Some royal mastiff panting at their heels, The glass that bids man mark the fleeting hour, Then pow'r; grace the bony phantom in their stead With the king's shoulder-knot and gay cockade; Clothe the twin brethren in each other's dress, The same their occupation and success. A. 'Tis your belief the world was made for man; Kings do but reason 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 pow'r of logic reigns With much sufficiency in royal brains; Such reas'ning falls like an inverted cone, Wanting its proper base to stand upon. Is worth, with all its gold and glitt'ring store, Oh! bright occasions of dispensing good, To nurse with tender care the thriving arts, Watch ev'ry beam philosophy imparts; With close fidelity and love unfeign'd, To keep the matrimonial bond unstain'd; His life a lesson to the land he sways; To touch the sword with conscientious awe, With joy beyond what victory bestows; A. Guard what you say; the patriotic tribe Will sneer and charge you with a bribe.-B. A bribe? The worth of his three kingdoms I defy, To lure me to the baseness of a lie. And, of all lies, (be that one poet's boast) The lie that flatters I. abhor the most. Those arts be their's who hate his gentle reign, But he that loves him has no need to feign. A. Your smooth eulogium, to one crown ad dress'd, Seems to imply a censure on the rest. B. Quevedo, as he tells his sober tale, Ask'd, when in hell, to see the royal jail; Approv'd their method in all other things; But where, good sir, do you confine your kings? There―said his guide-the group is full in view. I grant the sarcasm is too severe, And we can readily refute it here; While Alfred's name, the father of his age, And the Sixth Edward's grace th' historic page. A. Kings then at last have but the lot of all. By their own conduct they must stand or fall. B. True. While they live, the courtly laureat pays His quit-rent ode, his pepper-corn of praise; And many a dunce, whose fingers itch to write, Adds, as he can, his tributary mite: A subject's faults a subject may proclaim, A monarch's errors are forbidden game! Respect, while stalking o'er life's narrow stage; I pity kings whom worship waits upon, And death awakens from that dream too late. Oh! if servility with supple knees, Whose trade it is to smile, to crouch, to please; |