19 In this concise despotic way
Unhappy Gaphny fell;

Which did all honest men affray,
As truly it might well.

20 Full two good hundred pounds a year,
This poor man's real estate,
He settled on his favourite dear,
And Culliford can say 't.

21 Besides, he gave five hundred pound
To Fielding his own scribe,

Who was his bail; one friend he found,
He owed him to the bribe.

22 But for this horrid murder vile
None did him prosecute;

His old friend helped him o'er the stile:
With Satan who'd dispute?

23 With France, fair England's mortal foe, A trade he carried on;

Had any other done 't, I trow
To Tripos he had gone.

24 That he did likewise traitorously,
To bring his ends to bear,
Enrich himself most knavishly;
O thief without compare!

25 Vast quantities of stores did he
Embezzle and purloin;

Of the king's stores he kept a key,
Converting them to coin.

26 The forfeited estates also,
Both real and personal,

Did with the stores together go,
Fierce Cerberus swallowed all.

27 Meanwhile the soldiers sighed and sobbed, For not one sous had they;

His Excellence had each man fobbed,
For he had sunk their pay.

28 Nero, without the least disguise,
The papists at all times
Still favoured, and their robberies
Looked on as trivial crimes.

29 The protestants whom they did rob
During his government,

Were forced with patience, like good Job,
To rest themselves content.

30 For he did basely them refuse All legal remedy;

The Romans still he well did use,

Still screened their

roguery.

31 Succinctly thus to you I've told,
How this Viceroy did reign;
And other truths I shall unfold,
For truth is always plain.

32 The best of queens he had reviled,
Before and since her death,
He, cruel and ungrateful, smiled
When she resigned her breath.

33 Forgetful of the favours kind
She had on him bestowed,
Like Lucifer his rancorous mind,
He loved nor her nor God.

34 But listen, Nero, lend thine ears,
As still thou hast them on;
Hear what Britannia says with tears,
Of Anna dead and gone.

35 Oh! sacred be her memory,
For ever dear her name!
There never was, nor e'er can be,
A brighter, juster dame.

36 Blessed be my sons, and eke all those
Who on her praises dwell!
She conquered Britain's fiercest foes,
She did all queens excel.

37 All princes, kings, and potentates,
Ambassadors did send;

All nations, provinces, and states,
Sought Anna for their friend.

38 'In Anna they did all confide,
For Anna they could trust:
Her royal faith they all had tried,
For Anna still was just.

39 Truth, mercy, justice, did surround
Her awful judgment seat,

In her the Graces all were found,
In Anna all complete.

40 She held the sword and balance right, And sought her people's good;

In clemency she did delight,

Her reign not stained with blood.

41 Her gracious goodness, piety,
In all her deeds did shine,
And bounteous was her charity;
All attributes divine.

42 Consummate wisdom, meekness all, Adorned the words she spoke ; When they from her fair lips did fall; And sweet her lovely look.

43 Ten thousand glorious deeds to crown, She caused dire war to cease:

A greater empress ne'er was known,
She fixed the world in peace.

44 This last and godlike act achieved,
To heaven she winged her flight;
Her loss with tears all Europe grieved;
Their strength, and dear delight.

45 'Leave we in bliss this heavenly saint, Revere, ye just, her urn;

Her virtues high and excellent,
Astræa gone we mourn.

46 Commemorate, my sons, the day Which gave great Anna birth:

Keep it for ever and for aye,

And annual be

your mirth!'

444

47 Illustrious George now fills the throne,
Our wise benign good king:

Who can his wondrous deeds make known,
Or his bright actions sing?

48 Thee, favourite Nero, he has deigned
To raise to high degree!

Well thou thy honours hast sustained,
Well vouched thy ancestry.

49 But pass: These honours on thee laid,
Can they e'er make thee white!

Don't Gaphny's blood, which thou hast shed,
Thy guilty soul affright?

50 Oh! is there not, grim mortal, tell,
Places of bliss and woe!

Oh! is there not a heaven, a hell;
But whither wilt thou go?

51 Can naught change thy obdurate mind?
Wilt thou for ever rail;
The prophet on thee well refined,
And set thy wit to sale.

52 How thou art lost to sense and shame,
Three countries witness be;

Thy conduct all just men do blame,
Libera nos, Domine!

53 Dame Justice waits thee, well I ween,
Her sword is brandished high:

Naught can thee from her vengeance screen,
Nor canst thou from her fly.