To Her Royal Highness, The Princess of ***
A beauteous princess often may
Languish in pleasure's season gay;
The empty forms of haughty state
Oft make life tedious to the great.
It must the greatest king confound,
With all his courtiers circled round,
Amidst a splendid court to find,
That grandeur can't give peace of mind.
Some think that play can give delight,
But soon it grows insipid quite;
And monarchs have been often seen,
While gaming, tortured with the spleen.
A king oft feasts with heavy heart,
Pleasures to him no joy impart;
While the dull vulgar contemplate,
Like gazing idiots, pomp and state,
And fondly think who is possessed
Of them with bliss supreme is blessed.
Soon as the sun's refulgent rays,
Spread o'er the hemisphere their blaze;
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