To My Friend The Author Of The Tragedy Of Sir Walter Raleigh.
Whilst two great Bards our grateful Country mourns,
by Nicholas Amhurst
And sheds the Debt of Sorrow o'er their Urns;
Transfus'd in thee, revive their generous Fires,
And Liberty again her Sons inspires;
Thrice happy Poet! in thy Numbers glow
The Elegance of Garth, and Force of Rowe.
From yon' bright Arch thy spreading Fame they see,
And triumph in a Successor like thee.
Behold! to cure the Frenzy of the Age,
A second Cato rises on the Stage;
The same their Suff'rings, for a Cause the same,
Nor yields the English to the Roman Name.
Oppress'd with Noise, and drunken Party--Strife,
Where I sis flows, I waste a painful Life;
Stunn'd with the Terrors of impending Woes,
And Prelates to the Church insatiate Foes;
Of uncouth Logick Terms condemn'd to hear
The same pedantick Jargon all the Year,
Pro formà to dispute the Questions round,
And trace the Windings of scholastick Ground,
To College Walls reluctantly confin'd,
Check'd in the native Freedom of my Mind;
Or on the Stage, with corresponding Eyes,
I would have seen thy British Hero rise;
For Virtue and Religion hear him plead,
And boldly for a thankless Nation bleed;
But partial Laws that Happiness deny'd,
Against my Will I laid the Wish aside,
Content to read thee in thy genuine Light,
Where no proud Scenes attract the dazzled Sight,
Stript of the Pomp and Trappings of the Stage,
Strong is thy Diction, and sublime thy Rage;
Great in your self, you want no foreign Art
To raise Compassion, and awake the Heart,
The secret Springs of Nature to controul,
And touch the diff'rent Passions of the Soul.
Accept, my Friend, these tributary Lays,
(If by that Name I may presume to praise)
Permit me, last, thy full Applause to crown,
And join the publick Chorus of the Town.