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For tbe King's BIRTH-DAY, 28th of

May, 1716.

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AY thy Aowry garlands by,

Ever blooming gentle May ! sin Ochet honours now are nigh ;

Other honours see we pay. Lay tby flowery Garlands by, &c.


Majesty and great renown
Wait thy beamy brow to crown,
Parent of our hero, thou,
George on Britain didft bestow.
Thee the trumpet, thee, the drunt,
With the plumy helm, become :

Thee the spear and shining shield,
With ey'sy trophy of the warlike field.

III. Call

Call thy better bleflings forch,
For the honour of his birth :
Still, che voice of loud commotion,

Bid complaining murmurs ceases.
Lay, the billows of the ocean ;

And compose the land in peace..
Call the better, &c.

Queen of odours, fragrant Mags
For this boon this happy day,
Janus with the double face
Shall to thee resign his place,

Thou shalt rule with better grace:
Time from thee Shall wait his door,
And thou shalt lead the year for try age to come.

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Fairest Month ! in Cefar pride thee,

Nothing like him canft thou bring, Tho' the graces (mite beside thee : Tho' thy bounty gives the spring:

VI. Tbo'like Flora thou array chec,

Finer than the painted bow; Carolina shall repay thee

All thy sweetness, all thy show.


She herself a glory greater

Than thy golden sun discloses ; And her smiling offspring sweeter

Than the bloom of all thy roses.


TINI's first coming to the House in the Hay-Market.

Mpbion Atrikes the vocal lyre, A And ready at his call, Harmonious brick and Atone conspire:

To raise the t bebani wati. In emulation of his praise

Two Latian seniors come A finking Theatre to raise

And prop Van's tottering Dome, But how this last should come to pass

Muft ftill remain unknown, Since these poor Gentlemen, alas !

Bring neither brick nor stone.

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10 Night, ye wbigs and Tories both be safe,

Nor hope at one another's Cost, to laugh
We mean to souse old Satan and the Pope;
They've no Relations here, nor Friends, we hope.
A Tool of theirs supplies the Comick Stage
With just Materials for Satyrick Rage:
Nor think our Colours may too strongly paint
The stiff Non-Juring Separation Saint.
Good Breeding ne'er commands us to be civil
To those who give the Nation to the Devil;
Who at our surest, best Foundation strike,
And hate our Monarch and our Church alike;

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Our Church,—which aw'd with Reverential Fear,
Scarcely the Muse presumes to mention here.
Long may She These her worst of Fues defy,
And lift her Mitred Head triumphant to the Sky?
While theirs + But Satire silently disdains
To name, what lives not, but in Madmen's Brains.
Iike Bawds, each lurking Paftor fecks the Dark,
And fears the Justice's inquiring Clerk.
In close back Rooms hišrouted Flocks he rallies,
And reigns the Patriarch of blind Lanes and Allies.
There safe, the lếts his thund'ring Cenfures fly,
Unchriftens, damns us, gives our Laws the Lie,
And excommunicates Three-Stories high.
Why, since a Land of Liberty they hate,
Still will they linger in this Free born State ?
Here, ev'ry Hour, fresh, hateful, Objects rise,
Peace, and Prosperity afflict their Eyes :
With Anguilk, Prince, and people they survey,
Their juft Obedience, and His righteous Sway.
Ship off ye Slaves, and seek fome Passive Land,
Where Tyrants after your own Hearts command.
To your Transalpine Master's Rule resort,
And fill an empty Abdicated Court :
Turn your poffefsions here to ready Rhino,
And buy ye Lands and Lord thips at Urbine.


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