Miscellaneous Poem s. i 17

Thus always led by Fame’s or Virtue’s Charms,

An Hero still in Piety, or Arms.

Tho’ all these Honours to himself are due,

One more conspicuous he delves from you;

Consort to such a Queen ! That deathless NameShall add the brightest Lustre to his Fame ;

Immortalize his Glory, and out-lhineAll Regal Titles, but the Right Divine.

A Prince so excellent you needs must grieveTo lose, butHeav’n rejoices to receive:

Cease then your Sighs; while languishing you sit,Britannia's Genius weeping at your Feet,

The Business of the World suspended stands,

Nor circulates without your dread Commands.

So if that Part which all the Body guides,

Where the Nerves meet, and where the Soul resides,The least Disorder feels, the whole MachineIs pale without, and all untun’d within :

The vital Springs their active Force forget,

And all the lazy Pulses saintly beat.

Enough to Grief you then resign’d your Breast,Profuse and lavilh of your Royal Rest ;

When negligent of all your Pomp and State,

Close by the gasping Prince you pensive sate ;Outwatch’d the Stars with wat’ry sleepless Eyes,

With Vows incessant importun’d the Skies jAnd vainly struggling with relentless Death,

Hung on his trembling Lips and catch’d his flying Breath,As much as could from Destiny be gain st.

Your unexampled Piety obtain’d :

Long doubtful did his lifted Hand forbearThe threat’ned Stroke, which hov’ring hung in Air,Your Pray’rs with Heav’n maintain’d a dubious Strife,His Soul long fluttering on the Verge of Life,

And by a gradual Death at last set free,

To soften Fate, and smooth it’s harsh Decree.

Nor weep, as if your Glory too were dead,

And all your Joys with your lov’d Consort fled,

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