O Liberty!— O Virtue!— O my Country!—A Poem upon the Distress of the Times

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400
O Liberty! — O Virtue! — O my Country! —

Tell me, ye wise, now sunk in deep Despair,

Where grows yethe Med’cineMedicine for oppressive Care?

Where grows it not? th’the ingenious Pope replies;

“To make the happy Friend, be good, be wise,

“Add only Competence to Health &and Peace,

“You need no more to perfect Happiness.”

O 401 (401)

O Strangers to yethe Sorrows of the mind,

The Load of Ills, that oftoften afflicts Mankind!

One Chain of Woes another still succeeds,

Our Friends are martyr’d,martyred, &and our Country bleeds!

Humanity's too weak these Ills to bear;

Too plain a Proof no Happiness is here.

Must we, content, Slavery’s Curse endure;

Nor bravely wish, nor once attempt, a Cure?

Will Rebel-Murderers from Blood refrain?

Will corrupt Statesmen Liberty maintain?

Will Britain clear her long contracted Scores,

On Armies, Fleets, for Hanover &and Whores?

Will Justice flourish? Will our trade increase?

Our Fame grow greater, or our Taxes less?

Bid Things impossible in our Natures rise!

Bid Knaves turn honest, nay, bid fools turn wise!

Bid France keep Faith, bid England shewshow her Zeal,

And fight, as well as wish, to turn the Scale!

Bid Sympathy forsake my joyless Breast,

Or Miracles revive to give me Rest!

In private Life may Happiness be found

With those, qowho only live, or who abound?

Mark all Estates, &and shewshow me, if you can,

What's more precarious than yethe Bliss of Man;

Amidst his Joys uncertain to possess,

The Fear of Losing makes yethe Pleasure less.

Thus One's tormented wtwith foreboding Pain,

Another's wretched thro'through Desire of Gain.

Some, qowho enjoy Health, Peace &and Competence;

Are still unhappy; they’ve but Common Sense.
The 402 (402)
The Man of Genius, brighter far &and great,

Would gladly change for a genteel Estate.

In ev’ryevery Station Discontent we See.

Each thinks his Neighbour happier than he.

Search yethe World o’erover, ‘tis doubtful, if you ^ ^find~~can~~

One Man's Condition fitted to his Mind.

Alternate, real, or imagin’dimagined Woes

Disturb our Life, &and all our Joys oppose.

Nor can my Muse yethe mournful Tale avoid,

What Numbers Zeal &and Brav’ry have destroy’d.destroyed.

The gen’rousgenerous, faithful, uncorrupted Band,

Design'dDesigned Deliv’rersDeliverers of a sinking Land,

Tho'Though good, unfortunate, oppress’doppressed, tho'though brave;

See spiteful Foes pursue ymthem to yethe Grave!

Unshaken Loyalty is all their Crime,

And struggling wtwith yrtheir Chains a second Time!

For this they suffer worse than Traitor's Fate,

Condemn'dCondemned by Knaves &and Furies of yethe State!

In loathsome Dungeons close confin’dconfined they lie,

To feel a thousand deaths before they die!

At last these Heroes must resign yrtheir Breath,

And close yethe Scene with ignominious Death.

Thus ev’neven yethe best their Virtue has undone,

And fix’dfixed yethe Slav’rySlavery, qchwhich they sought to shun!

How then shall Man attain yethe State of Bliss?

In t’theother World he may, but not in this.
Unjustly 403 (403)
Unjustly therefore some we happy call.

More or less wretched is yethe Fate of all.