(At least, when they the _Ministry_ receive, 1050
To _Poets Militant_ their _Muse_ they leave.)
All _sordid Flat'ry_ hate, it pleases none
But _Tyrants_ grinning on their _Iron Throne_:
Yet where wer'e rul'd with _wise_ impartial Sway,
The _Muses_ should their _grateful Homage_ pay:
'Tis _base_ alike a _Tyrant's_ Name to raise,
And grudg a _Parent Prince_ our _tributary Praise_.
No wonder those who by _Proscriptions_ gain }
In _Marian_ Days, or _Sylla's_ bloody Reign, }
Of the divine _Augustus_ should complain; } 1060
Who stoops to wear a _Crown's uneasie Weight_,
As _Atlas_ under Heav'n, to prop the _State_:
No _Glory_ strikes his Great exalted Mind,
No _Pleasure_ like obliging all Mankind;
He lets the _Factious_ their weak _Malice_ vent,
Punish'd enough while they themselves _torment_:
_Satiate_ with _Conquest_, his dread _Sword_ he sheaths,
And with a _Nod disbands ten thousand Deaths_.
Who dares _Rebellious Arms_ against him move
While his _Prætorian Guard_'s his Subjects _Love_? 1070
Admir'd by all the _bravest_ and the _best_,
Who wear a _Roman Soul within their ample Breast_:
Tho _charm'd_ with _both_, which shall they more _admire_
In _Peace_ his _Wisdom_, or in _War_ his _Fire_?
--_One Labour_ yet remains, and that they _ask_,
_Alcides_ never clear'd a _nobler Task_;
O _Father_! banish'd _Vertue_ O restore!
Let _Hydra Vice_ pollute thy _Reign_ no more!
Strike through the _Monster-Form_, which threatning stands,