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On the burning of Lord Mansfield's Library, together with his MSS. by the Mob, in June 1780

On the fame

The Love of the World reproved; or, Hypocrify



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The Poet, the Oyfter, and the Senfitive Plant
To the Rev. Mr. William Cawthorn Unwin







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On selfish 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 light'ning fpares,

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Brings down the warrior's trophy to the duft,
And eats into his bloody fword like ruft.

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 mem'ry, dear to ev'ry 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 heav'n bestows,
And when recording hiftory difplays

Feats of renown, though wrought in antient days,
Tells of a few stout hearts that fought and dy'd
Where duty plac'd them, at their country's fide,
The man that is not mov'd 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 naught but his ambition true,
Who, for the fake of filling with one blast
The post-horns of all Europe, lays her waste.
Think yourself station'd on a tow'ring rock,
To see a people scatter'd like a flock,
Some royal mastiff panting at their heels,
With all the favage thirft a tyger feels,
Then view him felf-proclaim'd in a gazette,
Chief monfter that has plagu'd the nations yet,
The globe and fceptre in fuch hands mifplac'd,
Thofe enfigns of dominion, how difgrac'd!

The glass that bids man mark the fleeting hour,
And death's own scythe would better speak his pow'r,
Then grace the boney phantom in their stead
With the king's fhoulder knot and gay cockade,
Cloath the twin brethren in each other's drefs,
The fame their occupation and fuccefs.

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A. 'Tis belief the world was made for man,


Kings do but reafon on the self same plan,

Maintaining your's you cannot their's 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 reas'ning falls like an inverted cone,
Wanting its proper bafe to ftand upon.

Man made for kings! thofe optics are but dim
That tell you fo- fay rather, they for him.
That were indeed a king-enobling thought,
Could they, or would they, reafon as they ought.
The diadem with mighty projects lin'd,
To catch renown by ruining mankind,

Is worth, with all its gold and glitt'ring store,
Juft what the toy will fell for and no more.

Oh! bright occafions of difpenfing good,
How feldom ufed, how little understood!
To pour in virtue's lap her juft reward,
Keep vice reftrain'd behind a double guard,


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