COMPLAINT: And, like a vast Colossus, tow'ring stands With one Foot planted on the Continent; Yet be not wholly wrap'd in Public Cares. Tho* fuch High Cares fhould call, as call'd of-lâte,. The Caufe of Kings, and Emperors, adjourn; And EUROPE's little Balance drop awhile; For Greater, drop it; Ponder, and adjust, The rival Interefts, and contending Claims, Of Life and Death; of Now, and of For-ever : Sublimeft Theme! and Needful, as Sublime. Thus great ELIZA's Oracles renown'd,

Thus WALSINGHAM, and RALEIGH (BRITAIN'S Boafts!), Thus every Statefman, thought, that ever-Dy'd: There's Inspiration in a fable Hour;

And Death's Approach makes Politicians Wife. WHEN, Thunderstruck, that Eagle, Woolfey fell; When Royal Favour, as an ebbing Sea,

Like a Leviathan, his Grandeur left,

His gafping Grandeur! naked on the Strand;
Naked of Human, doubtful of Divine,
Affiftance; no more wallowing in his Wealth;
Spouting proud Foams of Infolence no more;
ON What, Then, fmote his Heart, un-Cardinal'd;
And funk beneath the Level of a Man?
On the Grand Article, the Sum of Things!
The Point of the Firft Magnitude! That Point,
Tubes, mounted in a Court, but rarely reach,
Some painted Cloud ftill intercepts their Sight;
Firft, right to judge; then chufe; then perfevere,,
Stedfaft, as if a Crown, or Miftrefs, call'd;
Thefe, these, are Politics will stand the Teft,
When finer Politics their Mafter fting;

And Statefmen fain would fhrink to common Men.
These, These, are Politics will answer, now,
(When common Men would fain to Statesmen fwell)
Beyond a Machiavel's, or Tencin's, Scheme.

All

All Safety refts on boneft Counsels; These
Immortalize the Statesman, bless the State,
Make the Prince triumph, and the People smile;
In Peace, rever'd; or terrible, in Arms,
Clofe leagu'd with an Invincible Ally;
Which boneft Counsels never fail to fix
In Favour of an Unabandon'd Land;
A Land--that ftarts at fuch a Land as This.
A Parliament, o principled, will fink
All ancient Schools of Empire in Disgrace;
And Britain's Glory, rifing from the Dead,
Will fill the World, loud FAME's fuperior Song.
BRITAIN? That Word pronounc'd, is an Alarm:
It warms the Blood, tho' frozen in our Veins;
Awakes the Soul, and fends her to the field,
Enamour'd of the glorious Face of Death.
Britain?-There's noble Magic in the Sound.
O what illuftrious Images arise?

Embattled, round me, blaze the Pomps of War.
By Sea, by Land, at Home, in Foreign Climes,
What full-blown Laurels, on our Fathers Brows?
Ye radiant Trophies! and Imperial Spoils 1
Ye Scenes!-Aftonishing to modern Sight!
Let me, at least, enjoy you in a Dream;
Why vanish? Stay, ye Godlike Strangers! stay.
Strangers! I wrong my Countrymen. They wake
High beats the Pulse; the noble Pulse of War
Beats to that ancient Measure, that Grand March,
Which, then, prevail'd, when Britain highest foar'd;
And every Battle pay'd for Heroes flain.

No more our great Forefathers ftain our Cheeks
With Blushes; Their Renown, our Shame, no more.
In military 'Garb, and fudden Arms,

Up ftarts OLD Britain; Crofiers are laid by ;
Trade wields the Sword; and Agriculture leaves
Her half-turn'd Furrow: Other Harvests fire

A noble

A noble Avarice; Avarice of Renown!

And Laurels are the Growth of every Field.
In diftant Courts is our Commotion felt;

And, lefs like Gods, fit Monarchs on their Thrones.
What Arm can want, or Sinews, or Succefs,
Which, lifted from an honeft Heart, defcends,
With all the Weight of British Wrath, to cleave
The Papal Mitre, or the Gallic Chain,
At every Stroke; and fave a finking Land?

OR Death, or Victory, must be refolv'd;

To dream of Mercy, O how Tame! how Mad!
Where, o'er black Deeds, the Crucifix difplay'd,
Fools think Heaven purchas'd by the Blood they fhed;
By giving, not fupporting, Pains and Death?
Nor fimple Death! Where They, the greatest Saints,
Who moft fubdue all Tenderness of Heart;
Students in Torture! Where, in Zeal to Him,
Whofe darling Title is The Prince of Peace,
The Beft turn ruthless Butchers, for
our Sakes
To fave us in a World, they Recommend,
And

;

yet Forbear; Themselves with Earth content; What Modefty?—Such Virtues Rome adorn!

And chiefly Thofe, who Rome's firft Honours wear,
Whofe Name, from Jefus; and whofe Arts, from Hell.
And fhall a Pope-bred Princeling crawl afhore,
Replete with venom, Guiltless of a Sting,

And whistle Cut-throats, with those Swords, that fcrap'd
Their barren Rocks, for wretched Suftenance,
To cut his Paffage to the British Throne?
One, that has fuck'd in Malice with his Milk,
Malice to Britain, Liberty and Truth?
Lefs favage was his Brother-Robber's Nurse,
The howling Nurfe of plundering Romulus
Ere yet, far worse than Pagan harbour'd there.
HAIL to the Brave. Be Britain, BRITAIN ftill.
Britain! High-favour'd of indulgent Heaven!

Nature's

Nature's Anointed Empress of the Deep!

The Nurse of Merchants, who can purchafe Crowns! Supreme in Commerce! that exuberant Source

Of Wealth, the Nerve of War; of Wealth, the Blood,
The circling Current in a Nation's Veins,

To fet high Bloom on the fair Face of Peace!
This, once, fo celebrated Seat of Power,
From which efcap'd, the mighty Cæfar triumph'd!
Of Gallic Lilies, this eternal Blast!

This Terror of Armadas! This true Bolt
Ethereal-temper'd, to reprefs the vain,

Salmonean Thunders from the Papal Chair!
This mall Ifle, wide-realm'd Monarchs eye with Awe!!
Which fays, to their Ambition's foaming Waves,
"Thus far, nor farther"-Let her hold in Life
Nought dear, disjoin'd from Freedom, and Renown;
Renown, our Ancestors great Legacy,

To be transmitted to their latest Sons.

By Thoughts inglorious, and Un-British Deeds,
Their cancell'd Will is, impioufly, prophan'd;
Inhumanly, difturb'd their facred Duft.

THEIR facred Duft with recent Laurels crown,
By your own Valour won. This facred Isle,
Cut from the Continent, that World of Slaves;
This Temple, built by Heaven's peculiar Care,
In a Recefs from the contagious World,
With Ocean pour'd around it for its Guard,

And dedicated, long, to Liberty,

That Health, that Strength, that Bloom, of Civil Life! This Temple of still more Divine; of Faith

Sifted from Errors; purify'd by Flames,

Like Gold, to take anew Truth's Heavenly Stamp;
And, (rifing both in Luftre, and in Weight)
With her blefs'd Mafter's unmaim'd Image, fhine;
Why should fhe longer droop? Why longer act
As an Accomplice with the Plots of Rome ?

t

Why

Why longer lend an Edge to Bourbon's Sword;
And give him Leave, among his daftard Troops,
To mufter that ftrong Succour, ALBION's Crimes:
Send his felf-impotent Ambition Aid,

And crown the Conquefts of her fierceft Foes?
Where are her Foes most fatal? Blushing Truth!
"In her Friends vices "—with a Sigh replies.
Empire, on Virtue's Rock, unfhaken, stands;
Flux, as the Billows, when in Vice diffolv'd.
If Heav'n reclaims us by the Scourge of War,
What Thanks are due to Paris, and Madrid?
Would they a Revolution?—Aid their Aim;
But be the Revolution-in our Hearts!

WOULDST Thou (whofe Hand is at the Helm) the
Bark,

The fhaken Bark of Britain, fhould out-ride

The prefent Blaft? and ev'ry future Storm ?
Give it That Ballast, which alone has Weight

With HIM, whom Wind, and Waves, and War, obey.
Perfift: Are Others fubtil? Thou be wife:
Above the Florentine's, Court-Science raise;
Stand forth a Patriot of the Moral World;
The Pattern, and the Patron, of the Just.
Thus, ftrengthen Britain's military Strength;
Give its orun Terror to the Sword fhe draws.

Ask you
"What mean I?"--The most obvious Truth;
Armies, and Fleets alone ne'er won the Day.
When our proud Arms are once difarm'd; disarm'd
Of Aid from HIM, by whom the Mighty fall;
Of Aid from HIM, by whom the Feeble ftand;
Who takes away the keeneft Edge of Battle,
Or gives the Sword Commiffion to destroy;
Who blafts, or bids the martial Laurel bloom
Emafculated, then, moft manly Might;
Or, tho' the Might remains, it nought avails:
Then, wither'd Weakness foils the finewy Arm
Of Man's meridian, and high-hearted, Power:

Our