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The propt Balconies bend beneath the Weight;
But Beauties Charms uphold their urged Fate.
The Silphs, and Silphids, busy, fly around,
And peevish Gnomes are spread o'er all the Town;
Yet all in vain; for Beauties Queen attends:
And, with her little Guards, the Nymphs defends :
That no ill Whisper might, that Day, defame
The rich Brocade, or fpotless Virgin's Name:
The sacred Day, to GEORGE's Glory due ;
And may that sacred Day be ever new!
Each throng'd Balcony various lustre Rays,
And fills the Streets with one continued Blaze:
With blushing Light, behold the chearing Sun,
Alham'd to find his Brightness so outdone.

Now, cou'd I fing the Grandeur of the Day,
And all the different Scenes of Joy display;
"Twou'd more than fully recompence my Pains,
And add a Brightness to my languid Strains.
But stop, my Muse, the Flight too high I see:
Thou ne'er Pretences mad'st to Extasy.
Enough, if humble, thou can'ft rightly fing
The joyful Passage of the glorious KING:
Which does all other Triumphs far outshine,
As Virgil's heav'nly Strains compar'd with thine.
Ne'er Pompey heard, nor Cæfar, Roman Lords,
(Tho' Victory sat siniling on their Swords)
Such Shouts of Joy, as thou moft welcome Prince ;
For, Liberty enlay'd was their Offence:

Thou

Thou mak'st the heav'n-born Goddess, still, more bright;
Secur'st her Empire, and uphold it her Right.
Heav'n with delighted Views, looks down below;
And smiles to see THE E live, and govern too :
To see THE E live, the Partner of his Sway;
Whilft Nations Thee, as thou dost Heay'n obey.
Whose chiefest Care we, in this work, may see;
To place us under so much Piety.
Now may the Hindes securely Plow the Field;
And reap the bounteous Harvest, which they yield:
No Danger, but from Winds, and Clouds may fear,
To spoil the wholesome Fruits, and taint the Year.
Whilft loaded Ships may Plow the boist'rous Main,
And well reward the Merchant's toilfome Pain :
His Right secur'd, will fill advance his Gain.
Each Heart Unites, and vain Diffentions cease;
And Faction shall no more disturb our Peace.
So when two angry Billows foam, and

rage;
Neptune alone their Fury can afswage:
With curling Streams, they meet each others Breaft,
And join'd in Love, no more the God moleft,

A

POEM

To the MEMORY of

TH 0 M A S, Late Marquis of Wharton,

Lord PRIV Y-SE AL.

AIN are thefe * -Pomps, thy Funeral Rites

to grace, And blazon.forth thy long Patrician Race;

These Banners mark'd with boasted + Feats of old, And Streamers waving with distinguish'd Gold:

* The Marquis of Wharton was Interr'd at Winchindon, April 22. 1715. the total Eclipse of the Sun happening whilft his Remains were upon the Road thither.

† Plaisir en fait d'Armes. The Motto of the Wharton's Arms.

Proud

Proud Hieroglyphicks! where are darkly shown
Thy brave Fore-fathers Merits, not thy own.
Herald forbear! these painted Honours give,
To Names that only in thy Paint can live.
Thy Colours fade near this illustrious Clay,
And all thy gawdy gilding dyes away.

See, Heav'n displeas'd thy fond Attempt upbraids, And claims the Province thy bold Hand invades ;Untimely Darkness gathering round the Skies, Blackens the Morn to grace his Obsequies. The sickning Sun shines dim, and in the sight Of gazing Crowds, resigns his waining Light; Mark how he labours with Relapse of Night! How his diminishid Face a Crescent seems, Like Cynthia newly silver'd with his Beams. But as in full Eclipse his Light expires, Back to its Source our gelid Blood retires; Chillid with Surprize, our trembling Joints unbrace, And pale Confusion sits on ev'ry Face. The bleating Flocks, no more the Shepherds Care, Stray from those Folds to which they would repair. Home to his Young the Raven wings his Way, And leaves behind him his untasted Prey.While tow'ring Larks their rival Notes prolong, They drop benighted in their Morning Song. Darkness and Horror reign o'er Earth and Skies, and Nature for a while with W HAR ION dies,

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