Page:Songs compleat, pleasant and divertive (Wit and mirth or, Pills to purge melancholy).djvu/253

That barbrous Tyrant, Foe to th' Good,
  The Wise, the Vertuous, and the Brave;
Her pious Zeal, and Prayers withstood
  And still the more she press'd to crave
  A Grant, might lov'd Silvander save:
      The more was urg'd to a degree,
      His doom of frail Mortality,
  That sunk his Glory to the Grave.

The dark recess, to which all go,
  That breathe upon this Earthly ball;
And now the Royal Flora's woe,
  Admits no Patient interval:
Tears from her Eyes incessant fall,
  The State affairs too, weigh her down;
To none, she can for comfort call,
  The Partner of her Cares is gone,
  Who caus'd her oft to cease her moan,
      Whilst Grief, that precious Life decays,
      And Sighs, such storms in Britain raise,
As shakes the Nation from the Throne.

Rest then great Prince, Sleep, sleep in peace,
  Reliev'd from Vice, and Mortal care:
Whilst we, that pine in Life's disease,
  Our fading Joys, less happy are:
Translated thus, from Earth to Heaven,
  Thy blissful Transports hourly grow,
Whilst we by Passions toss'd and driven,
  Live wretched in this Vale of woe:
But if our State, some glimpse of Comfort shew,
We're only blest, since so much Worth must die,
To have the skill, in sacred Verse, still to preserve thy Memory.