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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,
Thy injur'd weal impair.
Thy temper'd counsels share.
Each instance of thy vengeful rage,
Though malice swell the sum,
Or Sylla's hippodrome.
But thine has been imputed blame,
The rabble weak and loud;
A more ignoble crowd.
Avails it thee, if one devours,
While both thy claim oppose ?
Alike to thee were foes.
Far other shone fair Freedom's hand,
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,
A false apostate train :
Thy thousands strow the plain.
These had no charms to please the sense,
To win the Muse's throng :
And Nature mourns his wrong.
Thy foes, a frontless band, invade;
And yield up half the right.
On man's too feeble sight.
Hence are the motley systeins fram'd,
Distinctions weak and vain.
Her pow'rs and rights remain.
While law the royal agent moves,
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!
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 !
Propitious Heaven bestows.
Before their weaker foes.
In names there dwell no magic charms,
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,
One monarch truly great :
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.