To the Right Honourable William Clayton, Esq (now Lord Sundon) on his being Elected Representative in Parliament for Westminster without Opposition. TO You, great Steward of the public Trust, True to your King, and to your Country just! No venal Bard his joyful Tribute brings, Nor Envy sure can censure what he sings; Since each impartial Tongue your Praise declares, The Muse but echoes, what the Poet hears. SOME, by their Birth, to Senates lay their Claim, Whose Folly shames the Seat, which honours them: But You, whose Merits mov'd the People's Voice, Unanimous, to make so wise a Choice, With solid Sense, and prudent Conduct shew, You grace the Senate, not the Senate You. Where, in the List of Patriots, could we find A sounder Judgment, a sincerer Mind? Or where a juster Hand, to poise the Scale Of Kings Prerogative, and Public Weal? Nor this you strive to sink, nor that extend; Bigot to neither Side, to both a Friend. So flow the Spirits thro' our vital Frame; Nor yet this Member chill, nor that inflame. TRUE to your Principles, you never stray From Public Good, tho' Int'rest lead the Way: For Public Good you still employ your Tongue; And, rather than commit, you suffer Wrong. When South sea Waves o'erflow'd the British Plain, And Members barter'd Honesty for Gain; No Gain, no Place, nor Profit could controul The stubborn Virtue of your steady Soul: You firm to Honour, Truth, and Conscience stood, Unfashionably just, and obstinately good. BUT why should I in feeble Numbers tell Those Virtues, which your Actions paint so well? For all the Actions of your Life proclaim A Subject's loyal Love, a Patriot's Fame. Your Care to keep the People's Int'rest sure, Your Zeal to guard the Prince's Crown secure, Make Prince and People both espouse your Cause; Witness their latest Choice, and loud Applause; When crowded Streets with Acclamations rung, And CLAYTON's Praises dwelt on ev'ry Tongue; Parties themselves agreed your Worth to boast, Or differ'd only, who should praise it most; While tim'rous Candidates the Test declin'd, And, to your nobler Brow, the Palm resign'd: So fly the Stars before the rising Sun; And, from his brighter Beams withdraw their own.