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TO MR. ADDISON,

ON

THE TRAGEDY OF CATO. What do we see? Is Cato then become A greater name in Britain than in Rome? Does mankind now admire his virtues more, Though Lucan, Horace, Virgil, wrote before ? How will posterity this truth explain? “ Cato begins to live in Anna's reign." The world's great chiefs, in council or in arms, Rise in your lines with more exalted charms; Illustrious deeds in distant nations wrought, And virtues by departed heroes taught, Raise in your soul a pure immortal fame, Adorn your life, and consecrate your fame; To your renown all ages you subdue, And Cæsar fought, and Cato bled for you.

All Souis Coll. Oxon.

EPITAPH
ON LORD AUBREY BEAUCLERK,

IN WESTMINSTER-ABBEY, 1740.
Whilst Britain boasts her empire o'er the deep,
This marble shall compel the brave to weep:
As men, as Britons, and as soldiers, mouro;
'Tis dauntless, loyal, virtuous Beauclerk's urn.
Sweet were his manuers, as bis soul was great,
And ripe his worth, though immature his fate;
Each tender grace that joy and love inspires,
Living, he mingled with his martial fires :
Dying, he bid Britannia's thunders roar;
And Spain still felt him, when he breath'd no more.

HISTORICAL EPILOGUE TO TIIE

BROTHERS.

A TRAGEDY.

EPITAPH
AT WELWYN, HERTFORDSHIRE.
IF fond of what is rare, attend !
Here lies an honest man,

Of perfect piety,
Of lainblike patience,

My friend, James Barker;
To whom I pay this mean memorial,
For what deserves the greatest.

An example
Which shone through all the clouds of fortune,

Industrious in low estate, The lesson and reproach of those above him.

To lay this little stone

Is my ambition ;

While others rear
The polish'd marbles of the great !

Vain pompi
A turf o'er virtue charms us more.

E, Y. 1749.

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An Epilogue, through custom, is your right,
But ne'er perhaps was neciljul till this night :
To night the virtuous falls, the guilty flies,
Guilt's dreadful close our narrow scene denies.
In history's authentic record read
What ample vengeance gluts Demetrius' shade;
Vengeance so great, that, when his tale is told,
With pity some e'en Perseus may behold.

Perseus surviv'd, indeed, and fill'd the throne, But ceaseless cares in conquest made him groan : Nor regn'd he long; from Rome swift thunder

flew, And headlong from his throne the tyrant threw : Thrown headlong down, by Rome in triumph

led, For this night's decd his perjur'd bosom bled : His brother's ghost each moment made him start, And all his father's anguish rent his heart. When, rob'd in black, his children round him

hung, And their rajs'd arms in early sorrow wrung ; The younger smil'd, unconscious of their woe ; At which thy tears, O Rome! began to flow; So sad the scene! What then must Perseus feel, To see Jove's race attend the victor's wheel : To see the slaves of his worst foes increase, From such a source !--An emperor's einbrace! He sicken'd soon to death; and, what is worse, He well deseru'd, and felt, the coward's curse; Unpitied, scorn'd, insulted his last hour, Par, far from home, and in a vassal's power : His pale cheek rested on his shameful chain, No friend to mourn, no fatterer to feign; No suit retards, no comfort soothes bis doom, And not one tear bedews a monarch's tomb. Nor ends it thus-dire vengeance to complete, His antient empire falling shares his fate : His throne forgot! his weeping country chain'd! And nations ask-where Alexander reign'd. As public woes a prince's crime pursue, So public blessings are his virtue's due. Shout, Britons, shout-oauspicious fortune bless! And cry, Long live-Our title to success!

Olong with me in Oxford groves confin'd,
In social arts and sacred friendship join'd;
Pair Isis' sorrow, and fair Isis' boast,
Lost from her side, but fortunately lost;

Lord Aubrey Beauclerk was the eighth son of the duke of St. Alban's, who was one of the sons of king Charles the Second. He was born in the year 1711; and, being regularly bred to the sea service, in 1731 he was appointed to the command of his majesty's ship the Ludlow Castle; and he commanded the Prince Frederick at the attack of the harbour of Carthagena, March 24, 1741. This young nobleman was one of the most promising comnianders in the king's service. When on the desperate attack of the castle of Bocca Chica, at the entrance of the said harbour, he lost his life, both his legs being first shot off. The prose part of the inscription on his monument was the production of Mrs. Mary Jones of Oxford; who also wrote a poem on his death, printed in her Miscellanies, Svo. 1752. R.

Thy wonted aid, my dear companion ! bring, Full-blown ere noon her fragrant pride displays, And teach me thy departed friend to sing :

And shows th' abundauce of her purple rays.
A darling theme! once powerful to inspire,

Wit, as her bays, was once a barren tree;
And now to melt, the Muses' mournful choir : We now, surpris'd, her fruitful branches see ;
Now, and now first, we freely dare commend Or, orange-like, till his auspicious time
His modest worth, nor shall our praise ofiend. It grew indeed, but shiverd in our clime :

Early he bloom'd amid the learned train, He first the plant to richer gardens led,
And ravish'd Isis listend to bis strain.

And fix'd, indulgent, in a warmer bed :
“Sce, see,” she cried, “old Maro's Muse appears, the nation, pleas'd, enjoys the rich produce,
Wak'd from her slumber of two thousand years : And gathers from her ornament her use.
Her finish'd charms to Addison she brings,

When loose from public cares the grove he sought,
Thinks in his thought, and in his numbers sings. And fill'd the leisure interval with thought,
All read transported his pure classic page;

The various labours of bis easy page,
Read, and forget their climate and their age.” A chance amusement, polish'd half an age.

The state, when nuw his rising fame was known, Beyond this truth old bards could scarce invent,
Th’unrival'd genius challeng 'd for her own, Who durst to frame a world by accident.
Nor would that one, for scenes for action strong, What he has sung, how early, and how well,
Should let a life evaporate in song. (pense, The Thames shall boast, and Roman Tiber tell.
As health and strength the brightest charms dis- A glory more sublime remains in store,
Wit is the blossom of the soundest sense :

Since such his talents, that he sung no more. Yet few, how few, with lofty thoughts inspird, No fuller proof of power th' Almighty gave, With quickness pointed, and with rapture fir’d, Making the sea, thau curbing her proud wave. In cor civus pride their own importance find, Nought can the genius of his works transcend, Blind to themselves, as the hard world is blind! But their fair purpose and important end; Wit they esteem a gay but worthless power, To rouse the war for injur'd Europe's laws, The slight amusement of a leisure hour;

To steel the patriot in great Brunss ick's cause; C'ninindful that, conceal'd from vulgar eyes, With virtue's charms to kindle sacred love, Ma estic Wisdom wears the bright disguise. Or paint th' eternal bowers of bliss above. Poor Dido fondled thus, with idle joy,

Where hadst thou room, great author! where to roll Dread Cupid, lurking in the Trojan boy;

The mighty theme of an immortal soul? [brought Lightly she toy'd and trifled with his charms, Through paths unknown, unbeaten, whence were And knew not that a god was in her arms.

Thy proofs so strong for immaterial thought? Who greatest excellence of thought could boast, One let me join, all other may excel, In action, too, have been distinguish'd most : “ How could a murtal essence think so well?" This Sommers' knew, and Addison sent forth

But why so large in the great writer's praise ? From the malignant regions of the north,

More lofty subjects should my numbers raise; To be matur'd in more indulgent skies,

In hiin (illustrious rivalry! contend Where all the vigour of the soul can rise ;

The statesilan, patriot, Christian, and the friend! Through warmer veins where sprightlier spirits run, His glory such, it borders on disgrace And scnse enliven’d sparkles in the Sun.

To say he sung the best of human race. With secret pain the prudent patriot gave

In joy once join'd, in sorrow now for years, The hopes of Britain to the rolling ware,

Partner in grief, and brother of my tears, Anxious, the charge to all the stars resign'd, Tickell! accept this verse, thy mournful due; And plac'd a confidence in sea and wind.

Thou further shalt the sacred theme pursue ; Ausonia soon receiv'd her wondering guest, And, as thy strain describes the matchless man, And equal wonder in her turn confess'd,

Thy life shall second what thy Muse began. To see her fervours rival'd by the pole,

Though sweet the numbers, though a fire divine Her lustre beaming froin a northern soul :

Dart through the whole, and burn in every line, In like surprise was her Æneas lost,

Who strives not for that excellence he draws, To find his picture grace a foreign coast.

Is stain'd by fame, and suffers from applause. Now the wide field of Europe be surveys,

But baste to thy illustrious task; prepare Compares her kings, ber thrones and empires weighs, The noble work well trusted to thy care, In ripen'd judginent and consummate thought; The gift ? bequeath'd by Addison's command, Great work ! by Nassau's favour cheaply bought. To Craggs made sacred by his dying hand. He now returns to Britain a support,

Collect the labours, join the various rays,
Wise in her senate, graceful in her court;

The scatter'd light in one united blaze;
And when the public welfare would permit, Then bear to him so true, so truly lov'd,
The source of learning, and the soul of wit. In life distinguished, and in death approv'd,
O Warwick! (whom the Muse is fond to name, Th’immortal legacy. lie hangs a-while
And kindles, conscious of her future theme) In generous anguish o'er the glorious pile;
O Warwick ! by divine contagion bright!

With anxious pleasure the known page reviews,
How early didst thou catch his radiant light! And the dear pledge with falling tears bedeus.
By him inspir'd, how shine before thy tiine, What though thy tears, pour'd o'er thy godlike
And leave thy years, and leap into thy prime ! Thy other cares for Britain's weal suspend ? (friend,

On some warm bauk, thus, furtunately born, Think not, O patriot! while thy eyes o'erflow, A rose-bud opens to a summer's morn,

Those cares suspended for a private woe;

Thy love to him is to thy country shown; 'Lord Sommers procured a pension for Mr. He mourns for her, who mourns for Addison. Addison, which enabled him to prosecute his travels.-R

• The publication of his Works.

REFLECTIONS ON THE PUBLIC SITUATION And, like a vast Colossus, towering stands

With one foot planted on the continent;
OF THE KINGDOM.

Yet be not wholly wrapp'a in public cares,
INSCRIBED TO

Though such high cares should call as call'd of late;

The cause of kings and emperors adjourn,
THE DUKE OF NEWCASTLE.

And Europe's little balance drop a while;
Holles ! immortal in far more than fame! For greater drop it: ponder and adjust
Be thou illustrious in far more than power. The rival interests and contending claims
Great things are small when greater rise to view. Of life and death, of now and of for-ever;
Though station'd high, and press'd with public cares, Sublimest theme; and needful as sublime.
Disdain not to peruse my serious song,

Thus great Eliza's oracles renown'd,
Which peradventure may push by the world : Thus Walsingham and Raleigh (Britain's boasts!).
Of a few moments rob Britannia's weal,

Thus every statesman thought that ever--died. And leave Europa's counsels less mature !

There's inspiration in a sable bour, For thou art noble, and the theme is great. And Death's approach makes politicians wise. Nor shall or Europe or Britannia blame

When thunderstruck, that eagle Wolsey fell ; Thine absent ear, but gain by the delay.

When royal favour, as an ebbing sea,
Long vers'd in senates and in cabinets,

Like a leviathan, his grandeur left,
States' intricate demands and high debates ! His gasping grandeur! naked on the strand,
As thou of use to those, so this to thee;

Naked of human, doubtful of divine,
And in a point that empire far outweighs,

Assistance; no more wallowing in his wealth, That far outweighs all Europe's thrones in one. Spouting proud foams of insolence no more, Let greatness prove its title to be great.

On what, then, smote his heart, uncardinal'd, "Tis Power's supreme prerogative to stamp

And sunk beneath the level of a man ! On others' minds an image of its own.

On the grand article, the sum of things ! Bend the strong influence of high place, to stem The point of the first magnitude ! that point The stream that sweeps away the country's weal; Tubes mounted in a court, but rarely reach; The Stygian stream, the torrent of our guilt. Some painted cloud still intercepts their sight. Far as thou mayst give life to virtue's cause ; First right to judge; then choose; then persevere, Let not the ties of personal regard

Steadfast, as if a crown or mistress call'd. Betray the nation's trust to feeble hands :

These, these are politics will stand the test, Let not fomented fames of private pique

When finer politics their masters sting, Prey on the vitals of the public good :

And statesmen fain would shrink to common men. Let not our streets with blasphemies resound, These, these are politics will answer now, Nor lewdness whisper where the laws can reach : (When common men would fain to statesmen swell) Let not best laws, the wisdom of our sires,

Beyond a Machiavel's or Tencin's scheme. Turn satires on their sunk degenerate sons, All safety rests on honest counsels : these The bastards of their blood! and serve no point Immortalize the statesman, bless the state, But, with more emphasiz to call them fools : Make the prince triumph, and the people smile ; Let not our rank enormities unhinge

In peace rever'd, or terrible in arms,
Britannia's welfare from divine support.

Ciose-leagued with an invincible ally,
Such deeds the minister, the prince adorn; Which honest counsels never fail to fix
No power is shown but in such deeds as these: In favour of an unabandon'd land ;
All, all is impotence but acting right; (power? A land—that starts at such a land as this,
And where's the statesman but would show his A parliament, so principled, will sink
To prince and people thou, of equal zeal !

All antient schools of empire in disgrace,
Be it henceforward but thy second care

And Britain's glory, rising from the dead, To grace thy country, and support the throne; Will fill the world, loud Fame's superior song. Though this supported, that adorn'd so well,

Britain !-that word pronounc'd is an alarm ; A throne superior our first homage claims; It warms the blood, though frozen in our veins; To Cæsar's Cæsar our first tribute due:

Awakes the soul, and sends her to the field, A tribute which, unpaid, makes specious wrong Enamour'd of the glorious face of Death. And splendid sacrilege of all beside:

Britain !-there's noble magic in the sound. Illustrious followers; we must first be just ; O what illustrious images arise ! And what so just as awe for the Supreme ? Embattled, round me, blaze the pomps of war ! Less fear we rugged ruffians of the North,

By sea, by land, at home, in foreign climes, Than Virtue's well-clad rebels nearer home; What full-blown laurels on our fathers' brows ! Less Loyola's disguis'd, all-aping sons,

Ye radiant trophies ! and imperial spoils ! Than traitors lurking in our appetites ;

Ye scenes astonishing to modern sight ! Less all the legions Seine and Tagus send, Let me, at least, enjoy you in a dream. Than unrein'd passions rushing on our peace : Why vanish? Stay, ye godlike strangers ! stay: Yon savage mountaineers are tame to these. Strangers !--[ wrong my countrymen: they wake; Against those rioters send forth the laws,

High beats the pulse : the noble pulse of war And break to Reason's yoke their wild careers. Beats to that antient measure, that grand march

Prudence for all things points the proper hour, Which then prevail'd, when Britain highest soar'd, Though some seem more importunate and great. And every battle paid for heroes slain, Though Britain's generous views and interests spread No more our great forefathers stain our cheeks Beyond the narrow circle of her shores,

With blushes; their renown our shame no more. And their grand entries make on distant lands; In military garb, and sudden arms, Though Britain's genius the wide ware bestrides, l'p starts Old Britain ; crosiers are laid by ;

Ask you,

Trade wields the sword, and Agriculture leaves Like gold, to take anew Truth's heavenly stamp, Her half-turn'd furrow : other harvests fire

And (rising both in lustre and in weight) A nobler avarice, avarice of renown!

With ber bless'd Mas er's unmaim d image shine; And laurels are the growth of every field.

Why should she longer droop? why longer act In distant courts is our commotion felt;

As an accomplice with the plots of Rome? And less like gods sit monarchs on their thrones. Why longer lend an edge to Bourbon's sword, What arm can want or sinews or success,

And give him leave, among his dastard troopi, Which, lifted from an honest heart, descends, To muster that strong succuur, Albion's crimes ? With all the weight of British wrath, to cicave Send his self-impotent ambition aid, The papal mitre, or the Gallie chain,

And croua the conquest of her fiercest focs ? At every stroke, and save a sinking land ?

Where are her foes most fatal ? Blushing Truth, Or death or victory must be resolv'd;

" In ber friends' vices,"— with a sigh replies. To dream of mercy, O bow tame! how mad! Empire on Virtue's rock unshaken stands; Where, o'er black deeds the crucifix display'd, Flux as the billows, when in vice dissolv’d. Fools think Heaven purchas'd by the blood they | 1C Heaven reclaims us by the scourge of war, By giving, not supporting, pains and death! (shed; What thanks are due to Paris and Madrid ? Nor simple death where they the greatest saints Would they a revolution ?--Aid their aim, Who most subdue all tenderness of heart;

But be the revolution in our bearts ! Students in torture! where, in zeal to him,

Wouldst thou (whose hand is at the helm) the Whose darling title is the Prince of Peace, The shaken bark of Britain, should out-ride [bark, The best turn ruthless butchers for our sakes; The present blast, and every future storm? To save us in a world they recommend,

Give it that balast which alone has weight
And yet forbear, themselves with Earth content; With Him whom wind, and saves, and war, obey,
What modesty!—such virtues Rome adoru! Persist. Are others subtle? Thou be wise :
And chiefly those who Rome's first honours wear, Above the Florentine's court-sciepce raise ;
Whose name from Jesus, and whose hearts from Stand forth a patriot of the moral world ;
Hell !

The pattern, and the patron, of the just :
And shall a pope-bred princeling crawl ashore, Thus strengthen Britain's military strength ;
Replete with venom, guiltless of a sting, (scrap'd Give its own terrour to the sword she draws.
And whistle cut-throats, with those swords that

“ What mean I?”—The most obvious Their barren rocks for wretched sustenance,

Armies and flects alone nc'er won the day. (truth; To cut his passage to the British throne?

When our proud arms are once disarm’d, disarm'd One that has suck'd-in malice with his milk, Of aid from Hiin by whom the mighty fall; Malice, to Britain, Liberty, and Truth?

Of aid from Him by whom the feeble stand; less savage was his brother-robber's nurse,

Who takes away the keenest edge of battle, The howling nurse of plundering Romulus,

Or gives the sword commission to destroy ; Ere yet far worse than Pagan harbour'd there. Who blasts, or bids the martial laurel bloom

Hail to the brave! be Britain Britain still: Eimasculated, then, most inanly might; Britain ! high favour'd of indulgent Heaven ! Or, though the might remains, it nought avails : Nature's anointed empress of the deep!

Then wither'd weakness foiis the sinewy arm The nurse of merchants, who can purchase crowns ! Of inan's meridian and high-hearted power: Supreme in commerce! that exuberant source Our naval thunders, and our tented fields Of wealth, the perve of war; of wealth, the blood, With travel'd banners fanning southern climes, The circling current in a nation's veins,

What do they? This; and more what can they do? To set high bloom on the fair face of peace! When heap'd the measure of a kingdom's crimes, This once so celebrated seat of power,

The prince most dauntless, the first plu!ne of war, From wbich escap'd the mighty Cusar trianph'd! By such bɔld inroads into foreign funds, Of Gallic lilies this eternal blast!

Such elungation of our armaments, This terrour of armadas! this true bolt

But stretches out the guilty nation's neck, Ethereal-temper'd, to repress the vain

While Hearen commands her executioner, Salmonean thunders from the papal chair! Some less abandon'd nation, to discharge This small isle wide-realm’d monarchseye with awe! Her full-ripe vengeance in a final blow, Which says to their ambition's foaming waves, And tell the world, “Not strong is human strength; “ Thus far, por faither!"--Let her hold, in life, And that the proudest empire holds of Heaven," Nought dear disjoin'd from freedo:n and renown; O Critain ! often resened, often crown'd, Renown, our ancestors' great legacy,

Peyond thy merit and most sanguine hopes, To be transmitted to their latest sons,

With all that's great in war, or sweet in peace! By thoughts inglorious, and un-Briiish deeds, know from what source thy signal blessings flow, Their cancel'd willis impiously profan'd,

Thoug!ı blessil with spirits ardent in the tield, Inhumanly disturb'd their sacred dust.

Though cover'd various occans with thy feets, Their sacred dust with recent laurels crown, Though fenc'd with rocks, and moated by the main, By your owu valour won. This sacred isle,

Thy trust repose in a far siringer guard; Cut from the continent, that world of slaves; In Him, who thee, though naked, could defend ; This teinple built by fleaven's peculiar care, Tho'weak, could strengthen; ruivil, could rosture. In a recess from the contagions world,

How oft, to tell what arm defends thine isls, With ocean pour d around it for its guard,

To guard her welfare, and yet check her pride, And dedicated, Jong, to liberty,

Have the winds siatch'd the vic:ory from var? 'That health, that strength, that bloom, of civil life! Or, ratber, won the c!ay, when war despaird? This temple of still more divine; of faith

How oft has proviilential succo'ir awrl, Sified from crrours, purify'd by tlaines,

Aw'd wbile it bless'd us, conscious of our guilt; VOL. XIII.

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Struck dead all confidence in human aid,

And changing for spruce plaid his dirty shroud, And, while we triumph’d, made us tremble too ! With succour suitable from lower still)

Well may we tremble now; what manners reign? A foe who, these concurring to the charm, But wherefore ask we, when a true reply

Excites those storms that shall o'erturn the state, Would shock too much? Kind Heaven ! avert events Rend up her antient honours by the root, Whose fatal nature might reply too plain!

And lay the boast of ages, the rever'd Heaven's half-bar'd arın of vengeance has been Of nations, the dear-bought with sumnless wealth In northern skies, and pointed to the south. [wav'd And blood illustrious, (spite of her La Hogues, Vengeance delay'd but gathers and ferments; Her Cresseys, and her Blenheims) in the dust. More formidably blackens in the wind ;

How must this strike a horrour through the breast, Brews deeper draughts of unrelenting wrath, Through every generous breast wbere honour reigns, And higher charges the suspended storm.

Through every breast where honour claims a share! “ That public vice portends a public fall”— Yes, and through every breast of honour void ! Is this conjecture of adventurous thought ! This thought might animate the dregs of men ; Or pious coward's pulpit-cushion'd dreain; Ferment them into spirit; give them fire Far from it. This is certain; this is fate.

To fight the cause, the black opprobrious cause, What says Experience, in her awful chair Foul core of all!-corruption at our hearts. Of ages, her authentic annals spread

What wreck of empire has the stream of time Around her? What says Reason eagle-eyed ? Swept, with her vices, from the mountain height Nay, what says Common Sense, with common care Of grandeur, deified by half mankind, Weighing events, and causes, in her scale ? To dark Oblivion's melancholy lake, All give one verdict, one decision sign ;

Or flagrant Infamy's eternal brand ! And this the sentence Delphos could not mend : Those names, at which surrounding nations shook, “ Whatever secondary props may rise

Those names ador'd, a nuisance! or forgot! From politics, to build the publie peace,

Nor this the caprice of a doubtful die, The basis is the manners of the land.

But Nature's course; no single chance against it. When rotten these, the politician's wiles

For know, my lord ! 't is writ in adamant, But struggle with destruction, as a child

'Tis fixt, as is the basis of the world, With giants huge, or giants with a Jove.

Whose kingdoms stand or fall by the decree. The statesman's arts to conjure up a peace, What saw these eyes, surpris'd !-Yet wby surOr military phantoms void of force,

pris'dBut scare away the vultures for an hour;

For aid divine the crisis seem'd to call, The scent cadaverous (for, oh ! how rank

And how divine was the monition given! The stench of profligates!) soon lures them back; As late I walk'd the night in troubled thought, On the proud flutter of a Gallic wing

My peace disturb'd by rumours from the North, Soon they return; soon make their full descent; While thunder o'er my head, porpentous, rollid, Soon glut their rage, and riot in our ruin;

As giving signal of some strange event, Their idols gracid and gorgeous with our spoils, And ocean groan'd beneath for her he lov'd, Of universal empire sure presage !

Albion the fair! so long his empire's queen, Till now repellid by seas of British blood."

Whuse rciyn is, now, contested by her foes, And wheuce the manners of the multitude ? On her white cliffs (a tablet broad and bright, The colours of their manners, black or fair,

Strongly reflecting the pale lunar ray) Falls from above ; from the complexion falls By Fate's own iron pen I saw it writ, Of state Othellos, or white men in power :

And thus the title ran :
And from the greater beight eran:ple falls,

THE STATESMAN'S CREED.
Greater the weight, and deeper its inipress
In ranks inferior, passive to the stroke :

“ Ye states! and empires ! nor of empires least, From the court-mint, of hearts the current coin, Though least in size, hear, Britain! thou whose lot, The pupil presses, but the pattern drives.

Whose fival lot, is in the balance laid, What bonds then, bonds bow manifold, and strong Irresolutely play the doubtful scales, [me, To duty, double duty, arc the great!

Nor know'st thou which will win. Know then from And are there Sumsons that can burst them all? As govern'd well or ill, states sink or rise : Yes ; and great minds that stand in need of none, State-ministers, as upright or corrupt, Whose pulse beats virtues, and whose generous Are balm or poison in a natiou's veins ! Aids mental motives to push on renown, [blood | Health or disteinper, hasten or retard In emulation of their glorious sires,

The period of her pride, her day of doom: From whom rolls down the consecrated streain. And though, for reasons obvious to the wise,

Some sow good seeris in the glad people's hearts, Just Providence deals otherwise with men, Some curg d tares, like Satan in the text :

Yet believe, Britons ! nur too late believe, This makes a foe inost fatal to the state;

'Tis fix'd ! by Fate irrevocably fix'd ! A foe who (like a wizard in dis cell)

Virtue and vice are empire's life and death." In his dark cabinet of crooked schemes,

Thus it is written-Heard you not a groan Re cmbling Cuma's gloomy grot, the forge

Is Britain on her death-bed?-No, that groan Of casted oracles, anı real lies,

Was utter'd by her foes—But soon the scale, (lidel, perhaps, by second-sighted Scots,

If this divine monition is de pis’d, French Magi, ielies riding po-t froin Roine, May turn against us. Read it, ve who rule ! A Gothic hery ' rising from the dead,

With reverence read; with steadfastness believe;

With courage act as such belief inspires; 1 The inrailer affects the character of Charles Then shall your glory stand like Fate's decree; XII. of Sweden.

Then shall your name in adamant be writ,

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