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Religion, richest favour of the skies,

Stands most reveal'd before the freeman's eyes;
No fhades of fuperftition blot the day,

Liberty chaces all that gloom away;

The foul, emancipated, unopprefs'd,

Free to prove all things and hold fast the best,
Learns much, and to a thousand lift'ning minds,
Communicates with joy the good fhe finds.
Courage in arms, and ever prompt to show
His manly forehead to the fiercest foe;
Glorious in war, but for the fake of peace,
His fpirits rifing as his toils increase,

Guards well what arts and industry have won,
And freedom claims him for her first-born fon.
Slaves fight for what were better caft away,
The chain that binds them, and a tyrant's fway,
But they that fight for freedom, undertake
The nobleft caufe mankind can have at ftake,
Religion, virtue, truth, whate'er we call
A bleffing, freedom is the pledge of all.

Oh

Oh liberty! the pris'ners pleafing dream,
The poet's muse, his passion and his theme,
Genius is thine, and thou art fancy's nurse,
Loft without thee th' ennobling pow'rs of verfe,
Heroic fong from thy free touch acquires

Its clearest tone, the rapture it inspires;

Place me where winter breathes his keenest air,
And I will fing if liberty be there;

And I will fing at liberty's dear feet,

In Afric's torrid clime or India's fierceft heat.

A. Sing where you please, in fuch a caufe I grant

An English Poet's privilege to rant,

But is not freedom, at least is not our's

Too apt to play the wanton with her pow'rs,

Grow freakish, and o'er leaping ev'ry mound
Spread anarchy and terror all around?

B. Agreed. But would you fell or flay your horfe
For bounding and curvetting in his course
Or if, when ridden with a careless rein,

He break away, and seek the distant plain ?

No.

No. His high mettle under good controul,
Gives him Olympic fpeed, and fhoots him to the goal.

Let difcipline employ her wholefome arts,

Let magistrates alert perform their parts,

Not fkulk or put on a prudential mask,

As if their duty were a desp❜rate task;
Let active laws apply the needful curb
To guard the peace that riot would disturb,
And liberty preferv'd from wild excefs,
Shall raise no feuds for armies to fupprefs.
When tumult lately burft his prifon door,
And fet Plebeian thousands in a roar,
When he ufurp'd authority's juft place,
And dar'd to look his mafter in the face,
When the rude rabbles watch-ward was, deftroy,
And blazing London feem'd a fecond Troy,
Liberty blush'd and hung her drooping head,
Beheld their progrefs with the deepest dread,
Blush'd that effects like these she should produce,
Worfe than the deeds of galley-flaves broke loose.

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She lofes in fuch ftorms her very name,

And fierce licentioufnefs fhould bear the blame.

Incomparable gem! thy worth untold,

Cheap, though blood-bought, and thrown away when

fold;

May no foes ravifh thee, and no false friend
Betray thee, while profeffing to defend;
Prize it ye minifters, ye monarchs spare,
Ye patriots guard it with a mifer's care.

A. Patriots, alas! the few that have been found
Where most they flourish, upon English ground,
The country's need have fcantily supplied,
And the laft left the fcene, when Chatham died.

B. Not fo-the virtue ftill adorns our age,
Thought the chief actor died upon the stage.
In him, Demofthenes was heard again,
Liberty taught him her Athenian strain;
She cloath'd him with authority and awe,

Spoke from his lips, and in his looks, gave law.
His fpeech, his form, his action, full of grace,
And all his country beaming in his face,

He

He flood, as fome inimitable hand

Would strive to make a Paul or Tully ftand.
No fycophant or flave that dar'd oppose

Her facred cause, but trembl'd when he rose,
venal stickler for the yoke,

And

every

Felt himself crush'd at the first word he spoke.

Such men are rais'd to station and command,
When providence means mercy to a land.
He speaks, and they appear; to him they owe
Skill to direct, and strength to strike the blow,
To manage with address, to seize with pow'r
The crifis of a dark decifive hour.

So Gideon earn'd a vict'ry not his own,
Subferviency his praise, and that alone.

Poor England! thou art a devoted deer,
Befet with ev'ry ill but that of fear.

The nations hunt; all mark thee for a prey,

They fwarm around thee, and thou ftand'ft at bay.
Undaunted ftill, though wearied and perplex'd,

Once Chatham fav'd thee, but who faves thee next?

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