Classic Poem

When rolling time brings on the golden hour
Shall shew my Monarch in the shine of Pow'r,
He shall consign to this capacious Hand
At least the Key, perhaps the Treasurer['s] wand.
(?) my old woman of her — has dy'd,
Betty shall then come forth, avow'd my Bride,
Venus may bless the Nuptials she has made
If with a lovely Boy my prayers be paid.

When Europe sees the Blessing of my Schemes
And all my Blunders are forgot like dreams,
Then full of years and Honor I retreat
And leave to duller Heads the toils of state,
Then my old Kate shall yield my Molly place,
How I shall smile, when she is styl'd, Her Grace!
From distant shires the nobles shall repair
To Houghton Hall to worship Venus there,
But far, oh far, be Oxenden removed,
Bold to attack and skillfull to be loved,

To other shores let him his steps convey

Triumph enough for that enchanting Face!
That my damnation must enrich his Race,
May he permit that quiet, without fears
I clasp this Joy of my declining years,
Nor she shall think her selfe too much confined
When I except but him of all mankind.