Classic Poem

Our native freedome, Lord, preserve,
Which bids our wills thy will obey:
Yet from our Conscience never swerve,
Whil'st mens Decrees with Law we weigh,
And Reason, nor of ought allow
But that, to which our judgements bow.

Where fix'd by thee I did reside,
That place, by Subjects forc'd, I quitted:
Yet for their good my self deny'd
In all to my dispose submitted:
Let no Demands in Tumults prest,
From my consent unjust pow'r wrest.

The greatest mischeif of my Foes,
Teach me with joy to entertain;
Ere the least sin that they propose,
The whiteness of my Conscience stain:
Just freedome let thy People have,
Yet not my Soul be made a Slave.

Thou hast dispos'd me to a Throne,
And with a Crown my Temples deckt:
The reason which from thee I owne,
Let others Passions not subject.
So shall my truth with thee comply,
Though them I cannot satisfie.

Whilst I, by their injurious wrath,
With violence am forc'd away;
Guide thou my steps, nor from the path
Of Truth and Justice, let me stray.
For which my troubles now increase,
But they at last shall crown my Peace.