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Not private rights resign'd: Through various nature's wide extent, No private beings ere were meant

To hurt the gen’ral kind.

Thee justice guides, thee right maintains,
The' oppressor's wrongs, the pilfrer's gains,

Thy injur'd weal impair.
Thy warmest passions soon subside,
Nor partial envy, hate, nor pride,

Thy temper'd counsels share.

Each instance of thy vengeful rage,
Collected from each clime and age,

Though malice swell the sum,
Would seem a spotless scanty scroll,
Compar'd with Marius' bloody roll,

Or Sylla's hippodrome.

But thine has been imputed blame,
The' unworthy few assume thy name,

The rabble weak and loud;
Or those who on thy ruins feast,
The lord, the lawyer, and the priest ;

A more ignoble crowd.

Avails it thee, if one devours,
Or lesser spoilers share his pow'rs,

While both thy claim oppose ?
Monsters who wore thy sullied crown,
Tyrants who pull'd those monsters down,

Alike to thee were foes.

Far other shone fair Freedom's hand,
Far other was the immortal stand,

When Hampden fought for thee : They snatch'd from rapine's gripe thy spoils, The fruits and prize of glorious toils,

Of arts and industry.

On thee yet foams the preacher's rage,
On thee fierce frowns the historian's page,

A false apostate train :
Tears stream adown the martyr's tomb ;
Unpity'd in their harder doom,

Thy thousands strow the plain.

These had no charms to please the sense,
No graceful port, no eloquence,

To win the Muse's throng :
Unknown, unsung, unmark'd they lie;
But Cæsar's fáte o'ercasts the sky,

And Nature mourns his wrong.


Thy foes, a frontless band, invade;
Thy friends afford a timid aid,

And yield up half the right.
Ev'n Locke beams forth a mingled ray,
Afraid to pour the flood of day

On man's too feeble sight.

Hence are the motley systeins fram'd,
Of right transferr'd, of power reclaim'd;

Distinctions weak and vain.
Wise nature mocks the wrangling herd;
For unreclaim'd, and untransferr'd,

Her pow'rs and rights remain.

While law the royal agent moves,
The instrument thy choice approves,

We bow through him to you. But change, or cease the inspiring choice, The sov'reign sinks a private voice,

Alike in one, or few!

Shall then the wretch, whose dastard heart Shrinks at a tyrant's nobler part,

And only dares betray; With reptile wiles, alas ! prevail, Where force, and rage, and priestcraft fail,

To pilfer pow'r away?

0! shall the bought, and buying tribe, The slaves who take, and deal the bribe,

A people's claims enjoy!
So Indian murd'rers hope to gain
The pow'rs and virtues of the slain,

Of wretches they destroy.

“ Avert it, heav'n! you love the brave, “ You hate the treach'rous, willing slave,

“ The self-devoted head. “Nor shall an hireling's voice convey “ That sacred prize to lawless sway,

“For which a nation bled.”

Vain prayor, the coward's weak resource !
Directing reason, active force,

Propitious Heaven bestows.
But ne'er shall fame the thund'ring sky,
To aid the trembling herd that fly

Before their weaker foes.

In names there dwell no magic charms,
The British virtues, British arms

Unloos'd our father's band : Say, Greece and Rome! if these should fail, What names, what ancestors avail,

To save a sinking land?

Far, far from us such ills shall be,
Mankind shall boast one nation free,

One monarch truly great :
Whose title speaks a people's choice,
Whose sovereign will a people's voice,

Whose strength a prosp'rous state.


BORN 1731.DIED 1795,

SAMUEL BISHOP was a clergyman, and for many years the head master of Merchant Tailors' school. He wrote several essays and poems for the Public Ledger, and published a volume of Latin pieces, entitled “Feriæ Poeticæ.” A volume of his sermons, and two volumes of his poetry, were published after his death.

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