When war, taxation, and distress unite
To rouse the Country and her ire excite;
And a wrong’d People, while their burthens press
Call’d on the Crown for succour and redress;
The minions who prevailed the sword to draw,
For their own safety would suspend the law; [16]
And those who dared the People’s voice to slight,
Resolved to rob them of their dearest right;
Then did our Patriot pure, resist the act,
With wisdom’s worthiest weapon reason back’d;
But all in vain our liberties we mourn,
On false pretences from the Country torn;
Yet still he hoped to see the rising day,
When England’s glory, bursting with its ray;
Should shine again, with pristine splendour graced,
Each blot destroyed, and every stain effaced:
Her Sun still burning with fresh glory bright,
And, with her Heavenly beams of warmth and light,
Illume the world, and teach mankind to know;
That Virtue, Wisdom, Arts and Science grow,
Only where Freedom reigns, around whose throne,
These Intellectual gems have ever shone;
For Liberty it is, whose beams divine,
Inspire the Sages thought, the Poet’s line,
Excite bright genius, spread its golden flame,
And fill a realm with glory, wealth, and fame.
* * * * *
So could Corruption’s phalanx rest composed,
While this Great Commoner their acts opposed;
And not attempt to lure him to their side,
By every means which patronage supplied;
The tempting place, the luring title shone,
To make the Patriot his friends disown;
But when they found their efforts all in vain,
The good man to ensnare, his honour stain;
Their Pride was roused, they swell’d with angry heat,
And lent their aid to push him from his seat;
But here again defeated and despised,
They only saw how greatly he was prized;
Who like a mighty rock in ocean cast,
Smiled at the whirlwind, and defied the blast.
* * * * *
Let others boast, the titles Kings create;
The flaming riband, or proud coronet;
Honors which wear their glories for a day,
Oft blushing wear, and swiftly fade away:
Coke’s glory found a more substantial base,
Which future Patriots shall delight to trace;
And while the faithful Portrait they pourtray,
See Norfolk’s Patriot live in every trait.
* * * * *
For fifty years spent in politic life,
When war and rapine gender’d heat and strife;
No venal act of his appears to wound,
His virtuous soul, or hurt his conscience sound;
No Vote of his through all that long career,
Has caused the widows sigh, the orphans tear;
Nor from the Peasant’s industry withdrawn
Those heavy taxes grieveous to be borne;
Curtail’d his Country’s rights, the laws denied,
Unto the injured, by oppression tried;
Indemnified the man who did him wrong,
Or made the Oligarchal Tyrants strong;
Nor when the times perplexed a starving poor,
Who sue for pity and for aid implore;
Their sad petitions in such deep distress,
Denied the means of urging for redress;
To their bewailings gave the name of riot,
And crushed their rights, to keep the injured quiet.
Then if the Virtues which adorn his name,
Did not quite fill the trumpet of his fame;
’Twould make no faint addition to the sound,
To tell the acts where he could not be found,
To lend his name, his voice, his vote to raise,
And cloud the Sun of England’s better days;
And that which courtiers boastfully have done,
Should be his glory to have left undone.
* * * *
Born for the good of all, his bosom glows,
With softest sympathy in all its’ throws;
No narrow feeling e’er restrains his grace,
Whose heart expansive takes in all his race;
No sect or party, rank or state we find,
Contract the bounty of his gen’rous mind;
To human wretchedness his list’ning ear,
Is ever open, and his heart sincere
In gen’rous bounty, wafts the swift relief,
To whom stern mis’ry overloads with grief;
And if he can’t restore the broken heart,
His sympathizing bosom bears a part:
Thus sensibility his heart to bless,
In sweet o’erflowings shews its fine impress;
And he who can this balmy balsam share,
The better graces nurtures plump and fair:
It is the soil in which the Virtues grow,
To gild the fields, and paint the vales below;
Sow but the seeds, the germs will quickly shoot,
And grow luxuriant from the fruitful root;
Mature through life, and when the Angels reap,
The ripened harvest, in bright worlds will keep;
For sympathizing feelings warm the breast,
Of heavenly spirits and delight the blest;
And when sweet sympathies the bosom move,
We most resemble Heaven, for Heaven is love.
* * * * *