Page:The dispensary - a poem in six canto's (sic) (IA b30356775).pdf/59

⁠Thus he: 'Tis true, when Privilege and Right
Are once invaded, Honour bids us Fight.
But e'er we once engage in Honour's Cause,
First know what Honour is, and whence it was.

⁠Scorn'd by the Base, 'tis courted by the Brave,
The Heroe's Tyrant, and the Coward's Slave.
Born in the noisie Camp, it lives on Air;
And both exists by Hope and by Despair.
Angry when e'er a Moment's Ease we gain,
And reconcil'd at our Returns of Pain.
It lives, when in Death's Arms the Heroe lies,
But when his Safety he consults, it dies.
Bigotted to this Idol, we disclaim
Rest, Health, and Ease, for nothing but a Name.

⁠Then let us, to the Field before we move,
Know, if the Gods our Enterprise approve.
Suppose th'unthinking Faculty unvail
What we, thro' wiser Conduct, wou'd conceal;
Is't Reason we shou'd quarrel with the Glass
That shews the monstrous Features of our Face?
Or grant some grave Pretenders have of late
Thought fit an Innovation to create;
Soon they'll repent, what rashly they begun;
Tho' Projects please, Projectors are undone.
All Novelties must this Success expect,
When good our Envy; and when bad, Neglect:
If Reason cou'd direct, e'er now each Gate
Had born some Trophy of Triumphal State.
Temples had told how Greece and Belgia owe
Troy and Namur to Jove and to Nassau.

Then