Classic Poem

I.

Hail, formidable KING!
 My Muse thy dreadful Fame shall sing.
 Why should old H OMER'S pompous Lays
 Immortalize A CHILLES' Praise!
Or why should A DDISON'S harmonious Verse
 Our M ARLBRO'S nobler Deeds rehearse?
 Alas! no more these Heroes shine;
 Their Pow'r is all subdu'd by Thine .
 Where are these mighty Leaders now,
Great Pompey , C ÆSAR , and Young A MMON too,
 Who thought he drew immortal Breath?
 These bold ambitious Sons of M ARS ,
 Who dy'd the Globe with bloody Wars,
Are vanquish'd all by thee, victorious Death !

II.

Ev'n while they liv'd, their Martial Hate
 But firmer fix'd thy Throne;
Nor, tho' it hasten'd others Fate,
 Could it delay their own.
 Nor didst thou want their Rage to kill;
  Thy own can execute thy Will:
 Whene'er thou dost exert thy Pow'r,
A Thousand morbid Troops thy Call obey;
 Sometimes thy wasting Plagues devour,
  And sweep whole Realms away.
Now with contagious Biles the City mourns,
 And now the scorching Fever burns,
 Or trembling Quartan chills;
Of Heat and Cold the dire Extremes
Now freeze, now fire the Blood with Flames,
 Till various Torment kills.

III.

 C ONSUMPTIONS , and Rheumatic Pain,
And Apoplectic Fits, that rack the Brain;
Soul-panting Asthmas, Dropfy, and Catarrh,
Gout, Palsy, Lunacy, and black Despair;
 Pangs, that neglected Lovers feel;
Corroding Jealousy, their earthly Hell,
 Which makes the injur'd Woman wild;
And pow'rful Spleen that gets the Man with Child;
Physicians, Surgeons, Bawds, and Whores, and Wine,
Are all obsequious Ministers of Thine ;
 Nay, and R ELIGION too,
When Hypocrites their Interest pursue,
  Or frantic Zeal inspires,
 It calls for Racks, and Wheels, and Fires:
Then all our mystic Articles of Faith,
Instead of saving Life, become the Cause of Death .

IV.

G REAT M ONARCH ! how secure must be thy Crown,
When all these Things conspire to prop thy Throne?
 Yet, in thy universal Reign,
 Thou dost not use tyrannic Sway.
 Whate'er the Weak and Tim'rous say,
  Who tremble at thy Frown;
 Thou art propitious to our Pain,
And break'st the groaning Pris'ner's Chain,
  Which Tyranny put on.
 In Thee the Lover quits his Care,
 Nor longer courts the cruel Fair ,
  Her Coldness mourns no more:
In Thee Ambition ends its Race,
And finds at length the destin'd Place,
 It ne'er could find before:
 The Merchant too, who plows the Main,
  In greedy Quest of Gain,
 By Thee to happier Climes is brought,
Than those his wild, insatiate Av'rice sought.

V.

P ROPITIOUS Succourer of the Distrest,
Who often, by the Dead, dost make the Living blest!
 How could profusive Heirs attend
  Their Mistress, Bottle, Ball, and Play,
 If timely Thou wert not their Friend,
  To snatch the scraping Sire away?
 How would dull Poets weary Time
  With their insipid Rhyme,
 And teaze and tire the Reader's Ears
 With Party Feuds, and Paper Wars,
 If Thou , great Critic! didst not use
Thy Pow'r, to point a Period for their Muse?
 The Bard, at thy decisive Will,
 Discards his mercenary Quill ,
 Then all his mighty Volumes lie
Hid in the peaceful Tomb of vast Obscurity.

VI.

 I, like the rest, advance my Lays;
With uncouth Numbers, rumble forth a Song,
 Sedately dull, to celebrate thy Praise;
And lash, and spur the heavy lab'ring Muse along:
 But soon the fatal Time must come,
 (Ordain'd by Heav'n's unerring Doom)
 When Thou shalt cut the vital Thread,
And shove the verbal Embryos from my Head.
 Then, since I'm sure to meet my Fate,
  How vain would Hope appear?
 Since Fear cannot protract the Date,
  How foolish 'twere to fear?
 I'll strive, at least, to stand prepar'd,
  Thy Summons to obey;
 Nor would I think thy Sentence hard,
  Nor wish, nor fear the Day ;
But live in conscious Peace, and die without Dismay.

VII.

F ALLACIOUS Reas'ners wrong Thee , when
 They call thy Laws severe.
Severe! to whom? To wicked Men:
 Then let the Wicked fear.
  Thou judgest all with equal Laws,
 No venal Witness backs thy Cause,
  No Bribes to Thee are known;
 If thy impartial Hand but strike,
 The Prince and Peasant fall alike,
  The Courtier and the Clown.
 What tho' a-while the Beggar groans,
 While Kings enjoy their gilded Thrones?
What are Distinctions, Pomp, and Regal Train,
And Honours , got with Care, and kept with Pain?
One friendly Stroke of Thine sets level all again.
 All earthly Grandeur must decline;
Nay, Ev'n Great G EORGE'S Pow'r submit to Thine
 But thy Dominion shall endure,
 Till P HOEBUS measures Time no more:
Then all shall be in dark Oblivion cast,
And ev'ry mortal Kingdom fall; but thine shall fall the last.