And rule in letters, as they ruled the realm: Ours be the curse, the mean tame coward's curse, (Nor could ingenious Malice make a worse, To do our sense and honour deep despite) To credit what they say, read what they write. Enough of Scotland--let her rest in peace; The cause removed, effects of course should cease; 70 Why should I tell, how Tweed, too mighty grown, And proudly swell'd with waters not his own, Burst o'er his banks, and, by Destruction led, O'er our fair England desolation spread, Whilst, riding on his waves, Ambition, plumed In tenfold pride, the port of Bute assumed, Now that the river god, convinced, though late, And yielding, though reluctantly, to Fate, Holds his fair course, and with more humble tides, In tribute to the sea, as usual, glides? 80 Enough of States, and such like trifling things; Enough of kinglings, and enough of kings; Henceforth, secure, let ambush'd statesmen lie, Spread the court web, and catch the patriot fly; Henceforth, unwhipt of Justice, uncontroll'd By fear or shame, let Vice, secure and bold, Lord it with all her sons, whilst Virtue's groan Meets with compassion only from the throne. Enough of Patriots--all I ask of man Is only to be honest as he can: 90 Some have deceived, and some may still deceive; 'Tis the fool's curse at random to believe. Would those, who, by opinion placed on high, Stand fair and perfect in their country's eye, Maintain that honour, let me in their ear Hint this essential doctrine--Persevere. Should they (which Heaven forbid) to win the grace Of some proud courtier, or to gain a place, Their king and country sell, with endless shame The avenging Muse shall mark each traitorous name; 100 But if, to Honour true, they scorn to bend, And, proudly honest, hold out to the end, Their grateful country shall their fame record, And I myself descend to praise a lord. Enough of Wilkes--with good and honest men His actions speak much stronger than my pen, And future ages shall his name adore, When he can act and I can write no more. England may prove ungrateful and unjust, But fostering France[278] shall ne'er betray her trust: 110 'Tis a brave debt which gods on men impose, To pay with praise the merit e'en of foes. When the great warrior of Amilcar's race Made Rome's wide empire tremble to her base, To prove her virtue, though it gall'd her pride, Rome gave that fame which Carthage had denied. Enough of Self--that darling luscious theme, O'er which philosophers in raptures dream; Of which with seeming disregard they write, Then prizing most, when most they seem to slight; 120 Vain proof of folly tinctured strong with pride! What man can from himself, himself divide? For me,(nor dare I lie) my leading aim (Conscience first satisfied) is love of fame; Some little fame derived from some brave few, Who, prizing Honour, prize her votaries too.