When we shall see, and call the times our own, A second Harry Monmouth mount the throne!
Is there a man in England's wide domain, Whose heart would not exult at such a reign? When Liberty, which our brave Fathers steel'd, To shed their blood in many a well-fought field, When tyrant Kings, may Britain ne'er again. Behold such rulers! forg'd the heavy chain To bind her fast, and had not just alarms, To Runnemede's bold barons cried, "to arms!"* Her glorious name, so much rever'd of yore, Had sunk in endless night, to rise no more, When Liberty shall reign throughout the Land, And Justice re-assume her old command.
Yes, if a Prince aspire to Harry's fame, (And where shall monarch find a nobler aim?) Let interest, will, and passion be subdu'd, And private friendship bow to public good. Let no Dependants crowd around his gate, Drones in the church, or Hirelings in the state; No German Counts, who fiddlers were at home, No fops from Paris, and no priests from Rome; These must no more employ his precious hours, But the lost mind, resuming all its pow'rs, With new-born vigour into life shall spring,
And the gay Trifler perish in the King!
Let no mean Tyrant, such as I could find,
Whose features are an index to his mind,
Savagely pluck sweet mercy from her throne,
To gratify some vengeance of his own-
Let no false Patriot, frantic for reform,
And ripe for faction, raise the civil storm;
Bid Loyalty before its altar bleed,
And call it zeal, to sanctify the deed-
Let no gall'd Bishop rival Bonner's name,
In England's church light up the Popish flame,
And bring before her trembling sight again
Those bloody scenes which curs'd a Tudor's reign,
When Ridley, Latimer, immortal names!
Died for their faith, triumphant 'midst the flames !
Far from thy councils, Britain, may they roam,
And in some foreign country find a home,
Where Slaves, obedient to a Tyrant's reign,
Bow their submissive necks and hug their chain.
Great, truly great, shall be that Monarch's name, Who builds his glory on his people's fame; His praise shall travel to the furthest Pole, Where winds can bellow, and where waves can roll. Like Him* of old, who gave Britannia laws,
His glorious name crown'd with deserv'd applause,
Shall brightly shine in Hist'ry's ample page,
A leading star through each succeeding age!
In vain shall Tyrants spread their wild alarms,
The God of Battles shall defend his arms—
In vain shall Traitors, with infuriate zeal,
Drug the dire bowl, or point the murd❜rous steel;
Heav'n shall o'ertake the wretch with wrath divine,
Arrest his hand, and blast the foul design.
When full of worth, and years, and fair renown,
He leaves an earthly for a heav'nly crown;
The Patriot's sigh shall murmur o'er his bier,
And Freedom greet his mem'ry with a tear.
Long shall his race, to future heroes grown,
With still increasing glory fill the throne,
Their honour'd names in fair succession run,
The Father's virtues bright'ning in the Son.
Surrounding nations shall with envy see,
That to be conq'rer, Britain must be free;
For when the Flag of Liberty's unfurl'd,
She arms her heart with steel-and dares the world.
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