And win his freedom by some glorious stroke.

I know him well; his ever-varying soul

Now searches earth, now looks beyond the pole;

Successive schemes usurp his changeful breast,

That seeks for toil, and languishes in rest:

Like a frail bark, the sport of every breeze,

That floats unguided on the boundless seas.

E'en now I mark'd him—struggling passions play'd

On his pale forehead, and alternate sway'd.

Of this no more.—Our friends, dread prince, have sent

Advices, that concern your government.

[Pg 24]

The factious souls, that late, o'eraw'd by you,

Their inward rancour hid from open view,

Are rous'd afresh, and gathering all their power,

Beneath the smiles of this auspicious hour.

Reports and whispers, toss'd about, ferment

With ceaseless breath the tide of discontent.

Each vile complainer casts his grievance in,

The common clamours to augment, and win

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