Classic Poem

I am no subject unto fate;
The pow'r assum'd I give to you:
Whether returning Love or Hate,
Which falls in storms or gentle dew,

It is my Will which chuseth you;
Though Tyrant, yet, if I'll obey;
Obedience is truly due
To whom I give myself away.

I may be born under a Throne,
A slave, or free, without my Voice;
But Loving, and Religion,
Solely depend on my own choice.

The Worlds dimensions are wide;
My mind not Heaven can confine:
That outward worship is bely'd,
Who inward bows to others shrine.

Force may be called Victory;
Yet only those are overcome,
Who yield unto an Enemy,
That is their certain fate and doom.

Thus fettered I freely love;
My choice doth make the conquest shine:
And 'twill thy power best improve,
That to thy Subject thou incline.

Who wisely Rules, deserves Command;
Then keep thee Loyal next thy Heart;
Elective Monarchs cannot stand,
Nor Loves, without an equal dart.