Oh dear bought trophies! when a prince deferts 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 interdict; 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 fees
A vengeful angel, in whofe waving fcroll
He reads damnation; fees its 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 heds his tear.

The wretch whofe hope by stern oppreffion chas'd From every earthly blifs, ftill as it faw

Tri

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-bcd, 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 foul fecure!
Nor fondeft friend affure their peace obtain'd!
The priest! alas, fo boundlefs 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 fondeft friend, whofe meagre hand
Told to the midnight lamp his holy beads

With

With nice precision, felt the deeper wound
As his gull'd foul rever'd the conclave more.
Whom did the ruin fpare? for wealth, for power,
Birth, honour, virtue, enemy, and friend,
Sunk helpless in the dreary gulph involv'd;
And one capricious curfe envelop'd all!

Were kings fecure? in towering stations born,
In flattery nurs'd, inur'd to fcorn mankind,
Or view diminish'd from their fite fublime;
As when a shepherd, from the lofty brow
Of fome proud cliff, furveys his leffening flock
In fnowy groups diffusive, fcud the vale.

A while the furious menace John return'd,
And breath'd defiance loud. Alas! too foon.
Allegiance fickening faw its fovereign yield,
An angry prey to fcruples not his own.

The loyal foldier, girt around with strength,
Who ftole from mirth and wine his blooming years,
And feiz'd the fauchion, refolute to guard
His fovereign's right, impalfy'd at the news,
Finds the firm bias of his foul revers'd

For foul defertion; drops the lifted steel,
And quits fame's noble harvest, to expire
The death of Monks, of furfeit, and of floth!

At length fatigued with wrongs, the fervile king
Drain'd from his land its fmall remaining ftores
To buy remiffion. But could these obtain ?
No! refolute in wrongs the priests obdur'd;
Till crawling bafe to Rome's deputed slave

His fame, his people, and his crown, he gave.
Mean monarch! flighted, brav'd, abhorr'd before!
And now, appeas'd by delegated sway,

The wily pontiff fcorns not to recall
His interdictions. Now the facred doors
Admit repentant multitudes, prepar'd
To buy deceit; admit obfequious tribes
Of fatraps! princes! crawling to the shrine
Of fainted villainy! the pompous tomb
Dazzling with gems and gold, or in a cloud
Of incenfe wreath'd, amidst a drooping land
That figh'd for bread! 'Tis thus the Indian clove
Displays its verdant leaf, its crimson flower,
And sheds its odours; while the flocks around
Hungry and faint the barren fands explore
In vain! nor plant nor herb endears the foil;
Drain'd and exhaust to swell its thirsty pores,
And furnish luxury. Yet in vain

Britannia ftrove; and whether artful Rome
Carefs'd or curs'd her, fuperftition rag'd
And blinded, fetter'd, and despoil'd the land.
At length fome murderous monk, with poisonous art
Expell'd the life his brethren robb'd of peace.

Nor yet furceas'd with John's difaftrous fate
Pontific fury! English wealth exhaust,
The fequent reign* beheld the beggar'd shore
Grim with Italian ufurers; prepar'd

To lend, for griping unexampled hire,

* Henry III. who cancel'd the Magna Charta,

To

To lend what Rome might pillage uncontrol'd.
For now with more extensive havoc rag'd
Relentless Gregory, with a thousand arts,
And each rapacious, born to drain the world!
Nor fhall the Mufe repeat, how oft he blew
The croife's trumpet; then for fums of gold
Annull'd the vow, and bade the false alarm
Swell the grofs hoards of Henry, or his own.
Nor fhall fhe tell, how pontiffs dar'd repeal
The best of charters ! dar'd absolve the tye
Of British kings by legal oath restrain'd.
Nor can the dwell on argofies of gold

From Albion's realm to fervile fhores convey'd,
Wrung from her fons, and speeded by her kings!
Oh irkfome days! when wicked thrones combine
With papal craft, to gull their native land!

Such was our fate, while Rome's director taught Of fubjects, born to be their monarch's prey, To toil for monks, for gluttony to toil,

For vacant gluttony; extortion, fraud,

For avarice, envy, pride, revenge, and shame!
O doctrine breath'd from Stygian caves! exhal'd
From inmoft Erebus! Such Henry's reign!
Urging his loyal realm's reluctant hand

To wield the peaceful sword, by John ere while
Forc'd from its scabbard; and with burnish'd lance
Effay the favage cure, domeftic war!

And now fome, nobler spirits chas'd the mist Of general darkness. Grofted* now adorn'd

The

* Bishop of Lincoln, called Malleus Romanorum.