O may fam'd Brunfwick be the laft, The laft, the happiest British King, Whom thou shalt paint, or I shall sing! 'Till Greece, amaz'd, and half-afraid, Great Pan, who wont to chase the fair, And lov'd the spreading oak, was there ; Old Saturn too, with up-caft eyes Beheld his abdicated skies; And mighty Mars, for war renown'd, In adamantine armour frown'd; By him the childless goddess rofe, Minerva, ftudious to compofe Her twisted threads; the web fhe ftrung, Match'd with a mortal, next was feen, F 5 Reclining Reclining on a funeral urn, Her fhort-liv'd darling Son to mourn. For who would hope new fame to raise, That, his high genius to approve, Had drawn a GEORGE, or carv'd a Jove? FOEMATA HONORATISSIMO VIRO CAROLO MONTAGU ARMIGERO, SCACCHARII CANCELLARIO, ÆRARII PREFECTO, REGI à SECRETIORIBUS CONSILIIS, &c. UM tanta auribus tuis obftrepat vatum nequiffimorum turba, nihil eft cur queraris aliquid inufitatum tibi contigiffe, ubi præclarum hoc argumentum meis etiam numeris violatum confpexeris. Quantum virtute bellica præftant Britanni, recens ex rebus geftis teftatur gloria; quam vero in humanioribus Pacis ftudiis non emineamus, indicio funt quos nuper in lucem emifimus |