Imatges de pàgina
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His Word is Destiny at Second Hand;

Can Things, which feem impoffible, Command?

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Tho' Faction's Whirl-winds the vex'd Realms deform,

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For fay, O Loyal Fellow-Subjects, fay

Since laft recorded Era's whitest Day.

When GEORGE first mounting, rais'd the BRITISH Throne,

Made us much His, but more Himself our own;

(For He, our Troubles, We his Bleffings fhare; He is our Happiness, and. We his Care,)

Say, ever fince that All-enliv'ning Sun

With Beams of Bounty on our Island shone,
Did not black Envy ftill the Light invade,

And strive to wrap us in her fullen Shade?
Yet han't thofe Clouds, difpell'd by fome new Ray,
Increas'd the rifing Glories of his Way?

Lo! e'er he came, fome Traytors to the State,
To keep it Low, as He fince made it Great,
Try'd all the Tricks, that Malice could devise,
To bar our Hopes from our defiring Eyes:
Yet Providence, the deftin'd Time, thought fit,
In Fates eternal Volume should be writ,
When GEORGE should rule Britannia's happy Land,
Then took, as 'twere, our Monarch by the Hand;

Led

Led him thro' adverse Perj'ry and Deceit,

Safe to Imperial Honour's highest Seat;

Plac'd him All-great, and sparkling on the Throne,
And center'd all our Hopes in him alone;

Our Hopes, the Crown, till latest Times should wait
On the long Race of Great PLANTAGENET.
And fure, if ever yet indulgent Heaven

Marks of its Love for feepter'd Pow'r has given,
If, e'er that Form of Empire it prefer'd,

If e'er its Voice by Mortal Ears was hear'd,
Here all its Marks of Favour it employs,
All call him to the Crown he now enjoys.

When first his Sacred Temples bore the Crown,
The Weight of Glory His, the Pomp our own;
No fooner Crown'd, but thro' the World he lays
Unerring Schemes of Univerfal Peace:

Europe's tir'd Kings his welcome Plan obey'd,
And joynt Addreffes with his Subjects paid:
So Great we liv'd, fo Happy, fo Belov'd,
Our Bleffings were too high to be improv'd;
More Joy we could not wifh, for 'twere Excess,
Which makes, whatever 'twould make Greater, left:

'Twas then that Envy, with malignant Eyes, Beheld new Joy with each new Sun arise; Madden'd at thefe Pacifick Schemes, fhe fwore, That British Fields should swim with British Gore;

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She took the crooked Shape of restless M.
And Zeal pretending, rais'd a Civil War.
Strait Sheriff-Muir was like Pharfalia's Plain,

1

Friends were by Friends, by Brothers, Brothers flain;
But Heav'n fill gives the Conqueft where 'tis due,
And like the Former CESAR, acts the New.
Spite of his Foes, their Safety he decreed,
Few, but what fell in Arms, he doom'd to bleed,
The Reft by Force from courted Bondage freed.
Ev'n Faction wonder'd how it self complain'd,
Rebels turn'd true, and All Auguftus reign'd.

As Ghofts are faid at Night's deep Noon to stray,
But vanish, sick'ning at the dawn of Day;
So when the Light of Loyalty broke forth,
It drove pale Envy from the cloudy North;
From Earth to Air her vap'rous Form fhe rear'd,
And flaming like a Meteor, disappear'd.

To us fhe disappear'd, but thro' the World, Trav'ling aloft, her baleful Influence hurl'd; O'er diftant Kingdoms, tho' in Ours she fails, Widely her undifputed Sway prevails:

}

* Alluding to the Corufcations that appear'd in the North just after the happy Termination of the late unnatural Rebellion.

}

Since here in vain the found her Fury spent,
Her Feuds the rest of fpacious Europe rent,
Our Ife fhe left, to waste the Continent.

No GEORGE was there to ftop her dread Alarms,
No Counfels elfe fhe fear'd, nor other Arms;
From North to South fhe formidably fhines,

Lights GORTZ's Trains, and ALBERONI's Mines.

The haughty Spaniard, by her Influence led,
Infidious Arms o'er wafted Islands spread;
Sardinia's Faith to Auftria plighted, broke,
Bow'd her fair Neck beneath his galling Yoke:
Then Fair Sicilia felt his lawless Sway,
And found its better-half constrain'd t' obey;
To naked Fields the Globe's rich Gran'ry turn'd,
The Place, that fed the World, a Famine mourn'd.
Now Naples trembled, with Seditions vex'd,

And fear'd their Fate would prove its own the next;
Ev'n Germany with Doubts fufpended stood,
Whether its num'rous States fhould ftream with Blood
On Britain's King their Hopes or Fears depend,
If Wars fhould endless prove, or when they'd end,
Well on his Boundless Pow'r the Peace relies,

GEORGE orders

and our winged Navy flies;

Soon reach'd, nor fooner reach'd Sicilia's Shoar,

But ftrait her Light'nings blaze, her Thunders roar :
Soon their Hefperian Fleet its Error knows,
Half finking to the Womb of Thetis, goes;

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