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When Freedom's active, all-preferving Spring
Infpired, alike, the Cobler, and the King;
In thofe now gone, but memorable Days,
No Fear there was that from its noble Bafe
The Conftitution of the Realm ihould fly,
Though one perverted Member ftept awry.

But Politics wear now a darker Hue,
The Social CompaEl\ almoft to renew;
Community's difcordant Hinges jar,
And wage more dreadful than of Arms a War,
One Monßer^ more unnat'ral than the reft,
Although with Britain 's richeft Favours blcft,
Wants cv'ry upright Sentiment, or quells,
Againft his Country, and his King rebels.
Breaks ev'ry Shoot of genuine Englifo Worth,
With heavy Inundations from the North.
And (horrid but to think !) what ftill is worfe,
As of our Crimes he were God\ chofen Curie;
To him from Hell to flay, methinks 'tis given,
Till every Patriot is difpatch'd to Heaven.

In fuch a Situation much depends Whither each private Refolution tends; If to be Free is yet one's gen'rous Aim, Or for low Purpofes to quench the Flame. One Vote may haften England1 s haplefs Doom, One Vote again may bid her Glories bloom.

If you examine, in the human Frame,
The Cafe I've urg'd, is very much the feme.
Beats your Heart ftrong, and is your Body hale?
Shocks, e'en tho' rude, in vain the Man aflâil:
Soon rough Impediments away we fling,
And Health recovers its elaftic Spring.

But Fancy on the Couch a Patient laid,
Fait pofting to the Acherontic Shade:
Quick all his former Strength diffolves away,
Quick all the Principles of Lite decay.
The cruel Quack Life's low Remainder drills,
Purges and bleeds, and if you let him,—kills.
But íhould God kindly put it in your Head,
To call a true Phyfician to the Bed,

An honeft Man, accuftom'd to difpenfe
A fmaller Share of Gallipots than Senfe;
The ftubborn Malady his Thoughts explore,
And Medicine's ample Region o'er and o'er:
At Length a Drug of grand Effect, though fmall,
Spent Health, by his Prefcription, will recall;
The falutary Drop new Life fupplies,
Withhold the falutary Drop, he dies.

A. All this, I grant you, is extremely fine,
And Senfe and Virtue breathe in ev'ry Line.
But then a Fellow, with a Tyburn Face,
Came down, and told me I rauft lofe my Place

Unlefs I vote as God knows who prefcribe i

One's Bread, you know, fweet Sirs, a pow'rful Bribe. Could you, my Soul ethereal, by your Leave,

Or e'er a Patriot of our State atchieve

For your dear Country any glorious Feat,
Unlefs you did vouchfafe fometimes to eat?


B. No let me innocently have good Cheer

Till I am ripe for the funereal Bier:


I'll make the utmoft of my little Span

Whilfl I enjoy the Privilege of Man;

I'll eat and drink, a Freeman, to my Grave,

But I will rather ftarve than be a Slave.

I too, myfelf, or have, or had a Poft,

Perhaps it is this very Moment loft:

I faw the Government's, or the Tool's Tool;

The Knave thought me his Brother, or a Fool;

But foon my honeft Heart the Spaniel told

"That One in Britain wou'd not yet be fold;"

I bade him " know his Ground, and keep aloof,

"Slaves were not Vermin for my hallow'd Roof."

Gods! how the Project makes my Anger boil

Z) Г s Friends engag'd ibou'd now recoil

• i / . .

A. Promife, and then recant, good Teacher, fay, Is that the modern Patriotic Way?

B. Never on any Doctrine be fevere, Till to its Force you lend a patient Ear.

If I had promis'd D / my Vote,

Thus I'd addrefs him, as a Briton ought.

"That I've already pledg'd my Vote, is true,

<{ But now I find I pledg'd it not to you.

"Methought I gave it to a Man, whofe Soul

"Brook'd not, nor would efpoufe unjuft Controul;

"Still ftrenuous to fulfill the good Intent

tc For which our Members to the Houfe are fent;

c< Indignant that in this, or any Reign,

i( Full many a Hero fhou'd have bled in vain;

u That many fhou'd in vain, for England's Wrong,

"Have bid the Heart flow dauntlefs from the Tongue.

<< But now you'd rivet our unworthy Chains,

"Back'd with a Terror which a Man difdains.

"If thus you dare to injure us before,

"Sure when you reprefent, you'll injure more:

"The courtly Labyrinth I plainly fee;

"Ne'er ihall a Tyrant find a Friend in me."

Is this a Trick, wou'd Mazarine aver? Clarke, from the Gofpel-Tenets, do I err?

A. Well,—my poor Heart cannot, like yours, expand; One has not noble Feelings at Command.

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