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CRMPAREDNES

To Her ROYAL HIGHNESS the

PRINCESS of WALES,

With the Tragedy of CATO. Nov. 1714.

HE Mufe that oft, with facred raptures fir'd,

TH

Has gen'rous thoughts of Liberty infpir'd,
And, boldly rifing for Britannia's laws,
Engage'd great Cato in her country's caufe,
On You fubmiffive waits, with hopes affur'd,
By whom the mighty blefing ftands fecur'd,
And all the glories, that our age adorn,
Are promis'd to a people yet unborn.

No longer fhall the widow'd land bemoan
A broken lineage, and a doubtful throne;
But boaft 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 fmile,
Supplying charms to the fucceeding age,

Each heav'nly Daughter's triumphs we presage;
Already fee th' illuftrious youths complain,
And pity Monarchs doom'd to figh in vain.

Thou

Thou too, the darling of our fond defires,

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 fweetness, 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 confcious eyes fhall fee,
And flight th' Imperial diadem for thee.

Pleas'd with the profpect of fucceffive reigns,
The tuneful tribe no more in daring strains
Shall vindicate, with pious fears oppreft,
Endanger'd rights, and liberty diftreft:
To milder founds each Mufe fhall tune the lyre,
And gratitude, and faith to Kings inspire,
And filial love; bid impious difcord cease,
And footh the madding factions into peace;
Or rife ambitious in more lofty lays,

And teach the nation their new Monarch's praise,
Defcribe his awful look, and godlike mind,

And Cafar'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 fuppliant to their great protectress fly!

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

Nor you the kind indulgence will refufe,
Skill'd in the labours of the deathlefs Mufe:
The deathlefs Mufe with undiminisht rays
Through diftant times the lovely dame conveys,
To Gloriana Waller's harp was ftrung;

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 fhort-live'd praises to engage,
The joy and wonder of a fingle age,)
Unless fome Poet in a lafting fong

To late pofterity their fame prolong,

Inftruct our fons the radiant form to prize,
And see your beauty with their fathers' eyes.

ΤΟ

ΤΟ

Sir GODFREY KNELLER,

ON HIS

PICTURE of the KING.

KNELLER, with filence and furprife:

We fee Britannia's Monarch rife,

A godlike form, by thee display d
In all the force of light and shade;
And, aw'd by thy delusive hand,
As in the prefence-chamber ftand.

The magic of thy art calls forth.
His fecret foul and hidden worth,
His probity and mildnefs fhows,
His care of friends, and fcorn of fees:
In every stroke, in every line,
Does fome exalted virtue fhine,
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 Sov reign, through his wide command,
Paffing in progrefs o'er the land!

Each heart fhall bend, and every voice
In loud applauding fhouts 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 ftampt on British coins fhall 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 ripen'd the Peruvian mine.

Thou, Kneller, long with noble pride,
The foremost of thy art, hast vie'd
With nature in a generous ftrife,
And touch'd the canvas into life.
Thy pencil has, by Monarchs fought,
From reign to reign in ermine wrought,
And, in the robes of state array'd,

The Kings of half an age display'd.

Here fwarthy Charles appears, and there

His Brother with dejected air:

Trium

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