EPISTLE FROM LORD WILLIAM RUSSEL TO WILLIAM LORD CAVENDISH This epistle is supposed to have been written by Lord RUSSEL , on friday night , July 20 , 1683 , in Newgate ; that prison having been the place of his confinement for some days immediately preceding his execution . . BY GEO. CANNING , ESQ . LOST to the world , to-morrow doom'd to die , Still for my country's weal my heart beats high . Tho' rattling chains ring peals of horror round , While night's black shades augment the savage sound , 'Midst bolts and bars the active soul is free , And flies , unfetter'd , CAVENDISH , to thee . Thou dear companion of my better days , When hand in hand we trod the paths of Praise ; When , leagu'd with patriots , we maintain'd the cause Of true religion , liberty , and laws , Disdaining down the golden stream to glide , But bravely stemm'd Corruption's rapid tide ; Think not I come to bid thy tears to flow , Or melt thy generous soul with tales of woe ; No : view me firm , unshaken , undismay'd , As when the welcome mandate I obey'd — Heavens ! with what pride that moment I recall ! Who would not wish , so honour'd , thus to fall ! When England's Genius , hovering o'er , inspir'd Her chosen sons , with love of Freedom fir'd , Spite of an abject , servile , pension'd train , Minions of Power , and worshippers of Gain , To save from Bigotry its destin'd prey , And shield three nations from tyrannick sway . 'Twas then my CA'NDISH caught the glorious flame , The happy omen of his future fame ; Adorn'd by Nature , perfected by Art , The clearest head , and warmest , noblest heart , His words , deep sinking in each captiv'd ear , Had power to make even Liberty more dear . While I , unskill'd in Oratory's lore , Whose tongue ne'er speaks but when the heart runs o'er , In plain blunt phrase my honest thoughts express'd Warm from the heart , and to the heart address'd . Justice prevail'd ; yes Justice , let me say , Well pois'd her scales on that auspicious day . The watchful shepherd spies the wolf afar , Nor trusts his flock to try the unequal war ; What tho' the savage crouch in humble guise , And check the fire that flashes from his eyes , Should once his barbarous fangs the fold invade , Vain were their cries , too late the shepherd's aid , Thirsting for blood , he knows not how to spare , His jaws distend , his fiery eyeballs glare , While ghastly Desolation , stalking round , With mangled limbs bestrews the purple ground . Now , Memory , fail ! nor let my mind revolve , How England's Peers annull'd the just resolve , Against her bosom aim'd a deadly blow , And laid at once her great Palladium low ! Degenerate nobles ! Yes , by Heaven I swear , Had BEDFORD's self appear'd delinquent there , And join'd , forgetful of his country's claims , To thwart the exclusion of apostate JAMES , All filial ties had then been left at large , And I myself the first to urge the charge . Such the fix'd sentiments that rule my soul , Time cannot change , nor Tyranny controul ; While free , they hung upon my pensive brow , Then my chief care , my pride and glory now ; Foil'd I submit , nor think the measure hard , For conscious Virtue is its own reward . Vain then is force , and vain each subtile art , To wring retraction from my tortured heart ; There lie , in marks indelible engrav'd , The means whereby my country must be sav'd ; Are to thine eyes those characters unknown ? To read my inmost heart , consult thine own ; There wilt thou find this sacred truth reveal'd , Which shall to morrow with my blood be seal'd , Seek not infirm expedients to explore , But banish JAMES , or England is no more . Friendship her tender offices may spare , Nor strive to move the unforgiving pair , Hopeless the tyrant's mercy-seat to climb — Zeal for my country's freedom is my crime ! Ere that meets pardon , lambs with wolves shall range , CHARLES be a saint , and JAMES his nature change . Press'd by my friends , and RACHEL's fond desires , ( Who can deny what weeping love requires ! ) Frailty prevail'd , and for a moment quell'd Th' indignant pride that in my bosom swell'd ; I sued — the weak attempt I blush to own — I sued for mercy , prostrate at the throne . O ! blot the foible out , my noble friend , With human firmness human feelings blend ! When Love's endearments softest moments seize , And Love's dear pledges hang upon the knees , When Nature's strongest ties the soul enthrall , ( Thou canst conceive , for thou hast felt them all ! ) Let him resist their prevalence , who can ; He must , indeed , be more or less than man . Yet let me yield my RACHEL honour due , The tenderest wife , the noblest heroine too ! Anxious to save her husband's honest name , Dear was his life , but dearer still his fame ! When suppliant prayers no pardon could obtain , And , wonderous strange ! ev'n BEDFORD's gold prov'd vain , The informer's part her generous soul abhorr'd , Though life preserv'd had been the sure reward ; Let impious ESCRICK act such treacherous scenes , And shrink from death by such opprobrious means . O ! my lov'd RACHEL ! all-accomplish'd fair ! Source of my joy , and soother of my care ! Whose heavenly virtues , and unfading charms , Have bless'd through happy years my peaceful arms ! Parting with thee into my cup was thrown , Its harshest dregs else had not forc'd a groan ! — But all is o'er — these eyes have gaz'd their last — And now the bitterness of death is past . BURNET and TILLOTSON , with pious care , My fleeting soul for heavenly bliss prepare , Wide to my view the glorious realms display , Pregnant with joy , and bright with endless day . Charm'd , as of old when Israel's prophet sung , Whose words distill'd like manna from his tongue , While the great bard sublimest truths explor'd , Each ravish'd hearer wonder'd and ador'd ; So rapt , so charm'd , my soul begins to rise , Spurns the base earth , and seems to reach the skies . But when , descending from the sacred theme , Of boundless power , and excellence supreme , They would for man , and his precarious throne , Exact obedience , due to Heaven alone , Forbid resistance to his worst commands , And place God's thunderbolts in mortal hands ; The vision sinks to life's contracted span , And rising passion speaks me still a man . What ! shall a tyrant trample on the laws , And stop the source whence all his power he draws ? His country's rights to foreign foes betray , Lavish her wealth , yet stipulate for pay ? To shameful falshoods venal slaves suborn , And dare to laugh the virtuous man to scorn ? Deride Religion , Justice , Honour , Fame , And hardly know of Honesty the name ? In Luxury's lap lie screen'd from cares and pains , And only toil to forge his subjects chains ? And shall he hope the publick voice to drown , The voice which gave , and can resume his crown ! When Conscience bares her horrors , and the dread Of sudden vengeance , bursting o'er his head , Wrings his black soul ; when injured nations groan , And cries of millions shake his tottering throne ; Shall flattering churchmen soothe his guilty ears , With tortured texts , to calm his growing fears ; Exalt his power above the Aetherial climes , And call down Heaven to sanctify his crimes ! O ! impious doctrine ! — Servile priests away ! Your Prince you poison , and your God betray . Hapless the monach ! who , in evil hour , Drinks from your cup the draught of lawless power ! The magic potion boils within his veins , And locks each sense in adamantine chains ; Reason revolts , insatiate thirst ensues , The wild delirium each fresh draught renews ; In vain his people urge him to refrain , His faithful servants supplicate in vain ; He quaffs at length , impatient of controul , The bitter dregs that lurk within the bowl . Zeal your pretence , but wealth and power your aims , You ev'n could make a SOLOMON of JAMES . Behold the pedant , thron'd in aukward state , Absorb'd in pride , ridiculously great ; His courtiers seem to tremble at his nod , His prelates call his voice the voice of God ; Weakness and vanity with them combine , And JAMES believes his majesty divine . Presumptuous wretch ! almighty power to scan , While every action proves him less than man . By your delusions to the scaffold led , Martyr'd by you , a royal CHARLES has bled . Teach then , ye sycophants ! O ! teach his son , The gloomy paths of tyranny to shun ; Teach him to prize Religion's sacred claim , Teach him how Virtue leads to honest fame , How Freedom's wreath a monarch's brows adorns , Nor , basely sawning , plant his couch with thorns . Point to his view his people's love alone , The solid basis of his stedfast throne ; Chosen by them their dearest rights to guard , The bad to punish , and the good reward , Clement and just let him the sceptre sway , And willing subjects shall with pride obey , Shall vie to execute his high commands , His throne their hearts , his sword and shield their hands . Happy the Prince ! thrice firmly fix'd his crown ! Who builds on publick good his chaste renown ; Studious to bless , who knows no second aim , His people's interest , and his own the same ; The ease of millions rests upon his cares , And thus Heaven's high prerogative he shares . Wide from the throne the blest contagion spreads , O'er all the land its gladdening influence sheds , Faction's discordant sounds are heard no more , And soul Corruption flies the indignant shore . His ministers with joy their courses run , And borrow lustre from the royal sun . But should some upstart , train'd in Slavery's school , Learn'd in the maxims of despotick rule , Full fraught with forms , and grave pedantick pride , ( Mysterious cloak ! the mind's defects to hide ! ) Sordid in small things , prodigal in great , Saving for minions , squandering for the state — Should such a miscreant , born for England's bane , Obscure the glories of a prosperous reign ; Gain , by the semblance of each praiseful art , A pious prince's unsuspecting heart ; Envious of worth , and talents not his own , Chase all experienc'd merit from the throne ; To guide the helm a motley crew compose , Servile to him , the king's and country's foes ; Meanly descend each paltry place to sill , With tools of power , and plandars to his will ; Brandishing high the scorpion scourage o'er all , Except such slaves as bow the knee to Baal — Should Albion's fate decree the baneful hour — Short be the date of his detested power ! Soon may his sovereign break his iron rods , And hear his people ; for their voice is God's ! Cease then your wiles , ye fawning courtiers ! cease , Suffer your rulers to repose in peace ; By Reason led , give proper names to things , God made them men , the people made them kings ; To all their acts but legal powers belong , Thus England's Monarch never can do wrong ; Of right divine let soolish FILMER dream , The publick welfare is the law supreme . Lives there a wretch , whose base , degenerate soul Can crouch beneath a tyrant's stern controul ? Cringe to his nod , ignobly kiss the hand In galling chains that binds his native land ? Purchas'd by gold , or aw'd by slavish sear , Abandon all his ancestors held dear ? Tamely behold that fruit of glorious toil , England's Great Charter made a russian's spoil ; Hear , unconcern'd , his injured country groan , Nor stretch an arm to hurl him from the throne ? Let such to freedom forfeit all their claims , And CHARLES's minious be the slaves of JAMES , But soft awhile — Now , CAVENDISH , attend The warm effusions of thy dying friend ; Fearless who dares his inmost thoughts reveal , When thus to Heaven he makes his last appeal . All-gracious God ! whose goodness knows no bounds ! Whose power the ample universe surrounds ! In whose great balance , infinitely just , Kings are but men , and men are only dust ; At thy tribunal low thy suppliant falls , And here condemn'd , on thee for mercy calls ! Thou hear'st not , Lord ! an hypocrite complain , And sure with thee hypocrisy were vain ; To thy all-piercing eye the heart lies bare , Thou know'st my sins , and , knowing , still canst spare ! Though partial power its ministers may awe , And murder here by specious forms of law ; The axe , which executes the harsh decree , But wounds the flesh , to set the spirit free ! Well may the man a tyrant's frown despise , Who , spurning earth , to Heaven for refuge flies ; And on thy mercy , when his foes prevail , Builds his firm trust ; that rock can never fail ! Hear then , Jehovah ! hear thy servant's prayer ! Be England's welfare thy peculiar care ! Defend her laws , her worship chaste , and pure , And guard her rights while Heaven and Earth endure ! O let not ever fell Tyrannick Sway His blood-stain'd standard on her shores display ! Nor fiery Zeal usurp thy holy name , Blinded with blood , and wrapt in rolls of flame ! In vain let Slavery shake her threatening chain , And Persecution wave her torch in vain ! Arise , O Lord ! and hear thy people's call ! Nor for one man let three great kingdoms fall ! O ! that my blood may glut the barbarous rage Of Freedom's foes , and England's ills asswage ! — Grant but that prayer , I ask for no repeal , A willing victim for my country's weal ! With rapturous joy the crimson stream shall flow , And my heart leap to meet the friendly blow ! But should the fiend , tho' drench'd with human gore , Dire Bigotry , insatiate , thirst for more , And , arm'd from Rome , seek this devoted land , Death in her eye , and bondage in her hand — Blast her fell purpose ! blast her foul desires ! Break short her sword , and quench her horrid fires ! Raise up some champion , zealous to maintain The sacred compact , by which monarchs reign ! Wise to foresee all danger from afar , And brave to meet the thunders of the war ! Let pure religion , not to forms confin'd , And love of freedom fill his generous mind ! Warm let his breast with sparks coelestial glow , Benign to man , the tyrant's deadly foe ! While sinking nations rest upon his arm , Do thou the great Deliverer shield from harm ! Inspire his councils ! aid his righteous sword ! Till Albion rings with Liberty restor'd ! Thence let her years in bright succession run ! And Freedom reign coaeval with the sun . 'Tis done , my CA'NDISH , Heaven has heard my prayer ; So speaks my heart , for all is rapture there . To Belgia's coast advert thy ravish'd eyes , That happy coast , whence all our hopes arise ! Behold the Prince , perhaps thy future king ! From whose green years maturest blessings spring ; Whose youthful arm , when all-o'erwhelming Power Ruthless march'd forth , his country to devour , With firm brac'd nerve repell'd the brutal force , And stopp'd th' unwieldy giant in his course . Great William hail ! who sceptres could despise , And spurn a crown with unretorted eyes ! O ! when will princes learn to copy thee , And leave mankind , as Heaven ordain'd them , free ! Haste , mighty chief ! our injur'd rights restore ! Quick spread thy sails for Albion's longing shore ! Haste , mighty chief ! ere millions groan enslav'd ; And add three realms to one already saved ! While Freedom lives , thy memory shall be dear , And reap fresh honours each returning year ; Nations preserv'd shall yield immortal fame , And endless ages bless thy glorious name ! Then shall my CA'NDISH , foremost in the field , By justice arm'd , his sword conspicuous wield ; While willing legions crowd around his car , And rush impetuous to the righteous war . On that great day be every chance defied , And think thy RUSSELL combats by thy side ; Nor , crown'd with victory , cease thy generous toil , Till firmest peace secure this happy isle . Ne'er let thine honest , open heart believe Professions specious , forg'd but to deceive ; Fear may extort them , when resources fail , But O ! reject the baseless , flattering tale . Think not that promises , or oaths can bind , With solemn ties , a Rome-devoted mind ; Which yields to all the holy juggler saith , And deep imbibes the bloody , damning faith . What though the Bigot raise to Heaven his eyes , And call the Almighty witness from the skies ! Soon as the wish'd occasion he explores , To plant the Roman cross on England's shores , All , all will vanish , while his priests applaud , And saint the perjurer for the pious fraud . Far let him fly these freedom-breathing climes , And seek proud Rome , the fosterer of his crimes ; There let him strive to mount the Papal chair , And scatter empty thunders in the air , Grimly preside in Superstition's school , And curse those kingdoms he could never rule , Here let me pause , and bid the world adieu , While Heaven's bright mansions open to my view ! — Yet still one care , one tender care remains ; My bounteous friend , relieve a father's pains ! Watch o'er my Son , inform his waxen youth , And mould his mind to virtue and to truth ; Soon let him learn fair liberty to prize , And envy him , who for his country dies ; In one short sentence to comprize the whole , Transfuse to his the virtues of thy soul . Preserve thy life , my too , too generous friend , Nor seek with mine thy happier fate to blend ! Live for thy country , live to guard her laws , Proceed , and prosper in the glorious cause ; While I , though vanquish'd , scorn the field to fly , But boldly face my foes , and bravely die . Let princely MONMOUTH courtly wiles beware , Nor trust too far to fond paternal care ; Too oft dark deeds deform the midnight cell , Heaven only knows how noble ESSEX fell ! SIDNEY yet lives , whose comprehensive mind Ranges at large through systems unconfin'd ; Wrapt in himself , he scorns the tyrant's power , And hurls defiance even from the Tower ; With tranquil brow awaits the unjust decree , And , arm'd with virtue , looks to follow me . CA'NDISH , farewell ! may Fame our names entwine ! Through life I lov'd thee , dying I am thine ; With pious rites let dust to dust be thrown , And thus inscribe my monumental stone . " Here RUSSEL lies , enfranchis'd by the grave , " He priz'd his birthright , nor would live a slave . " Few were his words , but honest and sincere , " Dear were his friends , his country still more dear ; " In parents , children , wife , supremely bless'd , " But that one passion swallow'd all the rest ; " To guard her freedom was his only pride , " Such was his love , and for that love he died . " Yet fear not thou , when Liberty displays Her glorious flag , to steer his course to praise ; For know , ( whoe'er thou art that read'st his fate , And think'st , perhaps , his sufferings were too great , ) Bless'd as he was , at her imperial call , Wife , children , parents , he resign'd them all ; Each fond affection then forsook his soul , And AMOR PATRIAE occupied the whole ; In that great cause he joy'd to meet his doom , Bless'd the keen axe , and triumph'd o'er the tomb . The hour draws near — But what are hours to me ? Hours , days , and years hence undistinguish'd flee ! Time , and his glass unheeded pass away , Absorb'd , and lost in one vast flood of day ! On Freedom's wings my soul is borne on high , And soars exulting to its native sky !