A Panegyric


Hail happy William, thou art strangely great,
What is the cause, thy virtue or thy fate?
For thee the child the parent's heart will sting;
For thee the favorite will desert his king;
For thee the patriot will subvert the laws;
For thee the judge will still decide the cause;
For thee the prelate will his church betray;
For thee the soldier fights without his pay;
For thee the freeman mortgages his hold;
For thee the miser lavishes his gold;
For thee the merchant loses all his store;
For thee the tradesman is content and poor;
For thee the sailor's pressed and starves on shore;
For thee the senate our best laws suspend,
And will make any new to serve thy end.
The chief design of all their loyal votes
Is to invent new ways, new means, and plots.
No credit in the land but thine will pass,
Nor ready money if it want thy face.
Thy loyal slaves love thy oppression more
Than all their wealth and liberty before.
For thee, and tyranny, they all declare —
And beg the blessing of eternal war.
And that this wonder may more wondrous seem,
Thou never yet didst one kind thing for them.
Rebels, like witches, having signed the rolls
Must serve their masters, though they damn their souls.
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