LORD NUGENT. ROBERT CRAGGS, afterwards created Lord Nugent, was an Irishman, a younger son of Michael Nugent, by the daughter of Robert, Lord Trimlestown, and born in 1709. He was in 1741 elected M.P. for St Mawes, in Cornwall, and became in 1747 comptroller to the Prince of Wales' household. He afterwards made peace with the Court, and received various promotions and marks of favour besides the peerage. In 1739, he published anonymously a volume of poems possessing considerable merit. He was converted from Popery, and wrote some vigorous verses on the occasion. Unfortunately, however, he relapsed, and again celebrated the event in a very weak poem, entitled 'Faith.' He died in 1788. Although a man of decided talent, as his 'Ode to Mankind' proves, Nugent does not stand very high either in the catalogue of Irish patriots or of 'royal and noble authors.' ODE TO MANKIND. 1 Is there, or do the schoolmen dream? To whom an uncontrolled command, 2 Then say, what signs this god proclaim? 3 If service due from human kind, Hail, monarchs! ye, whom Heaven ordains, 4 Superior virtue, wisdom, might, 5 In thee, vast All! are these contained, The sceptre's thine, if such there be; 6 Let the proud tyrant rest his cause 7 Unsanctified by thy command, 8 Thy will's thy rule, thy good its end; What parent nature gave: And he who dares her gifts invade, By nature's oldest law is made 9 Thus reason founds the just degree On universal liberty, Not private rights resigned: Through various nature's wide extent, 10 Thee justice guides, thee right maintains, The oppressor's wrongs, the pilferer's gains, Thy injured weal impair. Thy warmest passions soon subside, 11 Each instance of thy vengeful rage, 12 But thine has been imputed blame, Or those who on thy ruins feast, 13 Avails it thee, if one devours, Monsters who wore thy sullied crown, 14 Far other shone fair Freedom's band, 15 On thee yet foams the preacher's rage, Tears stream adown the martyr's tomb; Thy thousands strow the plain. 16 These had no charms to please the sense, To win the Muse's throng: 17 Thy foes, a frontless band, invade; Even Locke beams forth a mingled ray, On man's too feeble sight. 18 Hence are the motley systems framed, Of right transferred, of power reclaimed; Wise nature mocks the wrangling herd; 19 While law the royal agent moves, But change, or cease the inspiring choice, 20 Shall then the wretch, whose dastard heart Shrinks at a tyrant's nobler part, And only dares betray; With reptile wiles, alas! prevail, Where force, and rage, and priestcraft fail, 21 Oh! shall the bought, and buying tribe, So Indian murderers hope to gain The powers and virtues of the slain, 22 Avert it, Heaven! you love the brave, You hate the treacherous, willing slave, The self-devoted head; Nor shall an hireling's voice convey 23 Vain prayer, the coward's weak resource! Directing reason, active force, |