Let Heav'n in vengeance arm all Nature's host,
Those Servants, who their Maker know, who boast
Obedience as their glory, and fulfill,
Unquestion'd, their great Master's sacred will.
Let raging Winds root up the boiling deep,
And, with destruction big, o'er GOTHAM sweep;
Let Rains rush down, till FAITH with doubtful eye
Looks for the sign of Mercy in the sky;
Let Pestilence in all her horrours rise;
Where'er I turn, let Famine blast my eyes;
Let the Earth yawn, and, e're They've time to think,
In the deep gulph let all my subjects sink
Before my eyes, whilst on the verge I reel;
Feeling, but as a Monarch ought to feel,
Not for myself, but them, I'll kiss the rod,
And, having own'd the Justice of my God,
Myself with firmness to the ruin give,
And die with those for whom I wish'd to live.