Lord Byron (1788–1824). Poetry of Byron. 1881.
IV. SatiricSatan claims, at Heavens Gate, George the Third
“L
When this old, blind, mad, helpless, weak, poor worm
Began in youth’s first bloom and flush to reign,
The world and he both wore a different form,
And much of earth and all the watery plain
Of ocean call’d him king: through many a storm
His isles had floated on the abyss of time;
For the rough virtues chose them for their clime.
Look to the state in which he found his realm, And left it; and his annals too behold, How to a minion first he gave the helm; How grew upon his heart a thirst for gold, The beggar’s vice, which can but overwhelm The meanest hearts; and for the rest, but glance Thine eye along America and France. (I have the workmen safe); but as a tool So let him be consumed. From out the past Of ages, since mankind have known the rule Of monarchs—from the bloody rolls amass’d Of sin and slaughter—from the Cæsar’s school, Take the worst pupil; and produce a reign More drench’d with gore, more cumber’d with the slain. Nations as men, home subjects, foreign foes, So that they utter’d the word ‘Liberty!’ Found George the Third their first opponent. Whose History was ever stain’d as his will be With national and individual woes? I grant his household abstinence; I grant His neutral virtues, which most monarchs want; He was a decent sire, and middling lord. All this is much, and most upon a throne; As temperance, if at Apicius’ board, Is more than at an anchorite’s supper shown. I grant him all the kindest can accord; And this was well for him, but not for those Millions who found him what oppression chose. Beneath what he and his prepared, if not Completed: he leaves heirs on many thrones To all his vices, without what begot Compassion for him—his tame virtues; drones Who sleep, or despots who have now forgot A lesson which shall be re-taught them, wake Upon the thrones of earth; but let them quake! The faith which makes ye great on earth, implored A part of that vast all they held of old,— Freedom to worship—not alone your Lord, Michael! but you; and you, Saint Peter! Cold Must be your souls, if you have not abhorr’d The foe to Catholic participation In all the license of a Christian nation. A consequence of prayer, refused the law Which would have placed them upon the same base With those who did not hold the saints in awe.”— But here Saint Peter started from his place, And cried, “You may the prisoner withdraw: Ere heaven shall ope her portals to this Guelph, While I am guard, may I be damn’d myself!”