I.

O wretched man, how long wilt thou refuse Thy Maker’s favour, and His mercy great? How long thy worldly happiness abuse, And growl and grumble at thy present state? Seeking accursed change both soon and late, And newest modes allured still to try— England, beware God’s wrath to aggravate, For foreign magic blinds thy charmed eye, And Liberty, sweet Liberty, is now the constant cry.