Extol the justice of the land,
  Who punish what they will not understand. 
  Tell them he stands exalted there
  For speaking what we would not hear;
  And yet he might have been secure
  Had he said less or would he ha’ said more. 
  Tell them that this is his reward
  And worse is yet for him prepared,
  Because his foolish virtue was so nice
  As not to sell his friends, according to his friends’ advice.

  And thus he’s an example made,
  To make men of their honesty afraid,
  That for the time to come they may
  More willingly their friends betray;
  Tell them the m[en] who placed him here
  Are sc[anda]ls to the times;
  But at a loss to find his guilt,
  They can’t commit his crimes.

JOSEPH ADDISON

  FROM THE CAMPAIGN

  Behold in awful march and dread array
  The long-extended squadrons shape their way! 
  Death, in approaching terrible, imparts
  An anxious horror to the bravest hearts;
  Yet do their beating breasts demand the strife,
  And thirst of glory quells the love of life. 
  No vulgar fears can British minds control: 
  Heat of revenge and noble pride of soul
  O’er look the foe, advantaged by his post,
  Lessen his numbers, and contract his host;
  Though fens and floods possessed the middle space,
  That unprovoked they would have feared to pass,
  Nor fens nor floods can stop Britannia’s bands
  When her proud foe ranged on their borders stands.

  But, O my Muse, what numbers wilt thou find
  To sing the furious troops in battle joined! 
  Methinks I hear the drum’s tumultuous sound
  The victor’s shouts and dying groans confound,
  The dreadful burst of cannon rend the skies,
  And all the thunder of the battle rise! 
  ’Twas then great Malborough’s mighty soul was proved,
  That, in the shock of charging hosts unmoved,
  Amidst confusion, horror, and despair,
  Examined all the dreadful scenes of death surveyed,
  To fainting squadrons sent the timely aid,
  Inspired repulsed battalions to engage,
  And taught the doubtful battle where to rage. 
  So when an angel by divine command
  With rising tempests shakes a guilty land,
  Such as of late o’er pale Britannia passed,
  Calm and serene he drives the furious blast,
  And, pleases th’ Almighty’s orders to perform,
  Rides in the whirlwind, and directs the storm.

  [DIVINE ODE]

  I

  The spacious firmament on high,
  With all the blue ethereal sky,
  And spangled heavens, a shining frame,
  Their great Original proclaim. 
  Th’ unwearied sun from day to day
  Does his Creator’s power display;
  And publishes to every land
  The work of an almighty hand.

  II

  Soon as the evening shades prevail,
  The moon takes up the wondrous tale;
  And nightly to the listening earth
  Repeats the story of her birth: 
  Whilst all the stars that round her burn,
  And all the planets in their turn,
  Confirm the tidings as they roll,
  And spread the truth from pole to pole.