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“ Who, when our sov'reign liege to fate shall yield, “ Shall prop, like him, Britannia's falling state? “Who now the vengeful sword of justice wield, “ Or ope, like him, sweet Mercy's golden gate ?
VI. “ Who shall to Arts their pristine honour bring, “ Rear from the dust fair Learning's laurell’d bread, « Or bid rich Commerce plume her daring wing! Arts, Learning, Commerce are in FREDERIC dead.
VII. “ Who now shall tend, with fond paternal care, “ The future guardians of our faith and laws? “ Who teach their breasts with patriot worth to dare, “ And die, with ardour, in Britannia's cause ?
VIII. “ And who, ah! who, with soft endearing lore, “ Shall footh, like him, the royal mourner's breast? • Her lord, her life, her fredERIC is no more.". Deep groans and bitter wailings speak the rest.
XIII. There, as around the monumental maze Darkling he wanders, a resplendent gleam Shoots o'er th’illumin'd isle a distant blaze, Pale as the glow-worm's fire, or Cynthia's beam.
XIV. With glory clad, th' imperial shrines among, Four royal shapes on iv'ry thrones were plac'd, High o'er their heads four airy diadems hung, Which never yet their maiden brows had grac'd.
XVIII. “ All hail! illustrious partner of our fate, “ For whom, as once for us, Britannia bleeds ; “ Hail! to the mansions of the good and great, “Where crowns immortal wait on virtuous deeds.
XIX. “ The same our fortune, as our worth the same, “ (To worth like ours short date doth heav'n assign) “ As one our fortune, one shall be our fame, “ And long record our deathless names hall join.
• But oh! I tremble for Britannia's state,
May guardian pow’rs avert the dire presage! • For well she knows, at our untimely fate • How heav'n's dread vengeance fmote each fin
- full age.
XXI. “ The regal staff aspiring BOLINBROKE “ Snatch'd with rude grasp from RICHARD'S
princely hand; « Loos'd from hell's confines, civil Discord shook “ The dubious throne, and tore the beeding land.
XXIII. “ When ARTHUR died, imperious henry's third “ Of subject's blood nor heeded sex nor age; “ His wives a sacrifice to vagrant luft, “ His nobles victims to tyrannic rage.
XXIV. * When pious CHARLES in right fraternal reign'd, “ Rebellion proudly stalk'd from shore to shore, “ Her laws, her rights, her holy faith profan'd, “ And dy'd the guilty land with royal gore.
XXIV. “ Yet ah! may pity move relenting heav'n! « Enough the groans beneath her present woe;