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One drop of water, that refresh'd the dry,
Shall rife a fountain of eternal joy.

But ah! to that unknown and distant date,
Is virtue's great reward push'd off by fate;
Here random shafts in every breast are found,
Virtue and merit but provoke the wound.
August in native worth and regal state,
Anna fate arbitrefs of Europe's fate;
To diftant realms did every accent fly,
And nations watch'd each motion of her eye.
Silent, nor longer awful to be seen,

How fmall a fpot contains the mighty queen!
No throng of fuppliant princes mark the place,
Where Britain's greatnefs is compos'd in peace
The broken earth is fcarce difcern'd to rife,
And a ftone tells us where the monarch lies.
Thus end matureft honours of a crown!
This is the laft conclufion of renown!

So when with idle fkill the wanton boy
Breathes through his tube; he fees, with eager joy,
The trembling bubble, in its rising small;
And by degrees expands the glittering ball.
ut when, to full perfection blown, it flies
gh in the air, and fhines in various dyes,
little monarch, with a falling tear,
his world burft at once, and difappear.
ot in forrow to reverse our doom,
ans unlock th' inexorable tomb!
en this fond indulgence of our woe!
it can rife, or what advantage flow!

V

W

Yes,

Yes, this advantage; from our deep diftrefs
We learn how much in George the Gods can bless.
Had a lefs glorious princefs left the throne,

But half the hero had at first been shown:
An Anna falling all the king employs,
To vindicate from guilt our rifing joys:
Our joys arife, and innocently shine,
Aufpicious monarch! what a praife is thine!
Welcome, great ftranger, to Britannia's throne!
Nor let thy country think thee all her own.
Of thy delay how oft did we complain !

Our hopes reach'd out, and met thee on the main.
With prayer we fimooth the billows for thy fleet;
With ardent wifhes fill thy fwelling fheet;

And when thy foot took place on Albion's shore,
We bending bless'd the Gods, and ask’d ́no more.
What hand but thine fhould conquer and compofe,
Join thofe whom intereft joins, and chace our foes?
Repel the daring youth's prefumptuous aim,
And by his rival's greatnefs give him fame?
Now in fome foreign court he may fit down,
And quit without a blush the British crown.
Secure his honour, though he lofe his store,
And take a lucky moment to be poor.

Nor think, great fir, now firft, at this late hour,
In Britain's favour, you exert your power;
To us, far back in time, I joy to trace
The numerous tokens of your princely grace.
Whether you chofe to thunder on the Rhine,
Infpire grave councils, or in courts to shine;

In the more scenes your genius was display'd,
The greater debt was on Britannia laid :

They all confpir'd this mighty man to raise,
And your new subjects proudly share the praise.
All share; but may not we have leave to boast
That we contemplate, and enjoy it most?
This ancient nurse of arts, indulg'd by fate
On gentle Ifis' bank, a calm retreat,
For many rolling ages juftly fam'd,

Has through the world her loyalty proclaim'd;
And often pour'd (too well the truth is known!)
Her blood and treasure to fupport the throne!
For England's church her latest accents ftrain'd,
And freedom with her dying hand retain'd;
No wonder then her various ranks agree
In all the fervencies of zeal, for thee.

What though thy birth a distant kingdom boast,
And feas divide thee from the British coaft?
The crown 's impatient to inclofe thy head;
Why stay thy feet? the cloth of gold is spread.
Our strict obedience through the world shall tell
That king's a Briton, who can govern
well!

THE

THE

INSTAL MEN T.

то

THE RIGHT HON. SIR ROBERT WALPOLE.

KNIGHT OF THE MOST NOBLE ORDER OF THE GARTER.

"Quæfitam Meritis."

MD CCXXVI.

HOR.

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