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From ALBION's realm to fervile fhores convey'd,
Wrung from her fons, and speeded by her kings!
Oh irksome days! when wicked thrones combine
With papal craft, to gull their native land!

Such was our fate, while ROME's director taught
Of fubjects, born to be their monarch's prey,
To toil for monks, for gluttony to toil,
For vacant gluttony; extortion, fraud,

For av'rice, envy, pride, revenge, and shame!
O doctrine breath'd from Stygian caves! exhal'd
From inmoft EREBUS!-Such HENRY's reign!
Urging his loyal realms reluctant hand

To wield the peaceful fword, by JOHN erewhile
Forc'd from its fcabbard; and with burnish'd lance
Effay the favage cure, domeftic war!

And now some nobler spirits chas'd the mist
Of general darkness. GROSTED* now adorn'd
The mitred wreath he wore, with reafon's fword
Stagg'ring delufion's frauds; at length beneath
ROME's interdict expiring calm, refign'd
No vulgar foul that dar'd to heav'n appeal!
But ah this fertile glebe, this fair domain
Had well nigh ceded to the flothful hands
Of monks libidinous; ere EDWARD's care
The lavish hand of death-bed fear restrain’d.
Yet was he clear of fuperftition's taint?
He too, mifdeemful of his wholesome law,
Ev'n he, expiring, gave his treasur'd gold

Bishop of LINCOLN, called Malleus Romanorum,

To

To fatten monks on SALEM's diftant foil!

Yes, the third EDWARD's breaft, to papal fway
So little prone, and fierce in honour's cause,
Cou'd fuperftition quell! before the tow'rs
Of haggard PARIS, at the thunder's voice
He drops the sword, and figns ignoble peace!
But ftill the night by Romish art diffus'd
Collects her clouds, and with flow pace recedes.
When by foft BOURDEAU's braver queen approv❜d,
Bold WICKLIFF rofe and while the bigot pow'r
Amidst her native darkness skulk'd fecure,
The demon vanifh'd as he spread the day.
So from his bofom CACUS breath'd of old
The pitchy cloud, and in a night of fmoke
Secure awhile his recreant life fuftain'd;
'Till fam'd ALCIDES, o'er his fubtleft wiles
Victorious, chear'd the ravag'd nations round.
Hail honour'd WICKLIFF! enterprizing sage!
An Epicurus in the cause of truth!

For 'tis not radiant funs, the jovial hours
Of youthful spring, an ether all ferene,
Nor all the verdure of CAMPANIA's vales,
Can chase religious gloom! 'Tis reason, thought,
The light, the radiance that pervades the soul,
And sheds its beams on heav'n's myfterious way!

As

yet this light but glimmer'd, and again
Error prevail'd; while kings by force uprais'd
Let loose the rage of bigots on their foes,
And feek affection by the dreadful boon

Of

Of licens'd murder. Ev'n the kindeft prince,
The most extended breast, the royal HAL!
All unrelenting heard the Lollards cry
Burst from the center of remorseless flames;
Their fhrieks endur'd! Oh stain to martial praise !
When COBHAM, gen'rous as the noble peer
That wears his honours, pay'd the fatal price
Of virtue blooming ere the storms were laid!
'Twas thus, alternate, truth's precarious flame
Decay'd or flourish'd. With malignant eye
The pontiff faw BRITANNIA's golden fleece,
Once all his own, invest her worthier fons !
Her verdant valleys, and her fertile plains,
Yellow with grain abjure his hateful sway!
Effay'd his utmost art, and inly own'd
No labours bore proportion to the prize.

So when the tempter view'd, with envious eye,
The first fair pattern of the female frame,
All nature's beauties in one form difplay'd,
And cent'ring there, in wild amaze he stood;
Then only envying heav'n's creative hand :
Wish'd to his gloomy reign his envious arts
Might win this prize, and doubled ev'ry snare.
And vain were reason, courage, learning, all,
Till pow'r accede: till TUDOR's wild caprice
Smile on their caufe; TUDOR, whofe tyrant reign
With mental freedom crown'd, the best of kings
Might envious view, and ill prefer their own!

Then from its tow'ring height with horrid found

Rufh'd

Rush'd the proud abby. Then the vaulted roofs,
Torn from their walls, difclos'd the wanton fcene
Of monkish chastity! Each angry friar
Crawl'd from his bedded ftrumpet, mutt'ring low
An ineffectual curfe. The pervious nooks
That, ages paft, convey'd the guileful priest
To play fome image on the gaping crowd,
Imbibe the novel day-light; and expofe
Obvious, the fraudful engin'ry of ROME.
As tho' this op'ning earth to nether realms
Shou'd flash meridian day, the hooded race
Shudder abash'd to find their cheats difplay'd:
And confcious of their guilt, and pleas'd to wave
Its fearful meed, refign'd their fair domain.

Nor yet fupine, nor void of rage, retir'd
The pest gigantic; whofe revengeful stroke
Ting'd the red annals of MARIA's reign.
When from the tendereft breast, each wayward priest
Cou'd banish mercy, and implant a fiend!
When cruelty the fun'ral pyre uprear'd,

And bound religion there, and fir'd the base !

When the fame blaze, which on each tortur'd limb
Fed with luxuriant rage, in ev'ry face

Triumphant faith appear'd, and fmiling hope.
O bleft ELIZA! from thy piercing beam
Forth flew this hated fiend, the child of ROME;
Driv❜n to the verge of ALBION, linger'd there,
Then with her JAMES receding, caft behind
One angry frown, and fought more fervile climes.

Hence,

Henceforth they ply'd the long-continued task
Of righteous havoc, cov'ring distant fields.
With the wrought remnants of the shatter'd pile.
Then WOLSEY rofe, by nature form'd to feek
Ambition's trophies, by addrefs to win,
By temper to enjoy whofe humbler birth
Taught the gay scenes of pomp to dazzle more.
While thro' the land the mufing pilgrim fees
A tract of brighter green, and in the midst
Appears a mouldering wall, with ivy crown'd;
Or gothic turret, pride of ancient days!
Now but of ufe to grace a rural scene

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To bound our viftas, and to glad the fons
Of GEORGE's reign, referv'd for fairer times!

LOVE AND HONOUR.

Sed

neque Medorum filva, ditissima terra,

Nec pulcher Ganges, atque auro turbidus Hamus,
Laudibus Angligenûm certent: non Baltra, nec Indi;
Totaque turriferis Panchaia pinguis arenis.

ET the green olive glad Hefperian fhores

Lfer tawny citron, and her orange-groves,

These let IBERIA boaft; but if in vain,
To win the stranger plant's diffusive smile,
The BRITON labours, yet our native minds,
Our conftant bofoms, these, the dazled world

VOL. I.

Y

May

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