We envy not the warmer clime that lies

In ten degrees of more indulgent skies;
Nor at the coarseness of our heav'n repine,
Tho' o'er our heads the frozen pleiades shine;
'Tis Liberty that crowns Britannia's isle,

And makes her barren rocks and her bleak mountains Imile.
Others with tow'ring piles may please the fight,

And in their proud aspiring domės delight;

A nicer touch to the ftretch'd canvass give,
Or teach their animated rocks to live:

- 'Tis Britain's care to watch o'er Europe's fate,
And hold in balance each contending state;
To threaten bold prefumptuous kings with war,
And answer her afflicted neighbour's pray'r.
The Dane and Swede, rouz'd up by fierce alarms,
Bless the wife conduct of her pious arms;
Soon as her fleets appear their terrors cease,
And all the northern world lies hufh'd in peace.
Th' ambitious Gaul beholds with fecret dread
Her thunder aim'd at his afpiring head,
And fain her godlike fons would difunité
By foreign gold, or by domeftick spite;
But strives in vain to conquer or divide
Whom Naffau's arms defend and counfels guide.
Fir'd with the name which I fo oft have found
The diftant climes and diff'rent tongues refound,
I bridle in my struggling Mufe with pain,
That longs to launch into a bolder ftrain.

But I've already troubled you too long,
Nor dare attempt a more advent'rous fong:
My humble verse demands a fofter theme,
A painted meadow or a purling stream;
Unfit for heroes, whom immortal lays,

And lines like Virgil's, or like yours, fhould praife.

CRUELTY

W

CRUELTY AND

LUST.

AN EPISTOLARY ESSAY*.

BY THE REV. MR. POMFRET.

HERE can the wretched'ft of all creatures fly,
To tell the ftory of her mifery!

Where, but to faithful Celia, in whose mind
A manly bravery's with soft pity join'd.
I fear these lines will fcarce be understood,
Blurr'd with inceffant tears, and writ in blood;
But if you can the mournful pages read,
The fad relation fhews you fuch a deed
As all the annals of th' infernal reign
Shall ftrive to equal or exceed in vain.

Neronior's fame, no doubt, has reach'd your ears,
Whofe cruelty has caus'd a sea of tears;
Fill'd each lamenting town with fun'ral fighs,
Deploring widows fhrieks, and orphans cries.
At ev'ry health the horrid monfter quaff'd,
Ten wretches dy'd, and as they dy'd he laugh'd:
Till, tir'd with acting devil, he was led,
Drunk with excefs of blood and wine, to bed.
Oh, curfed place !-I can no more command
My pen; fhame and confufion shake my hand:
But I must on, and let my Celia know
How barb'rous are my wrongs, how vast my woe.
Amongst the crowds of western youths, who ran
To meet the brave, betray'd, unhappy man †,

*This piece was occafioned by the barbarity of Kirke, a commander in the Western rebellion 1685, whò debauched a young lady with a promise to save her husband's life, but hanged him the next morning.

+ The Duke of Monmouth.

My

My husband, fatally uniting, went;

Unus'd to arms, and thoughtless of th' event.
But when the battle was by treach'ry won,
The chief, and all, but his false friend, undone;
Though, in the tumult of that defp'rate night,
He 'fcap'd the dreadful flaughter of the fight,
Yet the fagacious blood-hounds, skill'd too well
In all the murd'ring qualities of hell,
Each fecret place fo regularly beat,
They foon discover'd his unfafe retreat.
As hungry wolves triumphing o'er their prey,
To fure destruction hurry them away;
So the purveyors of fierce Moloc's fon
With Charion to the common butch'ry run;
Where proud Neronior by his gibbet stood,
To glut himself with fresh fupplies of blood.
Our friends, by pow'rful interceffion, gain'd
A fhort reprieve, but for three days obtain❜d,
To try all ways might to compaffion move
The favage general; but in vain they flrove.
When I perceiv'd that all addreffes fail'd,
And nothing o'er his ftubborn foul prevail'd,
Diftracted almoft, to his tent I flew,
To make the laft effort, what tears could do.
Low on my knees I fell; then thus began:

Great genius of fuccefs, thou more than man!
Whose arms to ev'ry clime have terror hurl'd,
And carried conqueft round the trembling world!
Still may the brighteft glories Fame can lend,
Your fword, your conduct, and your caufe, attend.
Here now the arbiter of fate you fit,

While fuppliant flaves their rebel heads fubmit.
Oh, pity the unfortunate! and give

But this one thing: oh, let but Charion live!
And take the little all that we poffefs.

I'll bear the meagre anguish of diftrefs

L12

• Content;

1

Content; nay, pleas'd, to beg or earn my bread;

· Let Charion live, no matter how I'm fed.

• The fall of fuch a youth no luftre brings

To him whose sword performs fuch wond'rous things
As faying kingdoms, and supporting kings.

That triumph only with true grandeur fhines,
Where godlike courage, godlike pity joins.
Cæfar, the eldest fav3rite of war,

Took not more pleasure to fubmit, than spare:
And fince in battle you can greater be,
That over, be n't lefs merciful than he.
Ignoble fpirits by revenge are known,
And cruel actions fpoil the conqu'ror's crown?
In future hiftories fill each mournful page
With tales of blood, and monuments of rage:
And, while his annals are with horror read,
Men curfe him living, and deteft him dead.
Oh! do not fully with a fanguine dye
(The fouleft ftain) fo fair a memory!
• Then, as you'll live the glory of our ifle,
And Fate on all your expeditions fmile;
So, when a noble course you've bravely ran,
Die the best foldier, and the happiest man.
None can the turns of Providence forefee,
• Or what their own catastrophe may be ;
Therefore, to perfons labouring under woe,
That mercy they may want, fhould always fhew:
For, in the chance of war the flightest thing

May lofe the battle, or the vict'ry bring.

• And how would you that gen'ral's honour prize,
Should in cool blood his captive facrifice?

He that with rebel arms to fight is led,
To juftice forfeits his opprobricus head:
But 'tis unhappy Charion's first offence,
Seduc'd by fome too plaufible pretence,

: To

To take the injuring fide by error brought;
He had no malice, though he has the fault.
Let the old tempters find a fhameful grave,
But the half-innocent, the tempted, fave;
• Vengeance divine, though for the greatest crime,
• But rarely ftrikes the first or second time:
And he beft follows th' Almighty's will,
Who spares the guilty he has pow'r to kill.
When proud rebellions would unhinge a ftate,
And wild diforders in a land create,

'Tis requifite the firft promoters should

Put out the flames they kindled with their blood:
But fure 'tis a degree of murder, all

That draw their fwords fhould, undiftinguifh'd, fall.
And fince thy mercy must to some be shewn,
Let Charion, 'mongst the happy few, be one:
For as none guilty has lefs guilt than he,
So none for pardon has a fairer plea.

• When David's general had won the field,
• And Abfalom, the lov'd ungrateful, kill'd,
The trumpets founding made all flaughter cease,
And mifled Ifraelites return'd in peace:

The action past, where so much blood was fpilt,
We hear of none arraign'd for that day's guilt;
But all concludes with the defir'd event,
The monarch pardons, and the Jews repent.

As great example your great courage warms,
And to illustrious deeds excites your arms;
So when you inftances of mercy view,
They should infpire you with compaffion too:
For he that emulates the truly brave,

• Would always conquer, and should always fave.'
Here, interrupting, ftern Neronior cried,

(Swell'd with fuccefs, and blubber'd up with pride) Madam, his life depends upon my will,

For ev'ry rebel I can fpare or kill.