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 HE, young in Years, yet very old in Arms,

Guards her from Foreign or Dometick Harms,

His faithful Aids new vig'rous Life afford,

And boldly draws Hereditary Sword.

Stuart ancient as the Hills from which they prung

The Mountains till do to the Name belong;

From hence they branch to ev'ry high Degree:

And Foreign Courts embrace the Progeny.

The riing Stem with thirt of Glory fir'd,

Not he to th'Crown, the Crown to him apir'd;

His high attracting Fame the Nation drew,

They gave old Crowns, and Fate upply'd the new.

Thy Scepter Caledonia in their Hand,

Firt rai'd the real Glory of the Land;

And even ucceive Branches held the Crown,

Till Britain vail'd, and made the Stuarts her own.

What Blood, what Wars, what trong convulive Throws,

Britania fill'd with inbred Vapour knows?

How oft the interveening Hand of Blood,

Has their ucceive Happines withtood?

Spread the dark Vail, let's hide the dimal Scene,

Let others paint the Horrid-draught, our Pen

Shall how the bright, and wih the ret uneen.