To Mr. HARLEY.

Wounded by Guiscard. 1711. 

I.

In one great Now, Superior to an Age,
 The full Extremes of Nature's Force We find:
 How Heav'nly Virtue can exalt; or Rage
 Infernal, how degrade the Human Mind. 

II.

While the fierce Monk does at his Tryal stand;
 He chews Revenge, abjuring his Offence:
 Guile in his Tongue, and Murther in his Hand,
 He stabs his Judge, to prove his Innocence. 

III.

The guilty Stroke and Torture of the Steel
 Infix'd, our dauntless Briton scarce perceives:
 The Wounds His Countrey from His Death must feel,
 The Patriot views; for those alone He grieves. 

IV.

The barb'rous Rage that durst attempt Thy Life,
 Harley, great Counsellor, extends Thy Fame:
 And the sharp Point of cruel Guiscard's Knife,
 In Brass and Marble carves Thy deathless Name. 

V.

Faithful Assertor of Thy Country's Cause,
 Britain with Tears shall bath Thy glorious Wound:
 She for thy Safety shall enlarge Her Laws;
 And in Her Statutes shall Thy Worth be found. 

VI.

Yet 'midst Her Sighs She Triumphs, on the Hand
 Reflecting, that diffus'd the Publick Woe;
 A Stranger to her Altars, and her Land:
 No Son of Her's could meditate this Blow. 

VII.

Mean Time Thy Pain is gracious Anna's Care:
 Our Queen, our Saint, with sacrificing Breath
 Softens Thy Anguish: In Her pow'rful Pray'r
 She pleads Thy Service, and forbids Thy Death. 

VIII.

Great as Thou art, Thou canst demand no more,
 O Breast bewail'd by Earth, preserv'd by Heav'n! 
No higher can aspiring Virtue soar:
 Enough to Thee of Grief, and Fame is giv'n.