To Any Minister or Great Man

Whether you lead the Patriot band, Or in the class of Courtiers stand, Or prudently prefer The Middle Course, with equal zeal To serve both King and Common-weal, Your Grace, my Lord, or Sir!

Know Minister! whate'er your plan, Whate'er your politicks, Great Man! You must expect detraction: Though of clean hand and honest heart, Your greatness must expect to smart Beneath the rod of faction.

Like blockheads, eager in dispute, The Mob, that many-headed brute, All bark and bawl together: For Continental Measures some, And some cry, keep your troops at home! And some are pleas'd with neither. Lo! a Militia guards the land; Thousands applaud your saving hand, And hail you their protector; While thousands censure and defame, And brand you with the hideous name Of state-quack or projector.

Are active, vig'rous means prefer'd? Lord! what harangues are hourly heard Of wasted blood and treasure! Then all for enterprize and plot: And pox o'this unmeaning Scot! If cautious be your measure.

Corruption's influence you despise; These lift your glory to the skies, Those pluck your glory down; So strangely diff'rent is the note Of scoundrels that have right to vote, And scoundrels that have none.

Ye then who guide the Car of State, Scorning the Rabble's idle prate, Proceed as ye design'd; In rugged ways, the reins and steeds Alone the skilful driver heeds, Nor stays to cut behind.