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To Her ROYAL HIGHNESS the

PRINCESS. of WALES,

With the Tragedy of CATO. Nov. 1714.

TH

HE Muse that oft, with sacred raptures fir'd,

Has gen'rous thoughts of Liberty inspir'd,
And, boldly rising for Britannia's laws,
Engage'd great Cato in her country's cause,
On You submissive waits, with hopes affur'd,
By whom the mighty blessing stands fecurd,
And all the glories, that our age adorn,
Are promis'd to a people yet unborn.

No longer shall the widow'd land bemoan
'A broken lineage, and a doubtful throne ;
But boast her royal progeny's increase,
And count the pledges of her future peace.
O born to strengthen and to grace our isle !
While you, fair PRINCESS, in your Offspring smile,
Supplying charms to the succeeding age,
Each heav'nly Daughter's triumphs we presage;
Already see th' illustrious youths complain,
And pity Monarchs doom'd to figh in vain.

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Thou

Thou too, the darling of our fond desires,
Whom Albion, opening wide her arms, requires,
With manly valour and attractive air
Shalt quell the fierce, and captivate the fair.
O England's younger hope ! in whom conspire
The mother's sweetness, and the father's fire ?
For thee perhaps, even now, of kingly race
Some dawning beauty blooms in every grace,
Some Carolina, to heaven's dictates true,
Who, while the scepter'd rivals vainly fue,
Thy inborn worth with conscious eyes

shall see, And flight th' Imperial diadem for thee.

Pleas'd with the prospect of successive reigns,
The tuneful tribe no more in daring strains
Shall vindicate, with pious fears opprest,
Endanger'd rights, and liberty diftreft :
To milder sounds each Muse shall tune the lyre,
And gratitude, and faith to Kings inspire,
And filial love ; bid impious discord cease,
And sooth the madding factions into peace;
Or rise ambitious in more lofty lays,
And teach the nation their new Monarch's praise,
Describe his awful look, and godlike mind,
And Cæfar's power with Cato's virtue join'd.

Mean-while, bright Princess, who, with graceful ease
And native majesty are form’d to please,
Behold those Arts with a propitious eye,
That suppliant to their great protectress fly!

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Then

Then shall they triumph, and the Britis ftage
Improve her manners, and refine her rage,
More noble characters expose to view,
And draw her finifht heroines from you.

Nor you the kind indulgence will refuse,
Skill'd in the labours of the deathless Muse:
The deathless Mufe with undiminisht

rays Through distant times the lovely dame conveys, To Gloriana Waller's harp was strung ; The Queen still shines, because the Poet fung. Even all those

frame combin'd, The common fate of mortal charms may find; (Content our short-live'd praises to engage, The joy and wonder of a fingie age,) Unless fome Poet in a lafting song To late pofterity their fame prolong, Instruct our fons the radiant form to prize, And see your beauty with their fathers' eyes.

graces,

in
your

то

TO

Sir GODFREY KNELLER,

ON HIS

PICTURE of the KING

KNELLER, with filence and surprise

We see Britannia's Mohareh rife,
A godlike form, by thee display'd
In all the force of light and fhade ;
And, aw'd by thy delafive hand,
As in the presence-chamber stand.

The magic of thy art calls forth
His secret foul and hidden worth,
His probity and mildners hows,
His care of friends, and (corn of foés ;
In every stroke, in every line,
Does some exalted virtue shine,
And Albion's happiness we trace
Through all the features of his face.

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O O may I live to hail the day,
When the glad nation shall survey
Their Sov'reign, through his wide command,
Passing in progress o'er the land !
Each heart shall bend, and

every

voice
In loud applauding shouts rejoice,
Whilst all his gracious aspect praise,
And crowds grow loyal as they gaze.

The image on the medal placed,
With its bright round of titles graced,
And ftampt on British coins shall live,
To richest ores the value give,
Or, wrought within the curious mold,
Shape and adorn the running gold.
To bear this form, the genial Sun
Has daily, fince his course begun,
Rejoice'd the metal to refine,
And ripend the Peruvian mine.

Thou, Kneller, long with noble pride,
The foremost of thy art, haft vie’d
With nature in a generous strife,
And touch'd the canvas into life.
Thy pencil has, by Monarchs sought,
From reign to reign in ermine wrought,
And, in the robes of state array'd,
The Kings of half an age display'd.

Here swarthy Charles appears, and there
His Brother with dejected air :

Trium.

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