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With the Tragedy of CATO. Nov. 1714.


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 fecur'd,
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 PRINCE S , 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.



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 oppreft,
Endanger'd rights, and liberty diftreft :
To milder sounds each Mose shall tune the lyre,
And gratitude, and faith to Kings inspire,
And filial love; bid impious difcord 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 eafe
And native majesty are form’d to please,
Behold those Arts with a propitious eye,
That suppliant to their great protectress fly!


F 3

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

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

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

то TO




KNELLER, with filence and surprise

We fee Britannia's Monarch 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 ftand.

The magic of thy art calls forth
His secret foul and hidden worth,
His probity and mildnefs hows,
His care of friends, and fcorn of foes :"
In every stroke, in every line,
Does some exalted virthe shine,
And Albion's happiness we trace
Through all the features of his face.



O may I live to hail the day,
When the glad nation shall survey
Their Soy'reign, through his wide command,
Passing in progress o'er the land!
Each heart shall bend, and every voice
In loud applauding shouts rejoice,
Whilft 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 stampt 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 :

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