To the Memory of Captain Hind
Whenever death attacks a throne,
Nature thro' all her parts must groan,
The mighty monarch to bemoan.
He must be wise, and just, and good;
Tho' nor the state he understood,
Nor ever spar'd a subject's blood.
And shall no friendly poet find,
A monumental verse for Hind?
In fortune less, as great in mind.
Hind made our wealth one common stor ;
He robb'd the rich to feed the poor:
What did immortal Caesar more ?
Nay, 'twere not difficult to prove,
That meaner views did Caesar move:
His was ambition, Hind's was love.
Our English hero sought no crown,
Nor that more pleasing bait, renown:
But just to keep off fortune's frown.
Yet when his country's cause invites,
See him assert a nation's rights!
A robber for a monarch fights!
If in due light his deeds we scan,
As nature points us out the plan,
Hind was an honourable man.
Honour, the virtue of the brave,
To Hind that turn of genius gave,
Which made him scorn to be a slave.
This, had his stars conspir'd to raise,
His natal hour, this virtue's praise
Had shone with an uncommon blaze,
And some new epoch had begun,
From every action he had done ,
A city built, a battle won.
If one's a subject, one at helm,
'Tis the same violence, says Anselm,
To rob a house, or waste a realm.
Be henceforth then for ever join'd,
The names of Caesar, and of Hind,
In fortune different, one in mind.