Poor thredbare _Vertue_ ne'er admir'd in Court, But seeks its Refuge in an honest Mind, There it securely dwells, Like _Anchorets_ in Cells, Where no Ambition nor wild Lust resorts: To love our Country is indeed our Pride; We glory in an honest Action done; When the Reward is laid aside The Glory and the Action is our own, We seldom find The Good, the Just, the Brave, Have their Reward From Princes they did save From dire Destruction, or a poisoning Foe; They let them go Contemn'd, disdain'd; and most regard Those Villians sought their overthrow. As if the Just, the Brave, the Good, Were but a _Bridge_ of Wood To waft to great Preferments o'er, Those, who were our foes before, And then be tumbl'd down like useless Logs, While those, who just pass'd o'er, And the obliging Bridge shou'd thank, Do scornfully stand grinning on the Bank, To see the venerable Ruines float Adrift upon the Stream, Contemn'd by them, Who give the Childrens Bread unto the Dogs; _In vain_, says he, _we've fought_---- But at this Word He fiercely look'd, and then he grasp'd his Sword. XIII. Pity it is, he said, this Sword of mine, Of late so gloriously did shine, In Foreign Fields 'midst Show'rs of Blood, With which I've cut my Passage through The Snowy _Alps_ and _Pyrenean_ Hills, Where Death the Land with vast Destruction fills, 'Mongst Warriors, who Venture their Lives for their dear Countries good, Should now be laid aside 'Mongst Rubbish Iron old, From reaking Blood scarce cold; Or else converted to a _Knife_, For some damn'd Villain first to cut A Princes Bread, and next his Throat: In vain we venture to preserve his Life, In vain to Foreign Fields we come, In vain to Foreign Force alli'd, If a nefarious Brood at Home Embarrass his Affairs, Prolong the Wars, Only t' enrich his Enemies, Weaken his Government, and his Allies. XIV.