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 The hoary Prince in Majety appear'd,

High on a Throne of his own Labours rear'd.

At his right hand our young Acanius at,

Rome's other Hope, and Pillar of the State.

His Brows thick Fogs, intead of Glories, grace,

And lambent Dulnes play'd around his Face.

As Hannibal did to the Altars come,

Sworn by his Syre a mortal Foe to Rome;

So Sh— wore, nor hou'd his Vow be vain,

That he till Death true Dulnes wou'd maintain;

And in his Father's Right, and Realms defence,

Ne'er to have Peace with Wit, nor Truce with Sene.

The King himelf the acred Unction made,

As King by Office, and as Priet by Trade:

In his initer hand, intead of Ball,

He plac'd a mighty Mug of potent Ale;

Love's Kingdom to his Right he did convey,

At once his Scepter and his Rule of Sway;

Whoe righteous Lore the Prince had pra{ct}}is'd young,

And from whoe Loins recorded Pyche prung.

His Temples lat with Poppies were o'erpread,

That nodding eem'd to conecrate his Head:

Jut at that point of time, if Fame not lye,

On his left hand twelve reverend Owls did fly.

So Romulus, 'tis ung, by Tyber's Brook,

Preage of Sway from twice ix Vultures took.

Th' admiring Throng loud Acclamations make,

And Omens of his future Empire take.

The Syre then hook the Honours of his Head,

And from his Brows damps of Oblivion hed

Heavens bles my Son, from Ireland let him reign

To farr Barbadoes on the Wetern Main;

Of his Dominion may no End be known,

And greater than his Father's be his Throne. Beyond