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Then shall they triumph, and the British stage
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 ftill fhines, 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 single age,)
Unless fome Poet in a lafting fong

To late pofterity their fame prolong,

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

ΤΟ

ΤΟ

Sir GODFREY KNELLER,

ON HIS

PICTURE of the KING.

KNELLER, with filence and furprize

We see Britannia's Monarch rise,

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

The magick of thy art calls forth.
His fecret foul and hidden worth,
His probity and mildness fhows,
His care of friends, and fcorn of foes:
In every ftroke, in every line,
Does fome exalted virtue 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 furvey

Their Sov'reign, through his wide command,

Paffing in progress o'er the land!

Each heart fhall bend, and every voice
In loud applauding fhouts rejoice,
Whilft all his gracious afpect praise,
And crowds grow loyal as they gaze.
This 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 mould,
Shape and adorn the running gold.
To bear this form, the genial Sun
Has daily, fince his courfe begun,
Rejoice'd the metal to refine,
And ripen'd the Peruvian mine.

Thou, Kneller, long with noble pride,
The foremost of thy art, haft 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 their robes of state array'd,
The Kings of half an age display'd.
Here fwarthy Charles appears, and there
His Brother with dejected air:

Triumphant Nassau here we find,
And with him bright Maria join'd;
There Anna, great as when the fent
Her armies through the continent,
Ere yet her Hero was disgrac't:

O may fam'd Brunswick be the last,
(Though heaven fhould with my wish agree,
And long preserve thy art in thee)
The laft, the happiest British King,
Whom thou shalt paint, or I fhall fing!
Wife Phidias, thus his skill to prove,
Through many a God advance'd to Jove.
And taught the polifht rocks to shine
With airs and lineaments divine;
'Till Greece, amaz'd, and half-afraid,
Th'affembled deities survey'd.

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 compose

Her twisted threads; the webb fhe ftrung,
And o'er a loom of marble hung:

Thetis the troubled ocean's Queen,

Match'd with a mortal, next was feen,

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Reclining on a funeral urn,

Her fhort-liv'd darling Son to mourn.
The last was he, whose thunder flew
The Titan-race, a rebel crew,
That from a hundred hills ally'd
In impious leagues their King defy'd.
This wonder of the fculptor's hand
Produce'd, his art was at a ftand:
For who would hope new fame to raise,
Or rifque his well-establish'd praise,
That, his high genius to approve,

Had drawn a GEORGE, or carv'd a-Jove!

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