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Matthew Prior - To Mr. Harley - Wounded by Guiscard
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In one great now, superior to an age,
The full extremes of nature`s force we find:
How heavenly virtue can exalt, or rage
Infernal how degrade the human mind.

While the fierce monk does at his trial stand,
He chews revenge, abjuring his offence:
Guile in his tongue, and murder in his hand, 
He stabs his judge, to prove his innocence.

The guilty stroke and torture of the steel
Infix`d, our dauntless Briton scarce perceives:
The wounds his country from his death must feel,
The patriot views; for those alone he grieves.

The barbarous rage that durst attempt thy life, 
Harley, great counsellor, extends thy fame;
And the sharp point of cruel Guiscard`s knife,
In brass and marble carves thy deathless name.

Faithful assertor of thy country`s cause,
Britain with tears shall bathe thy glorious wound;
She for thy safety shall enlarge her laws,
And in her statutes shall thy worth be found.

Yet `midst her sighs she triumphs on the hand
Reflecting, that diffused the public wo;
A stranger to her altars, and her land;
No son of hers could meditate this bow,

Meantime thy pain is gracious Anna`s are:
Our queen, our saint, with sacrificing breath,
Softens thy anguish: in her powerful prayer
She pleads thy service, and forbids thy death.

Great as thou art, thou canst demand no more,
O breast bewail`d by earth, preserved by Heaven?
No higher can aspiring virtue soar:
Enough to thee of grief and fame is given.
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