This Monument, consign'd to latest Times,
Stands to perpetuate Wolsey's daring Crimes;
Who long, by wicked Arts, of Power possess'd,
(The Lust of Plunder raging in his Breast)
Rais'd this Imperial Dome, more vain than wise,
Amidst the Widow's Tears and Orphan's Cries;
With boundless Wealth and wild Ambition cloy'd,
He Fame alike and Infamy enjoy'd;
Rapacious, guileful, insolent of Heart,
He fondly boasted Ciceronian Art;
His poor fallacious, tinsel Eloquence
Tickled the Ear, but ne'er inform'd the Sense;
Whilst every plausible Harangue affords
A specious, empty, puzzling Rote of Words.

Vers'd in the Art of Lying, from his Youth,
His Genius scorn'd the mean Restraints of Truth.
Good Nature, Reason, Argument and Sense
Were all supply'd with shameless Impudence;
A Purple Robber; who, for impious Gain,
Saw his poor Country bleed through every Vein;
And though in Peace, as He himself confess'd,
With all the Miseries of a War oppress'd;
Whilst his voracious Tribe grew fat with Spoil,
And flourished on the Shipwreck of our Isle;
Rash to provoke, and yet afraid of War;
He sued for Peace with Bribes and Sordidness of Prayer.

Thus to a People, long in Camps renown'd,
With never--fading Wreaths and Trophies crown'd,
The just Revenge of Arms, which Heaven supply'd,
By base, inglorious Treaties He deny'd,
Saw their old Honour and their Trade decay,
To Friends and Foes, by Turns, a despicable Prey.
At length grown full of Titles, full of Crimes,
The Scandal, Curse and Grievance of the Times,
Abhorr'd by all, suspected by the Crown,
By his own Weight He rush'd impetuous down;
Soon as He fell, with abject Fears dismay'd,
He all the Coward, all the Wretch betray'd,
More Meanness shew'd, a more dejected Mind,
Than Insolence before, when unconfin'd,
And, his own Will the Law, he triumph'd o'er Mankind.

Attend, ye Courtiers, though with Power elate;
Be warn'd by his Example, shun his Fate.