"Preferve, O urn! his filent duft,
"Who faithful did obey
"Princes like Anna good and just,
"Yet fcorn'd his freedom to betray;
"And, hated by all tyrants, chofe
"The glory to have fuch his foes."
RECITATIVE.
Genius of Britain! give thy forrows o'er.
A grateful tribute thou haft paid
To thy Devonia's noble shade;
Now, vainly weep the dead no more!
For fee-the duke and patriot ftill furvives,
And in his Great Succeffor lives.
RECITATIVE.
I own the new arifing light,
I fee paternal grandeur fhine,
Defcending, through th' illuftrious line,
In the fame royal favours bright.
Laft DUETTO, with all the inftruments. BRIT. Gently fmooth thy flight, O time! AUG. Smoothly wing thy flight, O time! BOTH. And as thou flying groweft old, Still this happy race behold In Britannia's court fublime.
BRIT. Lead along their smiling hours;
AUG. Long produce their smiling hours;
BOTH. Bleft by all aufpicious powers.
BRIT. Gently smooth thy flight, O time!
AUG. Smoothly wing thy flight, O time!
BOTH. And as thou flying growest old,
Still this happy race behold
In Britannia's court fublime.
At the Queen's Theatre, on his Benefit-Night, February 16, 1709; a little before the Duke of Marlborough's going for Holland.
WHETHER our stage all others does excell
In ftrength of wit, we'll not presume to tell: But this, with noble, confcious pride, we'll fay, No Theatre fuch glories can difplay;
Such worth confpicuous, beauty fo divine,
As in one British audience mingled shine.
Who can, without amazement, turn his fight,
And mark the awful circle here to-night?
Warriors, with ever-living laurels, brought
From empires fav'd, from battles bravely fought, 10
Here fit; whofe matchless story shall adorn
Scenes yet unwrit, and charm e'en ages yet unborn.
Yet who would not expect fuch martial fire,
That fees what eyes thofe gallant deeds inspire?
Valour and Beauty still were Britain's claim,
Both are her great prerogatives of Fame;
By both the Mufes live, from both they catch their flame.
Then as by you, in folid glory bright,
Our envy'd ifle through Europe spreads her light,
And rifing honours every year sustain,
And mark the golden track of Anne's distinguish'd
So, by your presence here, we'll strive to raise
To nobler heights our action and our plays ;
And Poets from your favours shall derive
That immortality they boaft to give.
GREAT prefident of light, and eye of day,
As through this glass you caft your vifual ray,
And view with nuptial joys two brothers blett,
And fee us celebrate the genial fealt,
Confefs that, in your progress round the sphere, You've found the happiest youths and brightest beauties here.
WHILE circling healths inspire your sprightly
And on each glass some beauty's praise is writ,
You afk, my friends, how can my filent Mufe
'To Montague's foft name a verse refuse?
Bright though the be, of race victorious sprung,
By wits ador'd, and by court-poets fung,
Unmov'd I hear her person call'd divine,
I fee her features uninfpiring fhine ;
A fofter fair my foul to tranfport warms,
And, the once nam'd, no other nymph has charms.
MUSIC has learn'd the difcords of the state,
And concerts jar with whig and tory hate.
Here Somerfet and Devonshire attend
The British Tofts, and every note commend,
To native merit juft, and pleas'd to see
We've Roman arts, from Roman bondage free,
There fam'd L'Epine does equal skill employ,
While listening peers crowd to th' ecstatic joy:
Bedford, to hear her fong, his dice forfakes,
And Nottingham is raptur'd when she shakes:
Lull'd statesmen melt away their drowsy cares
Of England's fafety in Italian airs.
Who would not send each year blank paffts o'er,
Rather than keep such strangers from our hore?
THE Graces and the wandering Loves
Are fled to diftant plains,
To chace the fawns, or deep in groves
To wound admiring fwains.
With their bright mistress there they stray,
Who turns her careless eyes
From daily triumphs; yet, each day,
Beholds new triumphs in her way,
And conquers while the flies.
But fee! implor'd, by moving prayers,
To change the lover's pain,
Venus her harnefs'd doves prepares,
And brings the fair again,
Proud mortals, who this maid purfue,
Think you, she'll e'er resign ?
Ceafe, fools, your wishes to renew,
Till the grows flesh and blood like you,
Or you, like her, divine!
|