My grounded hope, or subtler wits deride,
Will I not blush to shun the vain debate,
And this mine anfwer; "Thus, 'twas thus I thought;
My mind yet vigorous, and my foul entire;
"Thus will I think, averfe to liften more
"To intricate difcuffion, prone to stray.
"Perhaps my reafon may but ill defend
"My fettled faith; my mind, with age impair'd,
"Too fure its own infirmities declare.
“But I am arm'd by caution, ftudious youth,
“And early forefight; now the winds may rife,
"The tempeft whistle, and the billows roar;
"My pinnace rides in port, defpoil'd and worn,
"Shatter'd by time and storms, but while it shuns
"Th' inequal conflict, and declines the deep,
"Sees the ftrong vessel fluctuate less secure."
Thus while he ftrays, a thousand rural scenes
Suggeft inftruction, and inftructing please.
And fee betwixt the grove's extended arms
An abbey's rude remains attract thy view,
Gilt by the mid-day fun
Produce thine axe, (for,
with lingering step aiming to destroy
Tree, branch, or fhade, for never shall thy breast
E. Too long deliberate) with timorous hand
Remove th' obftructive bough; nor yet refuse,
Though fighing, to deftroy that favourite pine,
Rais'd by thine hand, in its luxuriant prime
Of beauty fair, that fcreens the vast remains.
Aggriev'd but conftant as the Roman fire,
The rigid Manlius, when his conquering fon
Bled by a parent's voice; the cruel meed
Of virtuous ardour, timelessly display'd;
Nor ceafe till, through the gloomy road, the pile
Gleam unobstructed; thither oft thine eye
Shall fweetly wander; thence returning, foothe
With penfive fcenes thy philofophic mind.
These were thy haunts, thy opulent abodes,
O fuperftition! hence the dire disease,
(Balanc'd with which the fam'd Athenian pest
Were a short head-ach, were the trivial pain
Of tranfient indigestion) seiz'd mankind.
Long time fhe rag'd, and scarce a fouthern gale
Warm'd our chill air, unloaded with the threats
Of tyrant Rome; but futile all, till fhe,
Rome's abler legate, magnify'd their power,
And in a thousand horrid forms attir'd.
Where then was truth to sanctify the page
Of British annals? if a foe expir'd,
The perjur'd monk fuborn'd infernal fhrieks,
And fiends to fnatch at the departing foul
With hellish emulation. If a friend,
High o'er his roof exultant angels tune
Their golden lyres, and waft him to the skies.
What then were vows, were oaths, were plighted
The fovereign's juft, the fubject's loyal pact,
To cherish mutual good, annull'd and vain,
By Roman magic, grew an idle fcroll
Ere the frail fanction of the wax was cold.
Plantagenet from civil broils
The land a while refpir'd, and all was peace. ·
Then Becket rofe, and, impotent of mind, ́
From regal courts with lawlefs fury march'd
The church's blood-ftain'd convicts, and forgave;
Bid murderous priests the fovereign frown contemn,"
And with unhallow'd crofier bruis'd the crown.
Yet yielded not fupinely tame a prince
Of Henry's virtues; learn'd, courageous, wife,
Of fair ambition. Long his regal foul
Firm and erect the peevish priest exil'd,
And brav'd the fury of revengeful Rome.
In vain! let one faint malady diffuse
The penfive gloom which fuperftition loves,
And fee him, dwindled to a recreant groom,
Rein the proud palfrey whilft the priest afcends!
Was + Coeur-de-lion bleft with whiter days?
Here the cowl'd zealots with united cries
Urg'd the crufade; and fee, of half his stores
Defpoil'd the wretch, whofe wifer bofom chose
To blefs his friends, his race, his native land.
Of ten fair funs that roll'd their annual race,
Not one beheld him on his vacant throne;
While haughty Longchamp, 'mid his livery'd files
Of wanton vaffals, fpoil'd his faithful realm,
Battling in foreign fields; collecting wide
A laurel harveft for a pillag'd land.
Bishop of Ely, Lord Chancellor.
Oh dear-bought trophies! when a prince deserts His drooping realm, to pluck the barren sprays! When faithlefs John ufurp'd the fully'd crown, What ample tyranny! the groaning land
Deem'd earth, deem'd heaven its foe! fix tedious years
Our helpless fathers in defpair obey'd
The papal interdi&t; and who obey'd,
The fovereign plunder'd. O inglorious days!
When the French tyrant, by the futile grant
Of papal refcript, claim'd Britannia's throne,
And durft invade; be fuch inglorious days
Or hence forgot, or not recall'd in vain !
Scarce had the tortur'd ear dejected heard
Rome's loud anathema, but heartless, dead
To every purpose, men nor wish'd to live,
Nor dar'd to die. The poor laborious hind
Heard the dire curfe, and from his trembling hand
Fell the neglected crook that rul'd the plain.
Thence journeying home, in every cloud he sees
A vengeful angel, in whofe waving scroll
He reads damnation; fees it's fable train
Of grim attendants, pencil'd by despair!
The weary pilgrim from remoter climes
By painful steps arriv'd; his home, his friends,
His offspring left, to lavish on the shrine
Of fome far-honour'd faint his coftly ftores,
Inverts his footstep; fickens at the fight
Of the barr'd fane, and filent fheds his tear.
The wretch whofe hope by ftern oppreffion chas'd From every earthly blifs, ftill as it faw
Triumphant wrong, took wing, and flew to heaven,
And refted there, now mourn'd his refuge loft
And wonted peace. The facred fane was barr'd,
And the lone altar, where the mourners throng'd
To fupplicate remiffion, fmok'd no more;
While the green weed luxuriant round uprofe.
Some from their death-bed, whofe delirious faith
Through every stage of life to Rome's decrees
Obfequious, humbly hop'd to die in peace,
Now faw the ghaftly king approach, begirt
In tenfold terrors; now expiring heard
The laft loud clarion found, and heaven's decree
With unremitting vengeance bar the skies.
Nor light the grief, by fuperftition weigh'd,
That their difhonour'd corfe, fhut from the verge
Of hallow'd earth, or tutelary fane,
Muft fleep with brutes their vaffals; on the field
Unneath fome path, in marle unexorcis'd!
No folemn bell extort a neighbour's tear!
No tongue of priest pronounce their soul secure!
Nor fondeft friend affure their peace obtain'd!
The priest! alas, fo boundless was the ill!
He, like the flock he pillag'd, pin'd forlorn ;
The vivid vermeil fled his fady cheek,
And his big paunch, diftended with the spoils
Of half his flock: emaciate, groan'd beneath
Superior pride, and mightier luft of power!
'Twas now Rome's fondest friend, whose meagre hand
Told to the midnight lamp his holy beads
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