To bow with awe to stupid, princely knaves;
To serve their shameful, loathsome, vile excess,
And tamely bear while savage men oppress.
The worst of tortures, kings, at first, design'd, (39)
For mere examples to deter mankind
From just attempts, to crush tyrannic pride,
And gain that freedom kings have long deni'd.
In regal states, malignant (40) passions join ;
And there the worst and vilest men combine.
There vice, hypocrisy, and pow'r, unite
With falshood, cruelty, revenge, and spite,
To cause the end which monarchs still pursue,
To make the many wretched for the few;
To silence virtue, keep the world oppress'd
And smother wrath in each indignant breast.
The rack and dungeon are, for this, employ'd;
For this, the patriot and his fame's annoy'd ;
For this, rich towns were burn'd, and thousands slain,
And houseless millions beggar'd round the plain;
For this, such numbers fall by lawless force,
That heaps impede the savage tyrants course.
Behold ye monsters! lo! the groaning heap
Makes nature mourn, and call her rocks to weep;
While you, more harden'd than the rocks, are found,
Still wield your swords, and spread the carnage round.
When all but you, to pity, seem to yield,
Yet you alone, to all compassion steel'd,
Are deaf to mothers who with shrieks advance,
To snatch their infants from the pointed lance:
And, while they fly to shield their dearer parts,
You send its tortures through their bleeding hearts. O stay your hands! your bloody weapons stay! And hear what jnstice, truth, and reason say. Your murders, rapes, and boundless thirst for gold, If merely mention'd, freeze our blood with cold. Your gew-gaw trophies please your childish souls, Till justice calls you, and your deeds unrolls: And call, she will, when you, in great dismay, Shall feel the rod for all your savage play; Shall feel ashamed of what your conquests won, And curse the day on which they first begun : Then pale with fear, and then no longer gay, Bid mountains hide you from the source of day. Alas! when'er we retrospect the times, When monarchs triumph'd in attrocious crimes The mind disgusted, loaths the horrid view! And curses tyrants, and their servile crew: Marvels to find mankind in dismal plight, And fondly fancies worlds where all is right; And fain would fly to where the just prevail, And thraldom's curse could not our lives assail. But if no place presents itself to view. And fancy turns to view the scenes anew ; Again we wish to leave the earth behind, And fly for refuge to an orb more kind. Thus retrospective fancy roves through gloom, And follows martyrs to the silent tomb ; Surveys the scene where famous Tully died, Near ancient Latium, at Cajeta's tide,
'Twas this great orator, whose virtue brav'd
An host of traitors, and his country sav’d.
By his resistless elocution fired,
The Roman senate pass'd the acts required,
To shield his country from the base design
Of traitors, leagu'd with stupid Cataline.
Yet mark his fortune, while I now relate
A brief account of his lamented fate.
By Rome's three (42) felons he was doom'd to die;
He knew his danger, and prepar'd to fly.
His brother Quintus, also doom'd to feel
The fatal point of some assassin's steel,
With his great brother, some small distance fled,
But soon return'd, and at his mansion bled.
And Tully, weary of his country's strife,
Seem'd hardly willing to preserve his life,
His mind, depress'd, unequal troubles bore,
And hence he wander'd up, and down the shore.
His face unshav'd and pale, and worn with care,
Was dress'd in grief, and mark'd with deep dispair.
Silent and sad he for his country mourn'd,
As here and there perplex'd with woes he turn'd.
He went to sea, but soon return'd again;
And twice he sail'd for Macedonia's plain.
Now turning back as he had done before,
He moor'd his vessel at Cajeta's shore,
And at his villa staid awhile to rest,
Compose his mind, and think what course was best :
But while lamenting on his downy bed,
E're balmy slumbers had compos'd his head,
His servants, rous'd by some unknown alarm,
Besought great Tully to escape from harm.
Then in his litter he approach'd the strand;
Once more resolv'd to leave his native land.
He went through groves, or close arcades of trees.
Which form'd his walk, and reach'd adjacent seas;
But while advancing near that famous shore,
On which he met the fate we still deplore,
Upon the beach he saw the tyrant's band
With swords unsheath'd, and gleaming o'er the land.
He knew the men, whom brutal Marcus (43) sent;
And fiends like those, he knew could not relent:
To those pick'd knaves he, therefore, never spoke,
But calmly waited for the fatal stroke.
He view'd them round without a smile or frown,
And bade his servants set his litter down:
Then from it rais'd his weary aged head,
To number soon among the happy dead.
Though he had friends, who would his loss lament,
Though he had travell'd through a life well spent ;
Though he had liv'd to gain immortal fame,
And make the wise and good revere his name;
Though call'd the saviour of the Roman land,
Yet he was murder'd by a knave's command.
His wisdom, goodness, eloquence, his shield,
His aged locks could no protection yield,
The sport
of monsters, on the shore he fell ;
His only crime, he lov'd his country well.
When rudely treated with malignant scoff,
His head was sever'd, and his hand cut off.
Infirm and old, he fell an easy pray ;
The fiends, exulting, bore his head away;
To vile Antonius brought the horrid spoil,
Who pleas'd to see it grinn'd a hellish smile;
Above the rostra fix'd the hand and head;
And then with shameless impudence he said,
"Proscription cease "; but while the monster spoke,
Loud indignation from the people broke.
His bloated trunk, and grim, infernal face,
His total want of feeling, shame or grace,
Made such a nausea run throughout the crow'd,
That while some murmur'd, others cried aloud;
All felt indignant, when the reeking head
Of one whose glory through the world had spread,
Was hung on high; exposed to public view
By one, whose murders all the nation knew.
Here brutal Marcus well sustain❜d his part,
A man in forehead, but a beast in heart,
A brute too vile, and too accurs'd for shame,
A monster, seeking for revenge and fame
Through blood and murder; urg'd with hostile hand
Against those men, whose virtues sav'd the land.
Around this monster, lo! a crowd appear,
By hatred urg'd, but still restrain❜d by fear
From taking signal vengeance on the foe,
The beast, who laid their greatest worthies low.
with pain and shame they ev'ry day beheld,
That tongue which had all other tongues excell❜d,
Now cold and lifeless where it oft' had told
Such truths, as made the weak and timid bold.
For Cicero had often plead the cause,
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