A. Sing where you please, in such a cause I grant An English Poet's privilege to rant,
But is not freedom, at least is not our's
Too apt to play the wanton with her pow'rs,
Grow freakish, and o'erleaping ev'ry mound
Spread anarchy and terror all around?
B. Agreed. But would you fell or flay your horfe
For bounding and curvetting in his course;
Or if, when ridden with a careless rein,
He break away, and feek the diftant plain?
No. His high metal under good controul,
Gives him Olympic speed, and shoots him to the goal
Let difcipline employ her wholesome arts,
Let magiftrates alert perform their parts,
Nor fkulk or put on a prudential mask,
As if their duty were a desp'rate task ;
Let active laws apply the needful curb
To guard the peace that riot would disturb,
And liberty preferv'd from wild excefs,
Shall raife no feuds for armies to fupprefs..
When tumult lately burft his prifon door,
And fet Plebeian thousands in a roar,
When he ufurp'd authority's just place,
And dar'd to look his mafter in the face,
When the rude rabbles watch-word was, destroy,
And blazing London feem'd a fecond Troy,
Liberty blush'd and hung her drooping head,
Beheld their progrefs with the deepest dread,
Blush'd that effects like these she should produce,
Worfe than the deeds of galley-flaves broke loose.
She lofes in fuch storms her very name,
And fierce licentiousness should bear the blame.
Incomparable gem! thy worth untold,
Cheap, though blood-bought, and thrown away when
May no foes ravish thee, and no false friend:
Betray thee, while profeffing to defend ;
Prize it, ye minifters, ye monarchs, fpare,
Ye patriots, guard it with a mifer's care.
A. Patriots, alas! the few that have been found
Where most they flourish, upon English ground,
The country's need have scantily supplied,
And the laft left the fcene, when Chatham died..
B. Not fo-the virtue ftill adorns our age,
Though the chief actor died upon the ftage..
In him, Demofthenes was heard again,
Liberty taught him her Athenian strain;
She cloath'd him, with authority and awe,
Spoke from his lips, and in his looks, gave law.
His fpeech, his form, his action, full of grace,
And all his country beaming in his face,
He ftood, as fome inimitable hand.
Would strive to make a Pul or Tully stand.
No fycophant or slave that dar'd oppose
Her facred caufe, but trembled when he rofe;
And every venal stickler for the yoke,
Felt himself crush'd at the first word he spoke.
Such men are rais'd to station and command,
When providence means mercy to a land.
He speaks, and they appear; to him they owe
Skill to direct, and strength to strike the blow,
To manage with addrefs, to feize with pow'r
The crifis of a dark decifive hour.
So Gideon earn'd a vict'ry not his own,
Subferviency his praife, and that alone.
Poor England thou art a devoted deer,,
Befet with ev'ry ill but that of fear.
The nation's hunt; all mark thee for a prey,
They swarm around thee, and thou stand'st at bay,
Undaunted ftill, though wearied and perplex'd,
Once Chatham fav'd thee, but who faves thee next?
Alas! the tide of pleasure sweeps along
All that should be the boaft of British fong.
"Tis not the wreath that once adorn'd thy brow,
The prize of happier times will ferve thee now..
Our ancestry, a gallant christian race,
Patterns of ev'ry virtue, ev'ry grace,
Confefs'd a God, they kneel'd before they fought,
And prais'd him in the victories he wrought.
Now from the dust of ancient days bring forth
Their fober zeal, integrity and worth ;
Courage, ungrac'd by thefe, affronts the fkies,
Is but the fire without the facrifice.
The stream that feeds the well-spring of the heart
Not more invigorates life's noblest part,
Than virtue quickens with a warmth divine,
The pow'rs that fin has brought to a decline..
A. Th' inestimable estimate of Brown,
Rofe like a paper-kite, and charm'd the town;
But measures plann'd and executed well,
Shifted the wind that rais'd it, and it fell.
He trod the very felf-fame ground you tread,
And victory refuted all he faid.
B. And yet his judgment was not fram'd amifs
Its error, if it err'd was merely this-
He thought the dying hour already come,
And a complete recov'ry ftruck him dumb..
But that effeminacy, folly, luft,
Enervate and enfeeble, and needs muft,
And that a nation fhamefully debas'd,
Will be defpis'd and trampled on at last,
Unless sweet penitence her pow'rs renew,.
Is truth, if history itfelf be true.
There is a time, and juftice marks the date,
For long-forbearing clemency to wait;
That hour elaps'd, th' incurable revolt
Is punish'd, and down comes the thunder-bolt.
If mercy then put by the threat'ning blow,
Must she perform the fame kind office now ?
May he and if offended heav'n be fill
Acceffible and pray'r prevail, the will.
Tis not however infolence and noise,
The tempeft of tumultuary joys,
Nor is it yet defpondence and difmay,
Will win her vifits, or engage her stay;
Pray'r only, and the penitential tear,
Can call her smiling down, and fix her here.
But when a country (one that I could name)
In prostitution finks the fense of shame;
When infamous venality grown bold,
Writes on his bofom, to be let or fold;
When perjury, that heav'n defying vice,
Sells oaths by tale, and at the lowest price,
Stamps God's own name upon a lie just made,
To turn a penny in the way of trade;
When av'rice ftarves, and never hides his face,
Two or three millions of the human race,
And not a tongue enquires, how, where, or when, Though confcience will have twinges now and then; When profanation of the facred caufe
In all its parts, times, miniftry and laws,
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