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They would for man, and his precarious throne,
Exact obedience, due to Heaven alone,
Forbid resistance to his worst commands,
And place God's thunderbolts in mortal hands; -
The vision sinks to life's contracted span,
And rising passion speaks me still a man.

What! shall a tyrant trample on the laws,
And stop the source whence all his power he draws ?
His country's rights to foreign foes betray,
Lavish her wealth, yet stipulate for pay?
To shameful falshood's venal slaves suborn,
And dare to laugh the virtuous man to scorn ?
Deride Religion, Justice, Honour, Fame,
And hardly know of Honesty the name?
In Luxury's lap lie screen’d from cares and pains,
And only toil to forge his subjects chains ?
And shall he hope the public voice to drown,
The voice which gave, and can resume his crown!

When Conscience bares her horrours, and the dread Of sudden vengeance, bursting o'er his head, Wrings his black soul; when injured nations groan, And cries of millions shake his tottering throne;.

Shall flattering churchmen soothe his guilty ears, · With tortured texts, to calm his growing fears ;

Exaļt his power above the etherial climes,
And call down Heaven to sanctify his crimes !

O! impious doctrine !--Servile priests away!
Your Prince you poison, and your God betray.

Hapless the monarch, who, in evil hour,
Drinks from your cup the draught of lawless

The magick potion boils within his veins,
And locks each sense in adamantine chains;
Reason revolts, insatiate thirst ensues,
The wild delirium each fresh draught renews ;
In vain his people urge him to refrain,
His faithful servants supplicate in vain ;
He quaffs at length, impatient of controul,
The bitter dregs that lurk within the bowl.

Zeal your pretence, but wealth and power your

You even could make a Solomon of James.
Behold the pedant, throned in awkward state,
Absorb’d in pride, ridiculously great;
His courtiers seem to tremble at his nod,
His prelates call his voice the voice of God;
Weakness and vanity with them combine,
And James believes his majesty divine.

Presumptuous wretch ! almighty power to scan, While every action proves him less than man.

By your delusions to the scaffold led,
Martyr'd by you a royal Charles has bled.
Teach then ye sycophants ! O! teach his son,
The gloomy paths of tyranny to shun;
Teach him to prize Religion's sacred claim,
Teach him how Virtue leads to honest fame,
How Freedom's wreath a monarch's brows adorns,
Nor, basely fawning, plant his couch with thorns.
Point to his view his people's love alone,
The solid basis of his stedfast throne;
Chosen by them their dearest rights to guard,
The bad to punish, and the good reward,
Clement and just let him the sceptre sway,
And willing subjects shall with pride obey,
Shall vie to execute his high commands,
His throne their hearts, his sword and shield their


Happy the Prince! thrice firmly fix'd his crown!
Who builds on public good his chaste renown;
Studious to bless, who knows no second aim,
His people's interest, and his own the same ;
The ease of millions rests upon his cares,
And thus Heaven's high prerogative he shares.

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 fies the indignant shore.
His ministers with joy their courses run,
And borrow lustre froin 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 cloakthe mind's defects to hide !)
Sordid in small chings, 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;

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