"O shun th' annoyance of the bustling throng,
That haunt with zealous turbulence the great;
Their coward Office boasts th' unpunish'd wrong,
And sneaks secure in insolence of state.
"O'er fancy'd injury Suspicion pines,
And in grim silence gnaws the festering wound;
Deceit the rage-embitter'd smile refines,
And Censure spreads the viperous hiss around.
"Hope not, fond prince, though Wisdom guard thy throne,
Though Truth and Bounty prompt each generous aim,
Though thine the palm of peace, the victor's crown,
The Muse's rapture, and the patriot's flame:
"Hope not, though all that captivates the wise,
All that endears the good exalt thy praise;
Hope not to taste repose; for Envy's eyes
At fairest worth still point their deadly rays.
"Envy, stern tyrant of the flinty heart,
Can aught of Virtue, Truth, or Beauty charm?
Can soft Compassion thrill with pleasing smart,
Repentance melt, or Gratitude disarm?
"Ah no. Where Winter Scythia's waste enchains,
And monstrous shapes roar to the ruthless storm,
Not Phœbus' smile can cheer the dreadful plains,
Or soil accurs'd with balmy life inform.
"Then, Envy, then is thy triumphant hour,
When mourns Benevolence his baffled scheme;
When Insult mocks the clemency of Power,
And loud Dissension's livid firebrands gleam;
"When squint-ey'd Slander plies th' unhallow'd tongue,
From poison'd maw when Treason weaves his line,
And Muse apostate (infamy to song!)
Grovels, low-muttering, at Sedition's shrine.
"Let not my prince forego the peaceful shade,
The whispering grove, the fountain, and the plain:
Power, with th' oppressive weight of pomp array'd,
Pants for simplicity and ease in vain.
"The yell of frantic Mirth may stun his ear,
But frantic Mirth soon leaves the heart forlorn;
And Pleasure flies that high tempestuous sphere;
Far different scenes her lucid paths adorn.