While You, dread Sir, whom partial Heav'n denies,
The fruitful Vineyard and Cis--Alpine Skies,
O'er frozen Heights and chilling Desarts stray,
Far from your Native Soil, and promis'd Sway;
Where to the View eternal Snows appear,
Nor genial Spring relieves the starving Year:
Your Isis Sons, a firm unshaken Train,
Mourn your ill--fated Birth, and baffled Reign;
Impatient of their Thraldom, they disown
A foreign Lineage, and a plunder'd Throne;
Nor Heav'n nor Earth, Laws Human or Divine
Shall disunite them from the Stuart Line.

Let dauntless Forster, or unconquer'd Mar,
In Freedom's Cause provoke the rising War;
Let Ormond's Duke maintain the well--fought Field
And hardy Mackintosh, untaught to yield:
Nor envy Oxford! since thy Sons engage
With equal Fortune, and more fervid Rage;
Tho' few our Monarch with the Musquet own,
(Ill suits the Musquet with a Length of Gown)
In midnight Revels we assert your Right,
And share the Laurels of a bloodless Fight:
Ours be the Province to inflame Men's Ears
With bugbear Legends, and delusive Fears;
Suspicious Doubts to raise, and Feuds foment,
And sap the Credit of the Government;
Unquestion'd Truths a latent Meaning bear;
Justice is Cruelty, and Mercy Fear.
The Church's Danger, tho' a cunning Tale,
Has lost its Influence, and is grown too stale.
Where Brittain's Fair in crouded Circles ride,
And in a Coach and Six display their Pride;
The ductile Multitude, with greedy Eyes,
Expect to see a Turnip--Harvest rise.
Thus would our Oxford, with officious Love,
Her Vows unbroken, and Allegiance prove.

Soon as the Year his circled Race has run,
And the cold Goat receives the Winter Sun;
When Halley in his Garret reads the Skies,
And big with some Event each Planet spies;
Proud of the kind Occasion, we conceal
In Hierogliphicks our unpunish'd Zeal;
Our Seers conven'd, the quaint Device impart,
And fondly trust it to the Sculptor's Art:
In the same Page the gentle Reader learns
When the Moon changes, and when James returns

Long have we strove, but strove alas! in vain
To ease our Bondage, and to break the Chain;
By Foes o'ertaken, or by Friends betray'd,
We chase a Fantom, and we grasp a Shade;
Our Arms, our Councils, ineffectual prove,
And the proud Victor grows in Strength and Love.

While recreant Crouds desert the Bankrupt Cause,
Whom publick Faith, or private Int'rest draws;
Those lukewarm Zeal superior Fate disarms,
Or Brunswick's too illustrious Virtue charms;
Your Oxford's Sons their early Faith retain,
While George invites, and Heav'n recalls in vain;
Gainst Heav'n and Earth we urge your rightful Claim,
Unmov'd by Conscience, or opprobrious Fame;
Nor Fame nor Conscience shake a Tory's Mind,
Nor plighted Oaths his fixt Resolves unbind:
Fearless he bears against whole Hosts of Foes,
And Hosts of Arguments in vain oppose.

On broken Schemes we muse the live--long Day,
Or to the Tavern take our cheerless way:
To Kit and Job we fill the brimming Wine,
We praise the Claret and the Right Divine;
With loud Huzzas the mystic Healths are roar'd,
And move incessant round the Loyal Board:
A sprightly Carol crowns the jovial Night,
Which tells of Ormond's Deeds, or James's Right
A Censure on each paltry Whig we pass,
Churchill a Coward, Stanhope is an Ass.
Before our Eyes now swims the dancing Ground,
The Candles are increas'd, the giddy Room turns round,
And in the racy Juice our sober Cares are drown'd.

All Night are drown'd--but see! the Day is born!
Our Cares renewing with the op'ning Morn.
Our raging Breasts are torn with anxious Fears,
And ev'ry Brow a sullen Sorrow wears:
Listless o'er Tea and Coffee we regale,
And wish in vain to meet one friendly Mail;
Thro' ev'ry fatal Paragraph we find
Confed'rate Kings in hostile Leagues combin'd;
Our much--lov'd James from Shore to Shore is tost,
And Cause of Grief returns with ev'ry Post.

Our Sacred Mother bleeds in ev'ry Vein,
Stung with the Insults of a spurious Reign:
Within her Walls soft Ease and Silence sleep,
And lazy Batts their peaceful Empire keep;
The laurell'd Sisters, a dejected Throng,
Their Hair dishevell'd, and their Harps unstrung,
With piteous Wailings fill the lonesome Shade;
Or on the Isis verdant Margin laid,
Of empty Fanes, and bloodless Altars dream,
And sigh their Sorrows to the list'ning Stream.
Science long since, fair Goddess! took her Flight
To Worlds, from whence she sprung, of Crystal Light
Dark Politicks delight, when Logick fails,
And Machiavel, o'er Sanderson prevails:
Gassendus reads his Lectures to himself,
And Aristotle moulds upon the Shelf.

Whither for Succour shall our Sov'reign fly,
Where seek one potent Friend, one strong Ally?
Scarce in the shining Roll of Europe's Kings,
One, unimploy'd, to James his Quota brings.
Great Austria's Son, with blooming Laurels crown'd,
To Brunswick's Race in lasting Ties is bound.
The Czar, impatient of the British Sword,
Disowns our Friendship, and betrays his Word.
A Thirst of Empire and ambitious Pride
Have flatter'd Orleans to the Victor's Side;
Perfidious Prince! and do you thus fulfil
Rome's strict Demands, and Bourbon's sacred Will?
And do you thus! O! monstrous! thus advance
The Papal Interest, and the Wealth of France?
And shall indeed Mardyke's tremendous Shore
In Ruins sleep?--and sleep to rise no more?
What shall the World be told, in times to come,
That Gaul heard Brittain, and rejected Rome?
Delusion all! is Brunswick's Friendship sought
At such a costly Rate? so dearly bought?

The warless Turk, persu'd with fierce Alarms,
Scarce hopes for Safety from Eugenio's Arms;
Altho' such Lengths his vast Dominions run,
They know no Limits but the Main and Sun;
Yet joyful would he buy a peaceful Reign,
With Seas of ransom Blood, and gastly heaps of slain.

The Pope himself, tho' suppliant at his Feet
Our Sov'reign falls, affords a bare Retreat.
The daring Swede (at his much--honour'd Name
My Breast is kindled with a pious Flame)
By boldly aiming to regain your Crown,
On his own Head hath brought Destruction down:
The daring Swede, inur'd to Fields of Blood,
What Dangers had dismay'd, what Armies had withstood?
O'er prostrate Foes victorious he had past,
And laid Britannia's fruitful Valleys wast.

O! Rumour! Thou! who (sadly it appears)
With searching Eyes art hung, and list'ning Ears,
O! why, malignant Goddess! was thy Mind
To such unrighteous Purposes inclin'd?
Why didst thou blast a Plot, in which unite
A Nation's Welfare, and a Prince's Right?
Say, did the Cause from blind Caprice proceed,
Or was the rash Resolve by Fate decreed,
That, when the Plan was almost ripe for Birth,
And after so much Pains to bring it forth,
That, when our Breasts with rip'ning Conquests swell'd,
You mock'd our rising Joys, and our big Prospects quell'd.

So, have I often seen a blushing Rose,
That bore the blighting Frosts, and Winter Snows,
When first it open'd in its Vernal Bloom,
By some invidious Hand receive its Doom.

Thus oft, when Sleep has lull'd my Cares to Rest,
And Mimick Fancy wantons in my Breast,
Frail Crowns I wear, and Regal Sceptres hold,
I tread on Stars, and bathe in liquid Gold.
But when a Flood of Light restores the Day,
In empty Air the Vision slides away.

Unhappy Prince! in vain to Empire born!
The Jest of Europe, and Britannia's Scorn!
Unhappy we! by false Ostents betray'd!
Whom perjur'd Heav'n denies his promis'd Aid;
Aid sure was promis'd us, or thro' the Sky
Why did War rage, and routed Squadrons fly?
Self--conscious of her Master's gushing Blood,
Why did the Darwent roll a sanguine Flood?
Why did thick Glooms invade the Noonday Light,
And plunge the World in unexpected Night?
Rent from some Rock, why did huge Fragments ride
High o'er the Thames, and force the strugling Tidell
Did not the Beasts of Nature loath their Food,
And stain the milky Stream with Clots of Blood
With fatal Rage the dire Contagion spread,
And heap'd the Pastures o'er with horny Dead

Scarce thro' the Herd was left a Cow alive:
Must Cattle perish, and shall Whigs survive?
Shall sudden Night the Solar Orb deface,
And no Defect attend the Brunswick Race?
Or was the Purpose of th'Almighty Mind
By us perverted, or but ill divin'd?
For see! the People's King, austere in Age,
Smiles at our fruitless Toil, and mocks our disappointed Rage.
What boots in Air to gain a fancy'd Field,
If doom'd on Earth in real Fights to yeild?
A conscious Horrour damps my rising Pride,
My Fears increasing, as my Hopes subside;
My Reason staggers, and demands a Pause,
And half inclines me to distrust our Cause:
But my big Soul, grown jealous of her Fame,
Disdains the Thought, nor brooks a Turncoat's Name.

Tho' wrapt in turbid Mists, the Solar Ray
Labours in Darkness, and involves the Day;
Tho' clad in Empire sits the Georgian Line,
And laughs our bolder Claim, and Right Divine;
Tho' a large Issue, to secure our Shame,
Thro' length of Time transmits the Brunswick Name:
Yet still our zealous Labours shall remain,
And in the People's Hearts victorious reign:
Posterity with streaming Eyes shall trace,
And bless the Annals of the Tory Race;
Shall mourn their fated Schemes, and causeless Woes,
And curse the Rancour of their Roundhead Foes.
Far distant Realms, and latest Times shall tell
Of dauntless Milbourn, bold Sacheverell;
Higgons and Stubbs shall fill the Mouth of Fame
And deathless as their Doctrines be their Name;
Industrious Welton shall o'er Time prevail,
When Monumental Brass and Marble fail;
His Altar--Piece unrivall'd will impart
A lasting Pattern of his peerless Art.
What Numbers, will be equal to contain
Of Gortz and Gyllenborg th'unweary'd Pain?
Eterniz'd are those Saints, who, for their King,
Fell by the greedy Ax, or fatal String.
When future Worlds such sad Memoirs shall hear,
What Breast will grudge a Sigh, what Eye refuse a Tear?

Nor let our Oxford, in remoter Days,
Despond to flourish in Immortal Praise;
Tho' into Ruins her fair Domes be thrown
By vengeful Thunder, or the Victor's Frown,
Unsully'd with Reproach, her Fame shall live
In after--times, and long her Fate survive.
The wand'ring Trav'ler, curious shall explore
The friendly Roof (a Roof alas! no more!)
Which screen'd our faithful Owen from the Rage
Of Brunswick's Arms, and a distemper'd Age.
(When in Ill--omen'd Pomp, and dark Array,
From shameful Death the Warriour sped his way,
Half loth to trust him to the Guardian Hearse,
What Tongue the dire Occasion did not curse?
Where to the View ascends yon mouldy Stone,
An Irish Earl excluded Brunswick's Son.
Here stood the Pile, that bred in Times of old,
In Virtue's Cause a Patriot ever bold,
To grace, O! Rochester, thy sacred See:
And here Sir Con accepted his Degree.
Such direful Scenes in future Times shall rise,
Such direful Scenes shall please the Pilgrim's Eyes:
In thronging Crouds Religious Priests shall come
For Relicks, to Recruit th'exhausted Stores of Rome.

In pompous Lays some tuneful Bard shall sing
The matchless Virtues of his Native King;
Swift, famous grown for many a solid Line,
Or Pope, the Idol of the Laurel'd Nine)
Oxonian Dames shall fill the Loyal Song,
And brawny Doctors, a promiscuous Throng;
Doctors and Dames shall swell in ev'ry strain,
And Rich's Actors vye with Drury--Lane.
Tho' Brunswick's Duke usurps the Real Throne,
And plumes himself with Honours, not his own;
Maugre his Arms, in Verse Thou shalt obtain
An Absolute, Unlimited, Domain.
Nor wilt Thou sure, unhappy Prince! refuse
The Duteous Labours of the painful Muse;
Since many a Chief, alike by Fortune crost,
Has priz'd the Shadow, who the Substance lost.