Classic Poem

Great King, since first this Isle by Jove's own hand,
Was set apart within great Ocean's arms;
And was appointed by her self to stand,
Fenced round about with rocks from foreign harms;
She into sundry parts hath oft been torn,
And greatest wounds by her own blows hath borne.

But all the fractions now which man did make,
Since it in one whole number Nature gave,
Are added up, and brought to one great stake,
And being all summed up, one total have;
For Britain now to all the dividend,
In one whole quotient, all doth comprehend.

For thou the Monarch of this Western Isle,
Now all her shivered parts hast brought together:
Spreading thy Empire's wings eight hundred mile,
In length, and four in breadth; there staying neither,
But o'er old Ocean's breast thy arm dost stretch,
Through Ireland, making it to India reach.

To Judah thou the tribes hast brought again,
Which by themselves did in Samaria dwell:
Jordan by thee, whose stream did run amain,
Is now dried up, that every tribe may well
To other go: thou hast broke down the wall,
Which Adrian made, and which we Pictic call.

Thou, Virtue's orb, where fame is still ascendant,
And never can her highest auge attain;
Conqueror of all hearts, all flatt'ries transcendant,
Who hold'st it loss to take; to give, great gain:
Of bounteous deeds the ever-running spring,
To many wealth, to all dost gladness bring.

The Muses' darling, who with golden pen,
And silvered tongue thy princely mind can'st tell;
In whom learning, a Prince's richest gem,
Both human and divine, abounding dwell:
The great contriver of this triple Isle,
To one imperial diadem and style.

The royal product of the princely dove,
Which England's Noah from Peace's ark sent forth,
After war's deluge; who, olive-branch of love
Dost bring with thee in thy return from North:
How joyfully did Britain reach her hand,
To take thee int' the ark of this her land!

With great Eliza, glory of her own,
Wonder of future times, true Church's nurse,
The ancient faith's reviver, on whom were shewn,
Heaven's blessings, all men's prayers, no man's curse,
Fortune's favours, Nature's wealth, God's high grace,
The Muses' lodge, all Virtue's dwelling-place.

Our sun did set with great Elizabeth;
Before night thou a new day-light did'st bring:
Our summer's peace did close at her cold death,
Without war's winter thou renew'd'st our spring.
All our lives' joys with her dead seemed to be;
Before entombed, they were revived by thee.

Centre of royal births, in whom do meet
Lines drawn from all the noble Conqueror's blood,
Which ever in any part, with warlike feet,
Of this great Isle's circumference have stood;
With thy fair Queen, a sea, whither do run
Streams of all royal blood of Christendom.

Both royal plants, whence princely branches spring
Whereon grow our best fruits of hope and joy;
Great offsprings both of many a noble King,
An antidote sh' against this land's annoy;
In whose mild looks hath princely majesty
A marriage made with modest courtesy.

She Virtue's book bound in a golden cover,
Wherein Nature hath writ with God's own quill;
All beauty's learning, where thou, her true lover,
May'st read sweet lectures of delight at will;
And on the frame of whose divinest feature
All graces shine, that can be in a creature.

Sprung of a double, knit to a triple king,
Late quadruple, the Holy number, Three,
Grateful to God did seem more apt to bring
Peace to this land, with love and unity:
Plant royal, set by Juno in this land,
Whose ancestors by Mars here once did stand.

Sacred beauty her makes seem angelical,
Thee heavenly wisdom to the stars do raise;
Minerva her, Apollo thee do call
Their darlings; both truest themes of all praise.
Together live and love, and long do reign,
To our, to your, to God's, joy, bliss, and gain.