Abjicito.

A.

OU told me, I remember, glory built
On felfish principles is fhame and guilt:
The deeds, that men admire as half

divine,

Stark naught, because corrupt in their defign.
Strange doctrine this! that without fcruple tears
The laurel that the very lightning fpares;
Brings down the warrior's trophy to the duft,
And eats into his bloody fword like rust.

B. I grant that men continuing what they are,
Fierce, avaricious, proud, there must be war.
And never meant the rule should be applied
To him that fights with juftice on his fide.
Let laurels, drench'd in pure Parnaffian dews,
Reward his memory, dear to every muse,
Who, with a courage of unfhaken root,
In honour's field advancing his firm foot,
Plants it upon the line that Juftice draws,
And will prevail or perish in her cause.

'Tis to the virtues of fuch men man owes

His portion in the good that heaven bestows.
And when recording history displays

Feats of renown, though wrought in ancient days,
Tells of a few stout hearts that fought and died
Where duty placed them, at their country's fide;
The man that is not moved with what he reads,
That takes not fire at their heroic deeds,
Unworthy of the bleffings of the brave,
Is base in kind, and born to be a flave.
But let eternal infamy pursue

The wretch to nought but his ambition true,
Who, for the fake of filling with one blast
The post-horns of all Europe, lays her waste.
Think yourselves station'd on a towering rock,
To see a people scatter'd like a flock,
Some royal mastiff panting at their heels,
With all the favage thirst a tiger feels;
Then view him felf-proclaim'd in a gazette
Chief monster that has plagued the nations yet!
The globe and fceptre in fuch hands misplaced,
Those ensigns of dominion, how disgraced!
The glass, that bids man mark the fleeting hour,
And Death's own scythe would better speak his

power;

Then grace the bony phantom in their stead With the king's fhoulderknot and gay cockade ; Clothe the twin brethren in each other's dress, The fame their occupation and fuccefs.

A. 'Tis your belief the world was made for man; Kings do but reafon on the felfsame plan : Maintaining yours, you cannot theirs condemn,

Who think, or seem to think, man made for them.
B. Seldom, alas! the power of logic reigns
With much fufficiency in royal brains;
Such reasoning falls like an inverted cone,
Wanting its proper base to stand upon.
Man made for kings! those optics are but dim
That tell you so-say, rather, they for him.
That were indeed a king-ennobling thought,
Could they, or would they, reafon as they ought.
The diadem, with mighty projects lined,
To catch renown by ruining mankind,

Is worth, with all its gold and glittering store,
Just what the toy will fell for, and no more.
Oh! bright occafions of difpenfing good,
How feldom used, how little understood!
To pour in Virtue's lap her just reward;
Keep Vice restrain'd behind a double guard;
To quell the faction, that affronts the throne,
By filent magnanimity alone;

To nurse with tender care the thriving arts;
Watch every beam philofophy imparts;
To give religion her unbridled scope,
Nor judge by statute a believer's hope;
With close fidelity and love unfeign'd
To keep the matrimonial bond unstain'd;
Covetous only of a virtuous praise,
His life a leffon to the land he sways;
To touch the fword with confcientious awe,
Nor draw it but when duty bids him draw;
To sheath it in the peace-reftoring close
With joy beyond what victory bestows;

Bleft country, where these kingly glories fhine!

Blest England, if this happiness be thine!

A. Guard what you say; the patriotic tribe Will fneer, and charge you with a bribe.-B. A The worth of his three kingdoms I defy, [bribe? To lure me to the baseness of a lie.

And of all lies (be that one poet's boast),
The lie that flatters I abhor the most.

Those arts be theirs that hate his gentle reign;
But he that loves him has no need to feign.

A. Your smooth eulogium, to one crown adSeems to imply a cenfure on the rest.

66

[dreff'd,

B. Quevedo, as he tells his fober tale,
Afk'd, when in hell, to fee the royal jail;
Approved their method in all other things:
"But where, good fir, do you confine your kings?"
There," said his guide, "the group is full in view."
"Indeed!" replied the Don," there are but few."
His black interpreter the charge disdain'd ;—
"Few, fellow?-there are all that ever reign'd."
Wit undistinguishing is apt to strike
The guilty and not guilty both alike:
I grant the sarcasm is too fevere,
And we can readily refute it here;

While Alfred's name, the father of his age,
And the Sixth Edward's grace the hiftoric page.
A. Kings then at last have but the lot of all:
By their own conduct they must stand or fall.

B. True. While they live, the courtly laureat pays
His quit-rent ode, his pepper-corn of praise ;
And many a dunce, whofe fingers itch to write,
Adds, as he can, his tributary mite:

A fubject's faults a fubject may proclaim,

A monarch's errors are forbidden game!

Thus free from cenfure, overawed by fear,
And praised for virtues that they scorn to wear,
The fleeting forms of majesty engage

Respect, while stalking o'er life's narrow stage;
Then leave their crimes for history to scan,
And ask with busy scorn, Was this the man?
I pity kings, whom worship waits upon
Obfequious from the cradle to the throne;
Before whose infant eyes the flatterer bows,
And binds a wreath about their baby brows;
Whom education ftiffens into state,

And death awakens from that dream too late.
Oh! if fervility with supple knees,

Whose trade it is to smile, to crouch, to please;
If smooth diffimulation, fkill'd to grace
A devil's purpose with an angel's face;
If smiling peereffes and fimpering peers,
Encompaffing his throne a few short

years;
If the gilt carriage and the pamper'd steed,
That wants no driving, and difdains the lead;
If guards, mechanically form'd in ranks,
Playing, at beat of drum, their martial pranks,
Shouldering and standing as if struck to stone,
While condescending majesty looks on;
If monarchy consist in such base things,
Sighing, I fay again, I pity kings!

To be fufpected, thwarted, and withstood, E'en when he labour's for his country's good; To see a band, call'd patriot for no cause, But that they catch at popular applause, Careless of all the anxiety he feels,