THE CAUSES OF Scotland's Miseries. A POEM IN Imitation of the VI Ode of the Third Book OF HORACE.  
Coelum ipsum petimus stultitia: neque  
Per nostrum patimur scelus  
Iracunda Jovem ponere fulmina.  Horat. Lib. 1. Ode 3. 
EDINBURGH, Printed by James Watson in Craig's Closs, 1700.   

THE CAUSES OF Scotland's Miseries. A POEM IN Imitation of the VI Ode of Horace's THIRD BOOK,  
DElicta majorum immeritus lues,  
Roman, donec Templa refeceris  
Aedeisque labenteis Deorum, &  
Foeda nigro Simulacra fumo.  

IN vain, Heroic SCOTS, in vain ye try  
True solid Ease, and calm Prosperity,  
By all your Towering Projects to attain,  
While Gild and Sacrilege your Land do slain;  
While in the Dust your Church's Glories lie;  
Your Church which once so Famed for Purity,  
Her awful Head did raise above the Sky,  
Darting such dazzling Lustre all around,  
As did with Panic Fears her Foes Confound.  
But now, alas! with Rubbish covered o'er,  
She's Hissed at, that was Terrible before.  
But till such time as ye with Pains repair  
Her Ruins, and her stately Turrets rear  
Out of the Dust, to their first Dignity,  
ne'er think t' enjoy your Ancient Liberty:  
No, though in naked Innocence your Souls  
Were bathed, which yet your human State controls,  
Your Sires black Perjuries hang o'er your Head,  
And all the Guiltless Blood that they have shed,  
Which Heaven's avenging Justice at your Hand,  
Beyond all Controversy, will demand.   
Dis te minorem quod geris imperas:  
Hinc omne principium, huc referexitum.  
Dii multa neglecti dederunt  
Hesperiae mala luctuosae.  

'Tis from the Bounty of th' Almighty God,  
Whose Providential Care and Divine Nod  
Rule the wide Universe, as He doth please:  
Or that ye are, or are in Peace and Ease.  
As solely pure Devotion did you raise,  
To wear Triumphant and Victorious Bays;  
So Pure Devotion must you still Defend  
From dreadful Judgements, and a dreadful End.  
God knows! since we His Precepts have forsaken,  
And shaken from our Necks His easy Yoke,  
How like the foaming Billows in their Pride,  
One Scourge upon another's Back does ride,  
In such a sort, that Ruin seems to be  
The fatal Upshot of our Misery.   
Jam bis Monaeses & Pacori manus,  
Non auspicatos contudit impetus  
Nostros:—  
Poene occupatam Seditionibus  
Delevit urbem Dacus, etc.  

No real Service we to Heaven now pay  
In mere Hypocrisy we Fast and Pray,  
Ordroop but like Bul-rushes for a Day.  
Th' Almighty vexed, in fiery Wrath looked down,  
Our guilty Nation trembled at His Frown;  
And in His Anger past this just Decree:   

Since they a Formal Service pay to Me,  
A mighty Phantom their Reward shall be;  
Their Hopes I'll raise above their Heart's content,  
And tantalise their wished Enjoyment,  
Till they, in Sorrow, for their Sins Repent.   

He spoke, and we the sad Effects have found,  
He dashed our infant Hopes against the Ground,  
And all our swelling Expectations drowned:  
Civil Discords did rend our Bowels a while,  
And Foreign Swords hang o'er our labouring Isle:  
Death and his frightful Sith has stalked abroad,  
And mowed down Men, like Grass upon his Road:  
Diseases all in swarmy Crowds do wait  
On the great Executioner of Fate:  
Dearth, near to Famine, has harassed the Land  
For several Years, by the Divine Command,  
By which the num rous Poor, for Hunger starved,  
Have suffered that which others best deserved:  
Devouring Flames, like winged Destroyer's flew,  
Commission'd Winds to their Assistance blew,  
(Oh! 'twas a Dreadful and a Dismal Show)  
And in a trice their boundless Rage burnt down  
The greatest Glories of the Imperial Town;  
The horrid Devastations made of late,  
Look like a Curse more, than a common Fate.   
Faecunda culpae saecula, nuptias  
Primum inquinavere & genus & domos,  
Hoc fonte derivata clades  
In Patriam, Populumque fluxit.  
Motus doceri gaudet jonicus  
Matura Virgo: etc.  

This fruitful Age of Vice did first begin  
With Breach of Solemn Vows, their Trade of Sin;  
From which vile Source such corrupt Streams did rise,  
As drowned the Land in a Deluge of Vice:  
All Ties to Sacred Duties shaken off,  
Men then at Piety began to scoff,  
And by Degrees, unto that height it grew,  
Each did barefaced Profanity avow.  
Pure Virtue is neglected every where,  
While Vice does in her gaudy Pomp appear;  
The Court debauched with every lewd Excess,  
Th' obsequious Vulgar did commit no less;  
In every Place you could not fail to hear  
Men brag how they did Swagger, Drink and Swear,  
And boast of open Whoredoms without Fear.  
The Women too, whose Crown should only be  
A Modest, Prudent, Decent Gravity,  
Exchanged all for Impudence and Pride,  
And acted their Part in every Sin beside.  
They who their Solemn Ties entire conserved,  
And from the Time's Contagion were preserv'd,  
By wicked Edicts various ways oppressed,  
No Peace at Home, Abroad could find no Rest,  
By savage Ruffians pillaged of their Wealth,  
They could not enjoy. Water but by stealth.  
Nay, which is more, denied the common Air,  
And forced by cruel Foes to sad Despair,  
They fly like Birds before the Fowler's Snare;  
Murdered in Fields, on Scaffolds, drowned in Waves,  
Some strangely Tortured, others Sold for Slaves,  
They could find no Repose but in their Graves:  
Laity and Clergy all distained in Gore,  
Made more impartial Foes their Practices abhor.  
Such as the Reins of Government did hold,  
By Native Pride and wicked Counsel bold,  
Took all the Means they could to push their way  
T'erect Tyrannic Arbitrary Sway.  
These were our Father's Sins, and ours are worse,  
The surest Marks of an impending Curse.   

Great are our Sins, and just is our Distress,  
We Nothing Practise, and we All Profess.  
Survey Time's musty Registers; look round  
The far extended habitable Ground,  
If you a Vip'rish Race like this can find,  
A Race that's bend on Ills of every kind,  
That baffled Nature's Dictates do defy,  
And Mock the Precepts of Divinity,  
When God (in Words) they seem to Glorify.  
The Rich Man's Buss'ness is t' Oppress the Poor,  
He will not, Aid the Starving at his Door,  
Yet he'll bestow Ten Guineas on a Whore.  
Nor God nor Man the Rich Oppressor fears;  
Man does Neglect, God for a time forbears,  
But sure our Cries are echoed in his Ears;  
His kindled Indignation will take vent,  
And Blast them with some Dreadful Punishment.  
A Public Spirit's vanished quite away,  
And Private interests all our Actions sway,  
For this the Father will the Son betray:  
What Scots Man now dares, for his Country's Good,  
Venture a Drop of his degen'rat Blood.  
O Heavens! of what Crimes have we been free?  
A Land polluted to a Prodigy.   
Non his Juventus orta Parentibus  
Infecit aequor Sanguine Punico:  
Pyrrumque & ingentem cecidit  
Antiochum, Annibalemque dirum.  

They were not such mean Sp'rited Sots I guess,  
Our Sires, whose Progeny made Rome confess,  
Maugre her spreading Laurels, and in spite  
Of all her Martial Troops, innured to Fight,  
That Scotland bred a Fierce and Warlike Crew,  
Whose stubborn Tempers they could ne'er subdue:  
Nor could a Stock, Vicious like this, produce  
Such Hero's as great WALLACE and the BRUCE,  
Who by sly Stratagems and brisk Alarms,  
Did put a Stop t' Edward's encroaching Arms.  
Did our Ancestors, in Queen Mary's Reign,  
Their Native Rights to Tyranny resign?  
If so, we yet had groaned beneath the Yoke  
Of Popish Slavery, which they bravely broke.   
Damnosa quid non imminuit dies?  
Aetes' Parentum pejor avis, tulit  
Nos nequiores, mox daturos  
Progeniem vitiosiorem.  

What need I thus our Age of Crimes accuse?  
What does not all-corrupting Time abuse?  
Our Grandsire's happier Age in Word and Deed,  
For Virtue did our Father's Age exceed;  
Just as our Father's Age did far outdo  
All virtous Acts we can pretend unto:  
And, Ah! avert it Heaven, methinks I see  
That we'll transmit unto futurity  
An Offspring, yet more profligat than we.   
FINIS.