter made a ruffian's spoil;
Hear, unconcern'd, his injured country groan,
Nor stretch an arm to hurl him from the throne?
Let such to freedom forfeit all their claims,
And Charles's minions be the slaves of James.
But soft awhile-Now, Cavendish, attend
The warm effusions of thy dying friend;
Fearless who dares his inmost thoughts reveal, When thus to Heaven he makes his last appeal.
All-gracious God! whose goodness knows no bounds!
Whose power the ample universe surrounds!
In whose great balance, infinitely just,
Kings are but men, and men are only dust;
At thy tribunal low thy suppliant falls,
And here condemn'd, on thee for mercy calls!
Thou hear'st not, Lord! an hypocrite complain,
And sure with thee hypocrisy were vain;
To thy all-piercing eye the heart lies bare,
Thou know'st my sins, and, knowing, still can'st
spare!
Though partial power its ministers may awe,
And murder here by specious forms of law
The axe, which executes the harsh decree,
But wounds the flesh, to set the spirit free!
Well may the man a tyrant's frown despise,
Who, spurning earth, to Heaven for refuge flies;
And on thy mercy, when his foes prevail,
Builds his firm frust-that rock can never fail!
Hear then, Jehovah, hear thy servant's prayer!
Be England's welfare thy peculiar care !
Defend her laws, her worship chaste, and pure,
And guard her rights while Heaven and earth endure!
O let not ever fell tyrannick sway
His blood stain'd standard on her shores display!
Nor fiery Zeal usurp the holy name,
Blinded with blood, and wrapt in rolls of flame!
In vain let Slavery shake her threatening chain,
And Persecution wave her torch in vain!
Arise, O Lord! and hear thy people's call!
Nor for one man let three great kingdoms fall!
O! that my blood may glut the barbarous rage
Of Freedom's foes, and England's ills assuage!
Grant but that prayer, I ask for no repeal,
A willing victim for my country's weal!
With rapturous joy the crimson stream shall flow,
And my heart leap to meet the friendly blow.
But should the fiend, though drench'd with human
Dire Bigotry, insatiate, thirst for more,
And, arm'd from Rome, seek this devoted land,
Death in her eye, and bondage in her hand-
Blast her fell purpose! blast her foul desires!
Break short her sword, and quench her horrid fires!
Raise up some champion, zealous to maintain
The sacred compact, by which monarchs reign!
Wise to foresee all danger from afar,
And brave to meet the thunders of the war!
Let pure Religion, not to forms confin'd,
And love of freedom fill his generous mind!
Warm let his breast with sparks celestial glow,
Benign to man, the tyrant's deadly foe!
his arm,
While sinking nations rest upon
Do thou the great Deliverer shield from harm!
Inspire his councils! aid his righteous sword!
'Till Albion rings with Liberty restored!
Thence let her years in bright succession run,
And Freedom reign coæval with the sun.
'Tis done, my Ca'ndish, Heaven has heard my
So speaks my heart, for all is rapture there.
To Belgia's coast advert thy ravish'd eyes,
That happy coast, whence all our hopes arise.
Behold the Prince, perhaps thy future king,
From whose green years maturest blessings spring;
Whose youthful arm, when all o'erwhelming Power
Ruthless march'd forth, his country to devour,
With firm-braced nerve repell'd the brutal force,
And stopp'd th' unwieldy giant in his course.
Great William, hail! who sceptres could despise, And spurn a crown with unretorted eyes :
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