William Walsh (1663–1708)

WHEN slaves their liberty require,

They hope no more to gain;

But you not only that desire,

But ask the power to reign.

Think how unjust a suit you make,

Then you will soon decline;

Your freedom, when you please, pray take,

But trespass not on mine.

No more in vain, Alcander, crave;

I ne’er will grant the thing,

That he, who once has been my slave,

Should ever be my king.