VERSES to the People of ENGLAND 1758. William Whitehead Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
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Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
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Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T124631 1073 K099398.000 Mendez, Moses. A collection of the most esteemed pieces of poetry: that have appeared for several years. With variety of originals, by the late Moses Mendez, Esq; and other contributors to Dodsley's collection. To which this is intended as a supplement. London printed for Richardson and Urquhart 1767 pp. 110-115. [8],320p. ; 8⁰.

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VERSES to the People of ENGLAND 1758. By WIL . WHITEHEAD , Esq Poet Laureat . — Mures animos in martia bella Versibus exacuit . — Hor. BRITONS , rouse to deeds of death ! Waste not zeal in idle breath , Nor lose the harvest of your swords In a civil-war of words ! Wherefore teems the shameless press With labour'd births of emptiness ? Reas'nings , which no facts produce , Eloquence , that murders use ; Ill-tim'd Humour , that beguiles Weeping idiots of their smiles ; Wit , that knows but to defame , And Satire , that profanes the name . Let th' undaunted Grecian teach The use and dignity of speech , At whose thunders nobly thrown Shrunk the MAN of MACEDON . If the storm of words must rise , Let it blast our enemies ; Sure and nervous be it hurl'd On the PHILIPS of the world . Learn not vainly to despise ( Proud of EDWARD's victories ! ) Warriors wedg'd in firm array , And navies powerful to display Their woven wings to every wind , And leave the panting foe behind . Give to France the honours due , France has chiefs and statesmen too ; Breasts which patriot-passions feel , Lovers of the common-weal . And when such the foes we brave , Whether on the land or wave , Greater is the pride of war , And the conquest nobler far . Agincourt and Cressy long Have flourish'd in immortal song ; And lisping babes aspire to praise The wonders of ELIZA's days . And what else of late renown Has added wreaths to Britain's crown ; Whether on th' impetuous Rhine She bade her harness'd warriors shine , Or snatch'd the dangerous palm of praise Where the Sambre meets the Maese ; Or Danube rolls her watry train ; Or the yellow-tressed Mayne Thro' Dettingen's immortal vale — Even Fontenoy could tell a tale , Might modest worth ingenuous speak , To raise a blush on Victory's cheek ; And bid the vanquish'd wreaths display Great as on Culloden's day . But glory , which aspires to last , Leans not meanly on the past . 'Tis the present now demands British hearts , and British hands . Curst be he , the willing slave , Who doubts , who lingers to be brave . Curst be the coward tongue that dare Breath one accent of despair , Cold as winter's icy hand To chill the genius of the land . Chiefly you , who ride the deep , And bid our thunders wake or sleep , As pity leads , or glory calls — Monarchs of your wooden walls ! Midst our mingling seas and skies Rise ye BLAKES , ye RALEIGHS rise ! Let the sordid lust of gain Be banish'd from the liberal main . He who strikes the generous blow Aims it at the public foe . Let glory be the guiding star , Wealth and honours follow her . See ! she spreads her lustre wide O'er the vast Atlantic tide ! Constant as the solar ray Points the path , and leads the way ! Other worlds demand your care , Other worlds to Britain dear ; Where the foe insidious roves O'er headlong streams , and pathless groves ; And justice simple laws confounds With imaginary bounds . If protected commerce keep Her tenor o'er yon heaving deep , What have we from war to fear ? Commerce steels the nerves of war ; Heals the havock rapine makes , And new strength from conquest takes . Nor less at home O deign to smile , Goddess of Britannia's isle ! Thou , that from her rocks survey'st Her boundless realms the watry waste ; Thou , that rov'st the hill and mead Where her flocks and heifers feed ; Thou , that cheer'st the industrious swain While he strows the pregnant grain ; Thou , that hear'st his caroll'd vows When th' expanded barn o'erflows ; Thou , the bulwark of our cause , Thou , the guardian of our laws , Sweet Liberty ! — O deign to smile , Goddess of Britannia's isle ! If to us indulgent heaven Nobler seeds of strength has given , Nobler should the produce be ; Brave , yet gen'rous , are the free . Come then , all thy powers diffuse , Goddess of extended views ! Ev'ry breast which feels thy flame Shall kindle into martial fame , 'Till shame shall make the coward bold , And Indolence her arms unfold : Ev'n Avarice shall protect his hoard , And the plow-share gleam a sword . Goddess , all thy powers diffuse ! And thou , genuine BRITISH MUSE , Nurs'd amid stthe Druids old , Where Deva's wizard waters roll'd , Thou , that bear'st the golden key To unlock eternity , Summon thy poetic guard — Britain still has many a bard , Whom , when time and death shall join T' expand the ore , and stamp the coin , Late posterity shall own Lineal to the Muse's throne — Bid them leave th' inglorious theme Of fabled shade , or haunted stream . In the daisy-painted mead 'Tis to peace we tune the reed ; But when War's tremendous roar Shakes the isle from shore to shore , Every bard of purer fire Tyrtaeus-like should grasp the lyre ; Wake with verse the hardy deed , Or in the generous strife like Sir Philip Sidney , mortally wounded in an action near Zutphen , in Guelderland . SIDNEY bleed .