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UPON THE BISHOP OF ROCHESTERS
BANISHMENT, IN 1723.]
BY PHILIP, DUKE OF WHARTON.*
As o'er the swelling ocean's tide
An exile TULLY rode,
The bulwark of the Roman state,
In act, in thought, a god,
The sacred Genius of majestick Rome 5
Descends, and thus laments her patriot's doom,
Farewel, renown'd in arts, farewel,
Thus conquer'd by thy foe,
Of honours and of friends depriv’d,
In exile must thou go:
Yet go content; thy look, thy will fedate,
Thy foul superior to the shocks of fate.
Thy wisdom was thy only guilt,
Thy virtue thy offence ;
With godlike zeal thou didst espouse
Thy country's juft defence :
15 No fordid hopes could charm thy steady foul, No fears, nor guilty numbers could controul,
What tho' the noblest patriots stood
Firm to thy sacred cause,
20 What tho' thou couldit display the force
Of rhet’rick and of laws,
No eloquence, no reasons could repel
Th’united strength of CLODIUS, and of hell.
Thy mighty ruin to effect
What plots have been devis'd!
What arts, what perjuries been us'd !
What laws and rites despis’d!
How many fools and knaves by bribes allur'd,
And witnesses by hopes and threats fecur'd !
And yet they act their dark deceit
Veild with a nice disguise,
And form a specious fhew of right
From treachery and lies;
With arbitrary pow'r the people awe,
And coin unjust oppression into law.
* .... CLODIUS, who procur'd the banishment of Cre CERO, was a lewd Roman senator, and made tribune of the people. That great orator was afterwards recall'd by Pompey, and CLODIus was killed by Milo, a person of consular dignity; which the genius of Rome, in the two last stanzas, is here made particularly to point at, as in a prophetick manner. Tbe character is intended for fir Robere Walpole.
DUKE OF WHARTON, 347
Let CLODIUS now in grandeur reign,
Let him exert his pow'r,
A short-liv'd monster in the land,
The monarch of an hour;
Let pageant fools adore their wooden god,
And act against their senses at his nod,
Pierc'd by an untimely hand
To earth shall He descend,
Tho' now with gaudy honours cloath',
Inglorious in his end.
Bleft be the man who does his pow'r defy,
And dares or truly Speak, or bravely Die.
ITH joy, blest youth, we saw thee reach thy
Fair was thy frame, and beautiful thy soul;
The Graces and the Muses came combin'd,
These to adorn the body, those the mind;
'Twas there we saw the softest manners meet, 5
Truth, sweetness, judgment, innocence, and wit.
So form’d, he few his race ; 'twas quickly wop;
'Twas but a step, and finish'd when begun.
Nature herself surpriz’d would add no more,
His life compleat in all its parts before ;
But his few years with pleasing wonder told,
By virtues, not by days; and thought him old.
So far beyond his age those virtues ran,
That in a boy she found him more than man.
For years let wretches importune the skies,
Till, at the long expence of anguish wise,
They live to count their days by miseries.
Those win the prize, who soonest run the race,
And life burns brightest in the shortest space.
So to the convex glass embody'd run,
Drawn to a point, the glories of the sun;
At once the gathering beams intensely glow,
And through the streighten'd circle fiercely flow:
In one strong fame conspire the blended rays,
Run to a fire, and croud into a blaze.