No woman knew, but those which made their bed; Who, planted virgins on Cam's virtuous shore, Continued still male virgins at threescore, Comes Sumner,[287] wise, and chaste as chaste can be, With Long,[288] as wise, and not less chaste than he. Are there not friends, too, enter'd in thy cause Who, for thy sake, defying penal laws, Were, to support thy honourable plan, Smuggled from Jersey, and the Isle of Man? 640 Are there not Philomaths of high degree Who, always dumb before, shall speak for thee? Are there not Proctors, faithful to thy will, One of full growth, others in embryo still, Who may, perhaps, in some ten years, or more, Be ascertain'd that two and two make four, Or may a still more happy method find, And, taking one from two, leave none behind? With such a mighty power on foot, to yield Were death to manhood; better in the field 650 To leave our carcases, and die with fame, Than fly, and purchase life on terms of shame. Sackvilles[289] alone anticipate defeat, And ere they dare the battle, sound retreat. But if persuasions ineffectual prove, If arguments are vain, nor prayers can move, Yet in thy bitterness of frantic woe Why talk of Burton? why to Scotland go? Is there not Oxford? she, with open arms, Shall meet thy wish, and yield up all her charms: 660 Shall for thy love her former loves resign, And jilt the banish'd Stuarts to be thine. Bow'd to the yoke, and, soon as she could read, Tutor'd to get by heart the despot's creed, She, of subjection proud, shall knee thy throne, And have no principles but thine alone; She shall thy will implicitly receive, Nor act, nor speak, nor think, without thy leave. Where is the glory of imperial sway If subjects none but just commands obey? 670 Then, and then only, is obedience seen, When by command they dare do all that's mean: Hither, then, wing thy flight, here fix thy stand, Nor fail to bring thy Sandwich in thy hand. Gods! with what joy, (for Fancy now supplies, And lays the future open to my eyes) Gods! with what joy I see the worthies meet, And Brother Litchfield[290] Brother Sandwich greet! Blest be your greetings, blest each dear embrace; Blest to yourselves, and to the human race. 680 Sickening at virtues, which she cannot reach, Which seem her baser nature to impeach, Let Envy, in a whirlwind's bosom hurl'd, Outrageous, search the corners of the world, Ransack the present times, look back to past, Rip up the future, and confess at last, No times, past, present, or to come, could e'er Produce, and bless the world with such a pair. Phillips,[291] the good old Phillips, out of breath, Escaped from Monmouth, and escaped from death, 690 Shall hail his Sandwich with that virtuous zeal, That glorious ardour for the commonweal, Which warm'd his loyal heart and bless'd his tongue, When on his lips the cause of rebels hung;