Poem upon St. Peter's Bell ringing at Exeter on April 16. 1749.

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1253 (1253)
A Poem by a Gentleman, Occasion-
ed by hearing St Peter’s Bell at
Exeter ring on the 16th of
April, 1749.

Murder will speak, imortalimmortal ShakespearShakespeare sung,

Wtwith marv’lousmarvelous Organ, tho’though depriv’ddeprived of Tongue.

Thy Peals, ysthis Truth, O Peter! do proclaim,

Compell’dCompelled to celebrate Britannia’s Shame.

Culloden’s Field thy ill-tim’dtimed Sounds renew,

And opeopen fresh Scenes of HorrourHorror to our View.

Remorseless Fury raging o’erover the Plain,}

Wide-wasting Massacre, &and thousands slain,}

In his Mind’s Eye each Briton sees again!}

The baleful Tyrant of imperial Rome,

Whose lifted Dagger riptripped his Mother’s Womb,
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Outdone in Blood, to Cumberland shall yield,

The modern Butcher of Culloden-Field;

Whose Heart unmov’dunmoved cou’dcould smile at WidowsWidow’s Tears,

And broach yrtheir sprawling Orphans on his Spears!

Nor Sighs nor Pray’rsPrayers avail’davailed to stay his Hand,

While swift Destruction blaz’dblazed ysthis half yethe Land.

Edgeless for everforever be thy Sword in Fight,

Still owe thy Safety to ignoble Flight.

The Pangs of Guilt, like Richard,2 may’st thou find,

Still see yethe Air-drawn Dagger of yethe Mind;

Haunted like him wtwith Murder’s vengeful Cry,

Like him unpitied may’st thou fall &and die!

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