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Si te fortè meæ gravis uret sarcina chartæ,
Hor. Lib. 1. Epist. 13.
A. You told me, I remember, "Glory, built On selfish principles, is shame and guilt; The deeds, that men admire as half-divine, Stark naught, because corrupt in their design.” Strange doctrine this! that without scruple tears The laurel, that the very lightning spares; Brings down the warrior's trophy to the dust, And eats into his bloody sword like rust.
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 justice on his side.
Let laurels, drench'd in pure Parnassian dews, Reward his mem’ry, dear to ev'ry muse, Who, with a courage of unshaken root, In honour's field advancing his firm foot, Plants it upon the line that Justice draws, And will prevail or perish in her cause. "Tis to the virtues of such men, man owes His portion in the good that Heav'n bestows.
And when recording History displays
But let eternal infamy pursue
A. 'Tis your belief the world was made for man; Kings do but reason on the self-same plan: Maintaining yours, you cannot theirs 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. Man made for kings! those optics are but dim, That tell you so---say, rather, they for him. That were, indeed, a king-ennobling thought, Could they, or would they, reason as they ought.
The diadem, with mighty projects lind,
Oh! bright occasions of dispensing good,
bad To nurse with tender care the thriving arts, Watch ev'ry beam Philosophy imparts; To give Religion her unbridled scope, Nor judge by statute a believer's hope; With close fidelity and love unfeign’d, To keep the matrimonial bond unstain'd; Covetous only of a virtuous praise; His life a lesson to the land he sways; To touch the sword with conscientious awe, wat Nor draw it but when duty bids him draws To sheath it in the peace-restoring close, With joy beyond what victory bestows ;Blest country, where these kingly glories shine! I Blest England, if this happiness be thine!
A. Guard what you say; the patriotic tribe Willsneer 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 theirs, who hate his gentle reign; But he that loves him has no need to feign.
A. Your smooth eulogium to one crown address'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; us Approv'd their method in all other things; sil
But where, good sir, do you confine your kings ?!
“There” said his guide" the group is full in view.” “ Indeed!” replied the don—" there are but few." His black interpreter the charge disdain'd“Few, fellow ?-there are all that ever reign'd.” Wit, undistinguishing, is apt to strike The guilty and not guilty both alike. 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
I pity kings, whom Worship waits upon
If guards, mechanically form'd in ranks,
To be suspected, thwarted, and withstood,
To be the Table Talk of clubs up-stairs,
the state that has not these to fear. A. Thus, men, whose thoughts contemplative have