124
Epistles.
False auguries! th' insulting victor's scorn!
Ev'n our own prodigies against us turn!
O Portents! constru'd on our side in vain,
Let never Tory trust eclipse again. 120
Run clear, ye Fountains! be at peace, ye Skies!
And Thames! henceforth to thy green borders rise.
To Rome then must the Royal Wand'rer go,
And fall a suppliant at the papal toe?
His life in sloth inglorious must he wear, 125
One half in luxury and one in pray'r?
His mind perhaps at length debauch'd with ease
The proffer'd purple and the hat may please.
Shall he, whose ancient patriarchal race
To mighty Nimrod in one line we trace, 130
In solemn conclave sit devoid of thought,
And poll for points of faith his trusty vote?
Be summon'd to his stall in time of need,
And with his casting suffrage fix a creed?
Shall he in robes on stated days appear,135
And English hereticks curse once a-year?
Garnet and Faux shall he with pray'rs invoke,
And beg that Smithfield piles once more may smoke?
Forbid it, Heav'n! my soul to fury wrought
Turns almost Hanoverian at the thought.140
From James and Rome I feel my heart decline,
And fear, O Brunswick! it will be wholly thine;
Yet still his share thy rival will contest,
And still the double claim divides my breast.
Ev'n our own prodigies against us turn!
O Portents! constru'd on our side in vain,
Let never Tory trust eclipse again. 120
Run clear, ye Fountains! be at peace, ye Skies!
And Thames! henceforth to thy green borders rise.
To Rome then must the Royal Wand'rer go,
And fall a suppliant at the papal toe?
His life in sloth inglorious must he wear, 125
One half in luxury and one in pray'r?
His mind perhaps at length debauch'd with ease
The proffer'd purple and the hat may please.
Shall he, whose ancient patriarchal race
To mighty Nimrod in one line we trace, 130
In solemn conclave sit devoid of thought,
And poll for points of faith his trusty vote?
Be summon'd to his stall in time of need,
And with his casting suffrage fix a creed?
Shall he in robes on stated days appear,135
And English hereticks curse once a-year?
Garnet and Faux shall he with pray'rs invoke,
And beg that Smithfield piles once more may smoke?
Forbid it, Heav'n! my soul to fury wrought
Turns almost Hanoverian at the thought.140
From James and Rome I feel my heart decline,
And fear, O Brunswick! it will be wholly thine;
Yet still his share thy rival will contest,
And still the double claim divides my breast.
