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By me meridian excellence display,
I am a monarch, whose victorious hands
Lovers to us address the fervent prayer; 'Tis ours to soften or subdue the fair: We now like angels smile, and now destroy, Now bring, or blast, the long-expected joy. At our fair shrine ambitious churchmen bow, And crave the mitre to adorn the brow. Go to the inns of court-the learned drudge Implores our friendship, to commence a judge. Go, and consult the sons of Warwick Lane; They own our favours, and adore our reign. Theirs is the gold, 'tis true—but all men see Our claim is better founded to the fee.
Reader, thus sublunary worlds we guide, Thus o'er your natal planets we preside. Kingdoms and kings are ours-to us they fall We carve their fortunes, and dispoşe of all.
Nor think that kings alone engross our choice; The cobbler sits attentive to our voice.
But since my colleague is a fickle she;
foe! ungrateful man, Who meditates
every day. What various scenes of death do men prepare! And what assassinations plot the fair! But know assuredly, who treat me ill, Who mean to rob me, or who mean to kill; Who view me with a cold regardless eye,
unheeded by; They shall lament their folly when too late; So mourns the prodigal his lost estate!
While they who with superior forethoughtbless'd, Store all my lessons in their faithful breast; (For where's the prelate who can preach like me, With equal reasoning and persuasive plea?) Who know that I am always on my wings, And never stay in compliment to kings; Who therefore watch me with an eagle's sight, Arrest my pinions, or attend my flight;
And let my
Or if perchance they loiter'd in the race,
In folly’s maze advance;
Nor join the giddy dance.
Where love our hours employs; .
To spoil our heartfelt joys. If solid happiness
we prize, Within our breast this jewel lies,
And they are fools who roam;
And that dear hut-our home.
That safe retreat, the ark; Giving her vain excursions o'er, The disappointed bird once more
Explored the sacred bark.