TO THE DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH,
ON HIS VOLUNTARY BANISHMENT.
Go, mighty prince, and those great nations fee,
Which thy victorious arms before made free;
View that fam'd column, where thy name engrav'd
Shall tell their children who their empire fav'd,
Point out that marble where thy worth is fhown,
To every grateful country but thy own.
O cenfure undeferv'd! unequal fate!
Which ftrove to leffen him who made her great :
Which, pamper'd with fuccefs and rich in fame,
Extoll'd his conquefts, but condemn'd his name.
But virtue is a crime when plac'd on high,
Though all the fault's in the beholder's eye;
Yet he, untouch'd, as in the heat of wars,
Flies from no danger but domestic jars,
Smiles at the dart which angry Envy thakes,
And only fears for Her whom he forfakes :
He grieves to find the courfe of virtue crofs'd,
Blushing to fee our blood no better loft;
Didfains in factious parties to contend,
And proves in abfence moft Britannia's friend.
So the great Scipio of old, to fhun
That glorious envy which his arms had won,
Far from his dear, ungrateful Rome retir'd,
Prepar'd, whene'er his country's cause requir'd,
To fhine in peace or war, and be again admir'd.
HILST weeping Europe bends beneath her ills,
And where the fword deftroys not, famine kills; Our ifle enjoys, by your fuccefsful care,
The pomp of peace, amidst the woes of war.
So much the publick to your prudence owes,
You think no labours long for our repose:
Such conduct, fuch integrity are shown,
There are no coffers empty, but your own.
From mean dependance, merit you retrieve,
Unafk'd you offer, and unfeen you give :
Your favour, like the Nile, increase bestows,
And yet conceals the fource from whence it flows.
No pomp, or grand appearance, you approve :
A people at their ease is what you love:
To leffen taxes, and a nation fave,
Are all the grants your fervices would have.
Thus far the state-machine wants no repair,
But moves in matchlefs order by your care;
Free from confusion, settled and ferene;
And, like the universe, by springs unseen.
But now fome ftar, finifter to our prayers,
Contrives new schemes, and calls you from affairs:
No anguish in your looks, or cares appear,
But how to teach th' unpractis'd crew to steer.
Thus, like a victim, no constraint you need,
To expiate their offence by whom you bleed.
Ingratitude's a weed of every clime,
It thrives too faft at first, but fades in time.
The god of day, and your own lot 's the fame;
The vapours you have rais'd, obfcure your flame:
But though you fuffer, and awhile retreat,
Your globe of light looks larger as you set.
EAR the vaft bulk of that ftupendous frame,
Known by the Gentiles' great apostle's name;
With grace divine, great Anna's feen to rife,
An awful form that glads a nation's eyes :
Beneath her feet four mighty realms appear,
And with due reverence pay their homage there.
Britain and Ireland feem to own her grace,
And even wild India wears a fmiling face.
But France alone with downcaft eyes is seen,
The fad attendant of fo good a Queen :
Ungrateful country! to forget fo foon,
All that great Anna for thy fake has done :
When fworn the kind defender of thy cause,
Spite of her dear religion, spite of laws;
For thee the fheath'd the terrors of her fword,
For thee the broke her General and her word:
For thee her mind in doubtful terms fhe told,
And learn'd to speak like oracles of old.
For thee, for thee alone, what could fhe more?
She loft the honour the had gain'd before;
Loft all the trophies, which her arms had won
(Such Cæfar never knew, nor Philip's fon);
Refign'd the glories of a ten years' reign,
And fuch as none but Marlborough's arm could gain.
For thee in annals fhe 's content to shine,
Like other monarchs of the Stuart line.
NEW CONSPIRACY. 1716.
WHERE, where, degenerate countrymen-how high
Will your fond folly and your madness fly?
Are scenes of death, and fervile chains fo dear,
To fue for blood and bondage every year,
Like rebel Jews, with too much freedom curft,
To court a change — though certain of the worft?
There is no climate which you have not fought,
Where tools of war, and vagrant kings, are bought;
O! noble paffion, to your country.kind,
As if the new Rome, which your fchemes unfold,
Were to be built on rapine, like the old,
While her asylum openly provides
For every ruffian every nation hides.
Will you ftill tempt the great avenger's blow, And force the bolt which he is loath to throw ? Have there too few already bit the plains,
To make you feek new Preftons and Dumblains?
If vengeance lofes its effects fo fast,
fhould longer laft. Say, is it rathness or despair provokes
Your harden'd hearts to these repeated strokes ? Reply:- Behold, their looks, their fouls declare, All pale with guilt, and dumb with deep despair. Hear then, you sons of blood, your destin'd fate, Hear, ere you fin too foon
repent too late. Madly you try to weaken George's reign,
And ftem the ftream of Providence in vain.
By right, by worth, by wonders, made our own,
The hand that gave it fhall preserve his throne.
As vain your hopes to diftant times remove,
To
try the fecond, or the third from Jove;
For 'tis the nature of that facred line,
To conquer monsters, and to grow divine.
PALLAS, deftructive to the Trojan line,
Raz'd their proud walls, though built by hands
divine:
But Love's bright goddefs, with propitious grace,
Preferv'd a hero, and reftor'd the race.
Thus the fam'd empire where the Iber flows,
Foll by Eliza, and by Anna rofe.
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