The Pedant King, by Jones Inspir’d by John Strachan

The Pedant King, by Jones inspir’d,
To rival antient Greece desir’d.
True taste began to rear her head,
And Gothic grandeur sigh’d and fled.
When Newton banish’d mental night,
A Jones was there to spread the light.
A Jones the simple Indians mourn,
And round his tomb sweet incense burn,
For when he reach’d their fruitful shore,
Base ruthless rapine rag’d no more.
His power their vile oppressors crusht,
And rais’d them suppliant from the dust.
With grateful pleasure, I address
A living branch of such a race,
Who sickness’ baleful rage controls,
And calms with sweetest verse our souls.


Date: 1803

By: John Strachan (1778-1867)

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