But is not freedom-at leaft is not our's

Too apt to play the wanton with her pow'rs,
Grow freakish, and o'erleaping every 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 seek the distant plain ?
No. His high mettle, under good controul,
Gives him Olympic fpeed, and fhoots him to the goal.
Let difcipline employ her wholesome arts;
Let magiftrates alert perform their parts,
Not fkulk or put on a prudential mask,
As if their duty were a defp'rate task;
Let active laws apply the needful curb
To guard the peace, that riot would difturb;
And liberty, preserved from wild excefs,
Shall raise 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 dared to look his master in the face;
When the rude rabble's watch-word was-deftroy,
And blazing London feem'd a fecond Troy;
Liberty blush'd, and hung her drooping head,

Beheld their progress with the deepest dread;

Blushed, that effects like these she should produce,
Worfe than the deeds of galley-flaves broke loose.
She lofes in fuch ftorms her very name,

And fierce licentioufnefs fhould bear the blame.
Incomparable gem! thy worth untold;

Cheap though blood-bought; and thrown away when fold,

May no foes ravish thee, and no false friend
Betray thee, while profeffing to defend ;
Prize it ye minifters; ye monarchs, spare;
Ye patriots, guard it with a mifer's care.

A. Patriots, alas! the few that have been found, Where moft 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 stage.
In him Demofthenes was heard again;
Liberty taught him her Athenian ftrain;
She clothed 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 ftrive to make a Paul or Tully ftand.
No fycophant or flave, that dared oppofe
Her facred caufe, but trembled when he rofe;

And every venal stickler for the yoke

Felt himself crushed at the firft word he spoke.
Such men are raised to station and command,
When Providence means mercy to a land.
He speaks, and they appear; to him they owe
Skill to direct, and ftrength to ftrike the blow;
To manage with address, to feize with power
The crifis of a dark decifive hour.

So Gideon earned a victory not his own;
Subferviency his praise, and that alone.

Poor England! thou art a devoted deer,
Befet with every ill but that of fear.

The nations hunt; all mark thee for a prey;

They fwarm around thee, and thou ftandeft at bay,
Undaunted ftill, though wearied and perplexed,
Once Chatham faved thee; but who faves thee next?
Alas! the tide of pleasure sweeps along

All, that should be the boaft of British song.

'Tis not the wreath, that once adorned thy brow, The prize of happier times, will ferve thee now. Our ancestry, a gallant christian race,

Patterns of every virtue, every grace,

Confeffed a God; they kneeled before they fought,
And praised him in the victories he wrought.
Now from the duft of ancient days bring forth
Their fober zeal, integrity, and worth;

Courage, ungrac'd by thefe, affronts the skies,

Is but the fire without the facrifice.

The ftream, that feeds the well-fpring of the heart,
Not more invigorates life's nobleft part,

Than virtue quickens with a warmth divine
The powers, that fin has brought to a decline.
A. Th' ineftimable estimate of Brown

Rofe like a paper-kite, and charmed 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 said.

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 recovery ftruck him dumb.
But that effeminancy, 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 hiftory itself be true.

There is a time, and justice marks the date,
For long-forbearing clemency to wait;
That hour elaps'd th' incurable revolt

Is punishd, and down comes the thunder-bolt.

If mercy then put by the threat'ning blow,
Muft the perform the fame kind office now?
May the! and, if offended heaven be still
Acceffible, and prayer prevail, fhe 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 sense of shame;
When infamous venality, grown bold,
Writes on his bofor, to be let or sold;
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 avarice ftarves (and never hides his face)
Two or three millions of the human race,

And not a tongue inquires, how, where, or when, Though confcience will have twinges now and then; When profanation of the facred caufe

In all its parts, times, ministry, and laws,

Befpeaks a land, once chriftian, fall'n, and loft,

In all, that wars against that title moft;