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In the more scenes your genius was display'd,
your new subjects proudly share the praise.
rolling ages justly fam’d,
What though thy birth a distant kingdom boast,
Τ Η Ε
IN S T A L M E N T.
THE RIGHT HON. SIR ROBERT WALPOLE.
KNIGHT OF THE MOST NOBLE ORDER OF THE GARTER,
" Quæsitam Meritis."
THE INSTA L M E N T.
ITH invocations fome their breasts inflame;
I need no Muse, a Walpole is my theme. Ye mighty dead, ye garter'd sons of praise ! Our morning stars ! our boast in former days! Which hovering o'er, your purple wings display, Lurd by the pomp of this distinguish'd day, Stoop, and attend : by one, the knee be bound; One, throw the mantle's crimson folds around; By that, the sword on his proud thigh be plac'd ; This, clasp the diamond-girdle round his waist; His breast, with rays, let just Godolphin spread; Wise Burleigh plant the plumage on his head ; And Edward own, since first he fixt the race, None prest fair glory with a swifter
pace. When fate would call some mighty genius forth To wake a drooping age to godlike worth, Or aid some favourite king's illustrious toil, It bids his blood with generous ardour boil; His blood, from virtue's celebrated source, Pour'd down the steep of time, a lengthen'd coursé ; That men prepar'd may just attention pay, Warn'd by the dawn to mark the glorious day, When all the scatter'd merits of his line Collected to a point, intensely shine.
See, Britain, see thy Walpole shine from far, His azure ribbon, and his radiant star;