line
  Heroic worth, benevolence divine: 
  The form distorted, justifies the fall,
  And detestation rides th’ indignant wall. 
    But will not Britain hear the last appeal,
  Sign her foes’ doom, or guard her fav’rites’ zeal? 
  Through Freedom’s sons no more remonstrance rings,
  Degrading nobles, and controlling kings;
  Our supple tribes repress their patriot throats,
  And ask no questions but the price of votes;
  With weekly libels and septennial ale,
  Their wish is full to riot and to rail. 
    In full-blown dignity, see Wolsey stand,
  Law in his voice, and fortune in his hand: 
  To him the church, the realm, their pow’rs consign. 
  Through him the rays of regal bounty shine,
  Turn’d by his nod the stream of honour flows,
  His smile alone security bestows: 
  Still to new heights his restless wishes tow’r,
  Claim leads to claim, and pow’r advances pow’r: 
  Till conquest unresisted ceas’d to please,
  And rights submitted, left him none to seize. 
  At length his sov’reign frowns—­the train of state
  Mark the keen glance, and watch the sign to hate. 
  Where’er he turns, he meets a stranger’s eye,
  His suppliants scorn him, and his followers fly;
  Now drops at once the pride of awful state,
  The golden canopy, the glitt’ring plate,
  The regal palace, the luxurious board,
  The liv’ried army, and the menial lord. 
  With age, with cares, with maladies oppress’d,
  He seeks the refuge of monastic rest. 
  Grief aids disease, remember’d folly stings,
  And his last sighs reproach the faith of kings. 
    Speak thou, whose thoughts at humble peace repine,
  Shall Wolsey’s wealth, with Wolsey’s end, be thine? 
  Or liv’st thou now, with safer pride content,
  The wisest justice on the banks of Trent? 
  For, why did Wolsey, near the steeps of fate,
  On weak foundations raise th’ enormous weight? 
  Why but to sink beneath misfortune’s blow,
  With louder ruin to the gulfs below? 
    What gave great Villiers to th’ assassin’s knife,
  And fix’d disease on Harley’s closing life? 
  What murder’d Wentworth, and what exil’d Hyde,
  By kings protected, and to kings ally’d? 
  What but their wish indulg’d in courts to shine,
  And pow’r too great to keep, or to resign? 
    When first the college rolls receive his name,
  The young enthusiast quits his ease for fame;
  Resistless burns the fever of renown,
  Caught from the strong contagion of the gown: 
  O’er Bodley’s dome his future labours spread,
  And Bacon’s mansion[213] trembles o’er his head. 
  Are these thy views?  Proceed, illustrious youth,
  And Virtue guard thee to the throne of Truth! 
  Yet, should thy soul indulge the gen’rous heat
  Till captive Science yields her last retreat;
  Should Reason guide thee with her brightest ray,
  And pour on misty Doubt resistless day;