GREAT! --- I am in a plunge what more to say,
|
Our Great Creator shall we call Thee? Nay:
|
That Title is too great, we all must own
|
Due only unto GOD (to HIM Alone;)
|
The highest Titles by which men express
|
Their Deityes or Demi-Gods are less
|
Than Thy Deserts: should we Contract Thy Fame
|
Within such narrow Limits, Thou mightst blame
|
Mankind, and justly Brand us with a Blot
|
Of shame so foul as could not be forgot;
|
Had All Angelike Souls, Enlargd, that might
|
Retain Conceptions of Thy Worth Aright,
|
Then neither Prose nor Verse would needfull be
|
To tell All Future Ages, Thou art He
|
Whom God hath sent into the World to Reare
|
A New Meridian in our Northern Sphere:
|
To tell All Ages which shall after come
|
Thou art the Harbinger of suddain Doom
|
(More Fatal than Great Hannibal) to Rome:
|
He only threatned (as did many more)
|
And only made their large swoln Heart-strings sore
|
By driving them into a Punique Fright,
|
But Thou hast broke Their haughty Heart-strings quite;
|
We cant express This Wondrous Act of Thyne,
|
But by such Characters as are Divine!
|
Shall we compare Thee then to Alexander,
|
To Hannibal, or any great Commander?
|
For shame: These, are All-Man-Sirs, Hectoring Boys,
|
Who having purchasd Ginger-bread and Toys,
|
(For Towns and Castles are such things,) suppose
|
They only merit Titles who have Those,
|
Although They swim to Empires in a Flood
|
Of Fathers, Mothers, Widows, Childrens blood,
|
Spending their precious time in Emulous wrangle
|
(In dust and croud and sweat) to catch a Spangle.
|
Great Caesar shall we Style Thee? that were less
|
Than if we ownd (which yet we must profess)
|
We know not what to call Thee, but Our Heart,
|
Our Life, Our Breathing Soul, Our Vital Part:
|
Our almost All we have, and Dear to HIM
|
Who did Entrust Thee (for Our Cherubim)
|
To Guard Our British Isle (that little World)
|
Which else had Topsie-turvy quite been hurld,
|
And to a dismal Chaos had been brought,
|
More dreadful than the most tremendous Thought.
|
Great Guardian of this Honourable Trust,
|
Blessd to All Ages (though by Rome Accursd.)
|
We read in ancient Story of Saint George,
|
Who stuck his Launce into a Dragons gorge:
|
We knew His Name-sake also at the Charge
|
To tug home Our Great Charles his loaden Barge.
|
Both These wrought Wonders! but Thou hast Outdone
|
Those Heroes, and far greater Fame hast won;
|
The former slew a Beast with Spear and Sword,
|
But Thou Unarmed wast, yet, by Thy Word
|
(Spoke Powerfully) Thou gavst a Mortal Wound
|
To Rome (the Old Great Dragon) and the Sound
|
Of Thy Name only, brought Death, and did Slay
|
All Serpents, Tigers, Panthers, Wolfes of prey,
|
Who in That mighty Forrest lurking lay.
|