GOTHAM. BOOK III.
[]CAN the fond Mother from herſelf depart,
Can ſhe forget the darling of her heart,
The little darling whom ſhe bore and bred,
Nurs'd on her knees, and at her boſom fed?
To whom, ſhe ſeem'd her ev'ry thought to give,
And in whoſe life alone, ſhe ſeem'd to live?
Yes, from herſelf, the mother may depart,
She may forget the darling of her heart,
The little darling, whom ſhe bore and bred,
Nurs'd on her knees, and at her boſom fed,
[2]To whom ſhe ſeem'd her ev'ry thought to give,
And in whoſe life alone, ſhe ſeem'd to live;
But I cannot forget, whilſt life remains,
And pours her current thro' theſe ſwelling veins,
Whilſt Mem'ry offers up at Reaſon's ſhrine,
But I cannot forget, that GOTHAM's mine.
Can the ſtern Mother, than the brutes more wild,
From her diſnatur'd breaſt, tear her young child,
Fleſh of her fleſh, and of her bone the bone,
And daſh the ſmiling babe againſt a ſtone?
Yes, the ſtern Mother, than the brutes more wild,
From her diſnatur'd breaſt, may tear her child;
Fleſh of her fleſh, and of her bone the bone,
And daſh the ſmiling babe againſt a ſtone;
But I, forbid it Heav'n, but I can ne'er
The love of GOTHAM, from this boſom tear,
Can ne'er ſo far true Royalty pervert
From its fair courſe, to do my people hurt.
With how much eaſe, with how much confidence,
As if, ſuperior to each groſſer ſenſe,
Reaſon had only, in full pow'r array'd,
To manifeſt her Will, and be obey'd,
[3]Men make reſolves, and paſs into decrees
The motions of the Mind! with how much eaſe
In ſuch reſolves, doth paſſion make a flaw,
And bring to nothing, what was rais'd to law.
In empire young, ſcarce warm on GOTHAM'S throne,
The dangers, and the ſweets of pow'r, unknown,
Pleas'd, tho' I ſcarce know why, like ſome young child,
Whoſe little ſenſes each new toy turns wild,
How do I hold ſweet dalliance with my crown,
And wanton with dominion, how lay down,
Without the ſanction of a precedent,
Rules of moſt large and abſolute extent;
Rules, which from ſenſe of public virtue ſpring,
And, all at once, commence a PATRIOT KING.
But, for the day of tryal is at hand,
And the whole fortunes of a mighty land
Are ſtak'd on me, and all their Weal or Woe
Muſt from my Good, or Evil Conduct flow,
Will I, or can I, on a fair review,
As I aſſume that name, deſerve it too?
Have I well weigh'd the great, the noble part
I'm now to play? Have I explor'd my Heart,
[4]That labyrinth of fraud, that deep, dark cell,
Where, unſuſpected e'en by me, may dwell
Ten thouſand follies? Have I found out there
What I am fit to do, and what to bear?
Have I trac'd ev'ry paſſion to its riſe,
Nor ſpar'd one lurking ſeed of treach'rous vice?
Have I, familiar with my nature grown,
And am I fairly to myſelf made known?
A PATRIOT KING—Why 'tis a name which bears
The more immediate ſtamp of Heav'n, which wears
The neareſt, beſt reſemblance we can ſhew
Of God above, thro' all his works below.
To ſtill the voice of diſcord in the land,
To make weak faction's diſcontented band,
Detected, weak, and crumbling, to decay,
With hunger pinch'd, on their own vitals prey;
Like brethren, in the ſelf-ſame int'reſts warm'd,
Like diff'rent bodies, with one ſoul imform'd,
To make a nation, nobly rais'd above
All meaner thoughts, grow up in common love;
To give the laws due vigour, and to hold
That ſacred ballance, temperate, yet bold,
[5]With ſuch an equal hand, that thoſe who fear
May yet approve, and own my juſtice clear;
To be a Common Father, to ſecure
The weak from violence, from pride the poor;
Vice, and her ſons, to baniſh in diſgrace,
To make Corruption dread to ſhew her face,
To bid afflicted Virtue take new ſtate,
And be, at laſt, acquainted with the great;
Of all Religions to elect the beſt,
Nor let her prieſts be made a ſtanding jeſt;
Rewards for Worth, with lib'ral hand to carve,
To love the Arts, nor let the Artiſts ſtarve;
To make fair Plenty through the realm increaſe,
Give Fame in War, and happineſs in Peace,
To ſee my people virtuous, great and free,
And know that all thoſe bleſſings flow from me,
O 'tis a joy too exquiſite, a thought
Which flatters Nature more than flatt'ry ought.
'Tis a great, glorious taſk, for Man too hard,
But not leſs great, leſs glorious the reward,
The beſt reward which here to Man is giv'n,
'Tis more than Earth, and little ſhort of Heav'n;
A taſk (if ſuch compariſon may be)
The ſame in nature, diff'ring in degree,
[6]Like that which God, on whom for aid I call,
Performs with eaſe, and yet performs to all.
How much do they miſtake, how little know
Of kings, of kingdoms, and the pains which flow
From royalty, who fancy that a crown
Becauſe it gliſtens, muſt be lin'd with down.
With outſide ſhow, and vain appearance caught
They look no farther, and, by Folly taught,
Prize high the toys of thrones, but never find
One of the many cares which lurk behind.
The gem they worſhip, which a crown adorns,
Nor once ſuſpect that crown is lin'd with thorns.
O might Reflection Folly's place ſupply,
Would we one moment uſe her piercing eye,
Then ſhould we learn what woe from grandeur ſprings,
And learn to pity, not to envy kings.
The villager, born humbly and bred hard,
Content his wealth, and Poverty his guard,
In action ſimply juſt, in conſcience clear,
By guilt untainted, undiſturb'd by fear,
His means but ſcanty, and his wants but few,
Labour his buſineſs and his pleaſure too,
[7]Enjoys more comforts in a ſingle hour,
Than ages give the Wretch condemn'd to Pow'r.
Call'd up by health, he riſes with the day,
And goes to work, as if he went to play,
Whiſtling off toils, one half of which might make
The ſtouteſt ATLAS of a palace quake;
'Gainſt heat and cold, which make us cowards faint,
Harden'd by conſtant uſe, without complaint
He bears, what we ſhould think it death to bear;
Short are his meals, and homely is his fare;
His thirſt he ſlakes at ſome pure neighb'ring brook,
Nor aſks for ſauce where appetite ſtands cook.
When the dews fall and when the Sun retires
Behind the Mountains, when the village fires,
Which, waken'd all at once, ſpeak ſupper nigh,
At diſtance catch, and fix his longing eye,
Homeward he hies, and with his manly brood
Of raw-bon'd cubs, enjoys that clean, coarſe food,
Which, ſeaſon'd with Good Humour, his fond Bride
'Gainſt his return is happy to provide.
Then, free from care, and free from thought, he creeps
Into his ſtraw, and till the morning ſleeps.
[8]
Not ſo the King—with anxious cares oppreſs'd,
His boſom labours, and admits not reſt.
A glorious Wretch, he ſweats beneath the Weight
Of Majeſty, and gives up eaſe for ſtate.
E'en when his ſmiles, which, by the fools of pride,
Are treaſur'd and preſerv'd from ſide to ſide
Fly round the court, e'en when, compell'd by form,
He ſeems moſt calm, his ſoul is in a ſtorm!
CARE, like a ſpectre, ſeen by him alone,
With all her neſt of vipers, round his throne
By day crawls full in view; when Night bids ſleep,
Sweet nurſe of Nature, o'er the ſenſes creep,
When Miſery herſelf, no more complains,
And ſlaves, if poſſible, forget their chains,
Tho' his ſenſe weakens, tho' his eye grows dim,
That reſt which comes to all, comes not to him.
E'en at that hour, CARE, tyrant CARE, forbids,
The dew of ſleep to fall upon his lids;
From night to night ſhe watches at his bed;
Now, as one mop'd, ſits brooding o'er his head,
Anon ſhe ſtarts, and, borne on raven's wings,
Croaks forth aloud—Sleep was not made for kings.
[9]
Thrice hath the Moon, who governs this vaſt ball,
Who rules moſt abſolute o'er me, and all,
To whom, by full conviction taught to bow,
At new, at full I pay the duteous vow,
Thrice hath the Moon her wonted courſe purſu'd,
Thrice hath ſhe loſt her form, and thrice renew'd.
Since (bleſſed be that ſeaſon, for before
I was a mere, mere mortal, and no more,
One of the herd, a lump of common clay,
Inform'd with life, to die and paſs away)
Since I became a king, and GOTHAM'S throne,
With full and ample pow'r, became my own;
Thrice hath the Moon her wonted courſe purſu'd,
Thrice hath ſhe loſt her form, and thrice renew'd,
Since Sleep, kind Sleep, who like a friend ſupplies
New vigour for new toil, hath clos'd theſe eyes.
Nor, if my toils are anſwer'd with ſucceſs,
And I am made an inſtrument to bleſs
The people whom I love, ſhall I repine;
Theirs be the benefit, the labour mine.
Mindful of that high rank in which I ſtand,
Of millions Lord, ſole ruler in the land,
[10]Let me, and Reaſon ſhall her aid afford,
Rule my own ſpirit, of myſelf be lord.
With an ill grace that monarch wears his crown,
Who, ſtern and hard of nature, wears a frown
'Gainſt faults in other men, yet all the while,
Meets his own vices with a partial ſmile.
How can a king (yet on record we find
Such kings have been, ſuch curſes of mankind)
Enforce that law, 'gainſt ſome poor ſubject elf,
Which Conſcience tells him he hath broke himſelf?
Can he ſome petty rogue to Juſtice call
For robbing one, when he himſelf robs all?
Muſt not, unleſs extinguiſh'd, Conſcience fly
Into his cheek, and blaſt his fading eye,
To ſcourge th' oppreſſor, when the State, diſtreſs'd
And ſunk to ruin, is by him oppreſs'd?
Againſt himſelf doth he not ſentence give?
If one muſt die, t'other's not fit to live.
Weak is that throne, and in itſelf unſound
Which takes not ſolid virtue for its ground.
All envy pow'r in others, and complain
Of that which they would periſh to obtain.
[11]Nor can thoſe ſpirits, turbulent and bold,
Not to be aw'd by threats, nor bought with gold,
Be huſh'd to peace, but when fair, legal ſway,
Makes it their real int'reſt to obey,
When kings, and none but fools can then rebel,
Not leſs in Virtue, than in Pow'r excell.
Be that my object, that my conſtant care,
And may my Soul's beſt Wiſhes centre there.
Be it my taſk to ſeek, nor ſeek in vain,
Not only how to live, but how to reign,
And, to thoſe Virtues which from Reaſon ſpring,
And grace the Man, join thoſe which grace the King.
Firſt (for ſtrict duty bids my care extend,
And reach to all, who on that care depend,
Bids me with ſervants keep a ſteady hand,
And watch o'er all my proxies in the land)
Firſt (and that method Reaſon ſhall ſupport)
Before I look into, and purge my Court,
Before I cleanſe the ſtable of the ſtate,
Let me fix things which to myſelf relate.
That done, and all accounts well ſettled here,
In Reſolution firm, in Honour clear,
[12]Tremble ye Slaves, who dare abuſe your truſt,
Who dare be Villains, when your King is Juſt.
Are there, amongſt thoſe officers of State,
To whom our ſacred pow'r we delegate,
Who hold our Place and Office in the Realm,
Who, in our name commiſſion'd, guide the Helm,
Are there, who, truſting to our love of eaſe,
Oppreſs our ſubjects, wreſt out juſt decrees,
And make the laws, warp'd from their fair intent,
To ſpeak a language which they never meant,
Are there ſuch Men, and can the fools depend
On holding out in ſafety to their end?
Can they ſo much, from thoughts of danger free,
Deceive themſelves, ſo much miſdeem of me,
To think that I will prove a Stateſman's tool,
And live a ſtranger where I ought to rule?
What, to myſelf and to my State unjuſt,
Shall I from miniſters take things on truſt,
And, ſinking low the credit of my throne,
Depend upon dependants of my own?
Shall I, moſt certain ſource of future cares,
Not uſe my Judgment, but depend on their's,
[13]Shall I, true puppet-like, be mock'd with State,
Have nothing but the Name of being great,
Attend at councils, which I muſt not weigh,
Do, what they bid; and what they dictate, ſay,
Enrob'd, and hoiſted up into my chair,
Only to be a royal Cypher there?
Periſh the thought—'tis Treaſon to my throne—
And who but thinks it, could his thoughts be known,
Inſults me more, than He, who, leagu'd with hell,
Shall riſe in arms, and 'gainſt my crown rebell.
The wicked Stateſman, whoſe falſe heart purſues
A train of Guilt, who acts with double views,
And wears a double face, whoſe baſe deſigns
Strike at his Monarch's throne, who undermines
E'en whilſt he ſeems his wiſhes to ſupport,
Who ſeizes all departments, packs a court,
Maintains an agent on the Judgement Seat
To ſcreen his crimes, and make his frauds complete,
New models armies, and around the throne
Will ſuffer none but creatures of his own,
Conſcious of ſuch his baſeneſs, well may try,
Againſt the light to ſhut his maſter's eye,
[14]To keep him coop'd, and far remov'd from thoſe,
Who, brave and honeſt, dare his crimes diſcloſe,
Nor ever let him in one place appear,
Where Truth, unwelcome Truth, may wound his Ear.
Attempts like theſe, well weigh'd, themſelves proclaim,
And, whilſt they publiſh, baulk their Author's aim.
Kings muſt be blind, into ſuch ſnares to run,
Or worſe, with open eyes muſt be undone.
The miniſter of Honeſty and Worth,
Demands the Day to bring his actions forth,
Calls on the Sun to ſhine with fiercer rays
And braves that trial which muſt end in praiſe.
None fly the Day, and ſeek the ſhades of Night,
But thoſe whoſe actions cannot bear the Light;
None wiſh their King in Ignorance to hold,
But thoſe who feel that knowledge muſt unfold
Their hidden Guilt, and, that dark miſt diſpell'd
By which their places and their lives are held,
Confuſion wait them, and, by Juſtice led,
In vengeance fall on ev'ry traitor's head.
Aware of this, and caution'd 'gainſt the pit
Where Kings have oft been loſt, ſhall I ſubmit
[15]And ruſt in chains like theſe? Shall I give way,
And whilſt my helpleſs ſubjects fall a prey
To pow'r abus'd, in Ignorance ſit down,
Nor dare aſſert the honour of my crown?
When ſtern REBELLION, (if that odious name
Juſtly belongs to thoſe, whoſe only aim
Is to preſerve their Country, who oppoſe
In honour leagu'd, none but their Country's foes,
Who only ſeek their own, and found their Cauſe
In due regard for violated laws,)
When ſtern REBELLION, who no longer feels,
Nor fears Rebuke, a nation at her heels,
A nation up in arms, tho' ſtrong not proud,
Knocks at the Palace gate, and, calling loud
For due redreſs, preſents, from Truth's fair pen,
A liſt of wrongs, not to be borne by men,
How muſt that King be humbled, how diſgrace
All that is royal, in his name and place,
Who, thus call'd forth to anſwer, can advance
No other plea but that of IGNORANCE.
A vile defence, which, was his All at ſtake,
The meaneſt ſubject well might bluſh to make;
A filthy ſource, from whence Shame ever ſprings;
A Stain to all, but moſt a Stain to Kings.
[16]The Soul, with great and manly feelings warm'd,
Panting for Knowledge, reſts not till inform'd,
And ſhall not I, fir'd with the glorious zeal,
Feel thoſe brave paſſions, which my ſubjects feel,
Or can a juſt excuſe from Ign'rance flow
To Me, whoſe firſt, great duty is—To KNOW.
Hence IGNORANCE—thy ſettled, dull, blank eye
Wou'd hurt me, tho' I knew no reaſon why—
Hence IGNORANCE—thy ſlaviſh ſhackles bind
The free-born Soul, and lethargy the mind—
Of thee, begot by PRIDE, who look'd with ſcorn
On ev'ry meaner match, of thee was born
That grave Inflexibility of Soul,
Which Reaſon can't convince, nor Fear controul,
Which neither arguments, nor pray'rs can reach,
And nothing leſs than utter Ruin teach—
Hence IGNORANCE—hence to that depth of Night,
Where thou waſt born, where not one gleam of light
May wound thine eye—hence to ſome dreary cell
Where Monks with Superſtition love to dwell,
Or in ſome college ſoothe thy lazy pride,
And with the Heads of colleges reſide,
[17]Fit mate for Royalty thou can'ſt not be,
And if no mate for kings, no mate for me.
Come STUDY, like a torrent ſwell'd with rains,
Which, ruſhing down the mountains, o'er the plains
Spreads horror wide, and yet, in horror kind,
Leaves feeds of future fruitfulneſs behind,
Come STUDY—painful tho' thy courſe and ſlow,
Thy real worth by thy effects we know—
Parent of Knowledge, come—not Thee I call,
Who, grave and dull, in college or in hall,
Doſt fit, all ſolemn ſad, and moping weigh
Things, which when found, thy labours can't repay—
Nor, in one hand, fit emblem of thy trade,
A Rod, in t'other, gaudily array'd
A Hornbook, gilt and letter'd, call I Thee,
Who doſt in form preſide o'er A, B, C—
Nor, Siren tho' thou art, and thy ſtrange charms,
As 'twere by magic, lure men to thy arms,
Do I call Thee, who thro' a winding maze,
A labyrinth of puzzling, pleaſing ways,
Doſt lead us at the laſt to thoſe rich plains,
Where, in full glory, real SCIENCE reigns.
[18]
Fair tho' thou art, and lovely to mine eye,
Tho' full rewards in thy poſſeſſion lie
To crown Man's wiſh, and do thy fav'rites grace,
Tho' (was I ſtation'd in an humbler place,)
I could be ever happy in thy ſight,
Toil with thee all the day, and thro' the night
Toil on from watch to watch, bidding my eye,
Faſt rivetted on SCIENCE, ſleep defy,
Yet, (ſuch the hardſhips which from empire flow)
Muſt I thy ſweet ſociety forego,
And to ſome happy rival's arms reſign
Thoſe charms, which can alas! no more be mine.
No more, from hour to hour, from day to day,
Shall I purſue thy ſteps, and urge my way
Where eager love of SCIENCE calls, no more
Attempt thoſe paths which Man ne'er trod before.
No more, the mountain ſcal'd, the deſart croſt,
Loſing myſelf, nor knowing I was loſt,
Travel thro' woods, thro' wilds, from Morn to Night,
From Night to Morn, yet travel with delight,
And having found thee, lay me down content,
Own all my toil well paid, my time well ſpent.
[19]
Farewell ye MUSES too—for ſuch mean things
Muſt not preſume to dwell with mighty Kings—
Farewell ye MUSES—tho' it cuts my heart
E'en to the quick, we muſt for ever part.
When the freſh Morn bade luſty Nature wake;
When the Birds, ſweetly twitt'ring thro' the brake,
Tun'd their ſoft pipes; when from the neighb'ring bloom,
Sipping the dew, each Zephyr ſtole perſume;
When all things with new vigour were inſpir'd,
And ſeem'd to ſay they never could be tir'd;
How often have we ſtray'd, whilſt ſportive Rhime
Deceiv'd the way, and clipp'd the wings of Time,
O'er hill, o'er dale! how often laugh'd to ſee,
Yourſelves made viſible to none but me,
The clown, his Work ſuſpended, gape and ſtare,
And ſeem to think that I convers'd with Air!
When the Sun, beating on the parched ſoil,
Seem'd to proclaim an interval of toil,
When a faint languor crept thro' ev'ry breaſt,
And things moſt us'd to labour, wiſh'd for reſt,
How often, underneath a rev'rend oak,
Where ſafe, and fearleſs of the impious ſtroke
[20]Some ſacred DRYAD liv'd, or in ſome grove,
Where with capricious fingers FANCY wove
Her fairy bow'r, whilſt NATURE all the while
Look'd on, and view'd her mock'ries with a ſmile
How we held converſe ſweet! how often laid,
Faſt by the Thames, in HAM'S inſpiring ſhade,
Amongſt thoſe Poets, which make up your train,
And, after death, pour forth the ſacred Strain,
Have I, at your command, in verſe grown grey,
Put not impaired, heard DRYDEN tune that lay,
Which might have drawn an Angel from his ſphere,
And kept him from his office liſt'ning here.
When dreary NIGHT, with MORPHEUS in her train,
Led on by SILENCE to reſume her reign,
With Darkneſs covering, as with a robe,
This ſcene of Levity, blank'd half the globe,
How oft', enchanted with your heav'nly ſtrains,
Which ſtole me from myſelf, which in ſoft chains
Of Muſick bound my ſoul, how oft' have I,
Sounds more than human floating thro' the Sky,
Attentive ſat, whilſt NIGHT, againſt her Will.
Tranſported with the harmony, ſtood ſtill!
[21]How oft' in raptures, which Man ſcarce could bear,
Have I, when gone, ſtill thought the Muſes there,
Still heard their Muſic, and, as mute as death,
Sat all attention, drew in ev'ry Breath,
Leſt, breathing all too rudely, I ſhould wound,
And marr that magic excellence of ſound:
Then, Senſe returning with return of Day,
Have chid the Night, which fled ſo faſt away.
Such my Purſuits, and ſuch my Joys of yore,
Such were my Mates, but now my Mates no more.
Plac'd out of Envy's walk, (for Envy ſure
Would never haunt the cottage of the Poor,
Would never ſtoop to wound my homeſpun lays)
With ſome few Friends, and ſome ſmall ſhare of Praiſe,
Beneath Oppreſſion, undiſturb'd by Strife,
In Peace I trod the humble vale of Life.
Farewell theſe ſcenes of eaſe, this tranquil ſtate;
Welcome the troubles which on Empire wait.
Light toys from this day forth I diſavow,
They pleas'd me once, but cannot ſuit me now;
To common Men all common things are free,
What honours them might fix diſgrace on me.
[22]Call'd to a throne, and o'er a mighty land
Ordain'd to rule, my head, my heart, my hand
Are all engroſs'd, each private view withſtood,
And taſk'd to labour for the Public Good;
Be this my ſtudy, to this one great end
May ev'ry thought, may ev'ry action tend.
Let me the page of Hiſtory turn o'er,
Th' inſtructive page, and heedfully explore
What faithful pens of former times have wrote,
Of former kings; what they did worthy note,
What worthy blame, and from the ſacred tomb
Where righteous Monarchs ſleep, where laurels bloom
Unhurt by Time, let me a garland twine,
Which, robbing not their Fame, may add to mine.
Nor let me with a vain and idle eye
Glance o'er thoſe ſcenes, and in a hurry fly
Quick as a Poſt which travels day and night,
Nor let me dwell there, lur'd by falſe delight,
And, into barren theory betray'd,
Forget that Monarchs are for action made.
When am'rous SPRING, repairing all his charms,
Calls Nature forth from hoary Winter's arms,
[23]Where, like a Virgin to ſome letcher ſold,
Three wretched months, ſhe lay benumb'd, and cold;
When the weak Flow'r, which, ſhrinking from the breath
Of the rude North, and, timorous of Death,
To its kind Mother Earth for ſhelter fled,
And on her boſom hid its tender head,
Peeps forth afreſh, and, chear'd by milder ſkies,
Bids in full ſplendour all her beauties riſe;
The Hive is up in arms—expert to teach,
Nor, proudly, to be taught unwilling, each
Seems from her fellow a new zeal to catch;
Strength in her limbs, and on her wings diſpatch,
The BEE goes forth; from herb to herb ſhe flies,
From Flow'r to Flow'r, and loads her lab'ring thighs
With treaſur'd ſweets, robbing thoſe Flow'rs, which left,
Find not themſelves made poorer by the theft,
Their ſcents as lively, and their looks as fair,
As if the pillager had not been there.
Ne'er doth ſhe flit on Pleaſure's ſilken Wing,
Ne'er doth ſhe, loit'ring, let the bloom of Spring
Unrifled paſs, and on the downy breaſt
Of ſome fair Flow'r indulge untimely reſt.
Ne'er doth ſhe, drinking deep of thoſe rich dews
Which Chymiſt Night prepar'd, that faith abuſe
[24]Due to the hive, and, ſelfiſh in her toils,
To her own private uſe convert the ſpoils.
Love of the Stock firſt call'd her forth to roam,
And to the Stock ſhe brings her booty Home.
Be this my Pattern—As becomes a King,
Let me fly all abroad on Reaſon's wing,
Let mine eye, like the Light'ning, thro' the Earth
Run to and fro, nor let one deed of Worth,
In any Place and Time, nor let one Man
Whoſe actions may enrich Dominion's plan,
Eſcape my Note; be all, from the firſt day
Of Nature to this hour, be all my prey.
From thoſe, whom Time at the deſire of Fame
Hath ſpar'd, let Virtue catch an equal flame;
From thoſe, who not in mercy, but in rage,
Time hath repriev'd to damn from age to age,
Let me take warning, leſſon'd to diſtill,
And, imitating Heav'n, draw Good from Ill.
Nor let theſe great reſearches in my breaſt
A monument of uſeleſs labour reſt,
No—let them ſpread—th' effects let GOTHAM ſhare,
And reap the harveſt of their Monarch's care,
[25]Be other Times, and other Countries known,
Only to give freſh Bleſſings to my own.
Let me (and may that God to whom I fly,
On whom for needful ſuccour I rely
In this great Hour, that glorious God of Truth,
Thro' whom I reign, in mercy to my youth,
Aſſiſt my weakneſs, and, direct me right,
From ev'ry ſpeck which hangs upon the Sight,
Purge my mind's eye, nor let one cloud remain
To ſpread the ſhades of error o'er my Brain)
Let me, Impartial, with unweary'd thought,
Try Men and Things; let me, as Monarchs ought,
Examine well on what my Pow'r depends,
What are the gen'ral Principles, and Ends
Of Government, how Empire firſt began,
And wherefore Man was rais'd to reign o'er Man.
Let me conſider, as from one great Source
We ſee a thouſand rivers take their courſe,
Diſpers'd, and into diff'rent channels led,
Yet by their Parent ſtill ſupply'd and fed,
That Government, (tho' branch'd out far and wide,
In various Modes to various lands applied)
[26]Howe'er it differs in its outward frame,
In the main Ground-work's ev'ry where the ſame;
The ſame her view, tho' different her plan,
Her grand and gen'ral view, the Good of Man.
Let me find out, by Reaſon's ſacred beams,
What Syſtem in itſelf moſt perfect ſeems,
Moſt worthy Man, moſt likely to conduce
To all the purpoſes of gen'ral uſe;
Let me find too, where, by fair Reaſon try'd,
It fails, when to Particulars appli'd,
Why in that mode all Nations do not join,
And, chiefly, why it cannot ſuit with mine.
Let me the gradual Riſe of empires trace
'Till they ſeem'd founded on Perfection's baſe,
Then (for when human things have made their way
To Excellence, they haſten to decay)
Let me, whilſt Obſervation lends her clue,
Step by Step, to their quick Decline purſue,
Enabled by a chain of Facts to tell
Not only how they roſe, but how they fell.
[27]
Let me not only the diſtempers know
Which in all States from common cauſes grow,
But likewiſe thoſe, which by the will of Fate,
On each peculiar mode of Empire wait,
Which in its very Conſtitution lurk,
Too ſure at laſt, to do its deſtin'd work;
Let me, forewarn'd, each Sign, each Syſtem learn,
That I my people's danger may diſcern,
E'er 'tis too late wiſh'd Health to re-aſſure,
And, if it can be found, find out a cure.
Let me (tho' great, grave Brethren of the gown,
Preach all Faith up, and preach all Reaſon down,
Making thoſe jar, whom Reaſon meant to join,
And veſting in themſelves a right divine)
Let me, thro' Reaſon's glaſs, with ſearching eye,
Into the depth of that Religion pry,
Which Law hath ſanction'd; let me find out there
What's Form, what's Eſſence; what, like vagrant Air,
We well may change; and what, without a crime,
Cannot be chang'd to the laſt Hour of Time.
Nor let me ſuffer that outrageous zeal,
Which, without knowledge, furious Bigots feel,
[28]Fair in pretence, tho' at the heart unfound,
Theſe ſep'rate points at random to confound.
The Times have been, when prieſts have dar'd to tread,
Proud and inſulting, on their Monarch's head,
When, whilſt they made Religion a pretence,
Out of the World they baniſh'd common ſenſe,
When ſome ſoft King, too open to deceit,
Eaſy and unſuſpecting, join'd the cheat,
Dup'd by mock Piety, and gave his name
To ſerve the vileſt purpoſes of ſhame.
Fear not, my People, where no cauſe of fear
Can juſtly riſe—Your King ſecures you here,
Your King, who ſcorns the haughty prelate's nod,
Nor deems the voice of prieſts, the voice of God.
Let me (tho' Lawyers may perhaps forbid
Their Monarch to behold what they wiſh hid,
And, for the purpoſes of knaviſh gain,
Would have their trade a myſtery remain)
Let me, diſdaining all ſuch ſlaviſh awe,
Dive to the very bottom of the Law;
Let me (the weak, dead letter left behind)
Search out the Principles, the Spirit find,
[29]Till, from the parts, made maſter of the whole,
I ſee the Conſtitution's very Soul.
Let me (tho' Stateſmen will no doubt reſiſt,
And to my eyes preſent a fearful lift
Of men, whoſe wills are oppoſite to mine,
Of men, great men, determin'd to reſign)
Let me (with firmneſs, which becomes a King,
Conſcious from what a ſource my actions ſpring,
Determin'd not by worlds to be withſtood,
When my grand object is my Country's Good)
Unravel all low Miniſterial ſcenes,
Deſtroy their jobs, lay bare their ways and means,
And track them ſtep by ſtep; let me well know
How Places, Penſions, and Preferments go,
Why Guilt's provided for, when Worth is not,
And why one Man of merit is forgot,
Let me in Peace, in War, Supreme preſide,
And dare to know my way without a Guide.
Let me (tho' Dignity, by nature proud,
Retires from view, and ſwells behind a cloud,
As if the Sun ſhone with leſs pow'rful ray,
Leſs Grace, leſs Glory, ſhining ev'ry day;
[30]Tho' when ſhe comes forth into public ſight,
Unbending as a Ghoſt, ſhe ſtalks upright,
With ſuch an air as we have often ſeen,
And often laugh'd at in a tragic queen,
Nor, at her preſence, tho' baſe Myriads crook
The ſupple knee, vouchſafes a ſingle look.
Let me (all vain parade, all empty pride,
All terrors of Dominion laid aſide,
All ornament, and needleſs helps of art,
All thoſe big looks, which ſpeak a little Heart)
Know (which few Kings alas! have ever known)
How Affability becomes a Throne,
Deſtroys all fear, bids Love with Rev'rence live,
And gives thoſe Graces Pride can never give.
Let the ſtern Tyrant keep a diſtant ſtate,
And, hating all Men, fear return of Hate,
Conſcious of Guilt, retreat behind his throne,
Secure from all upbraidings but his own,
Let all my Subjects have acceſs to Me,
Be my ears open as my heart is free;
In full, fair tide, let Information flow,
That evil is half cur'd, whoſe cauſe we know.
[31]
And thou, where e'er thou art, thou wretched Thing,
Who art afraid to look up to a King,
Lay by thy fears—make but thy grievance plain,
And, if I not redreſs thee, may my Reign
Cloſe up that very Moment—to prevent
The courſe of JUSTICE, from her fair intent,
In vain my neareſt, deareſt friend ſhall plead,
In vain my mother kneel—my ſoul may bleed,
But muſt not change—When JUSTICE draws the dart,
Tho' it is doom'd to, pierce a Fav'rite's Heart,
'Tis mine to give it force, to give it aim—
I know it Duty, and I feel it Fame.
THE END OF THE THIRD BOOK.