RECITATIVO
Of old the Bards, their Countires to adorn,
Soar’d far from the Pierian Grove:
And still began their Songs from Jove:
No mighty Hero then was born,
But they could trace
From Heaven his Race,
And tell what Wonders sign’d the happy Morn.

AIR.
Deep in a Cave, or on a Mountain,
Near a fam’d Flood, or crystal Fountain,
Supinely lull’d in am’rous Courting,
Intriguing Deities lay sporting:
From human, with divine Embraces,
Sprung all those fabled glorious Races.

RECITATIVO
WHILE sooting Poets sound, in lofty Odes,
Their deathless Heroes, and their Earthly Gods,
No Fiction the great Line of Brunswick needs,
But shines, tho’ Mortal, with Immortal Deeds:
Brunswick was born (let true Historians write)
For the World’s Freedom, and Mankind’s Delight.

AIR.
HAPPY, Happy, without measure,
Albion, round thee circles Pleasure :
Spicy Stores both Indies send thee !
Peace and Plenteous Crops attend Thee;
Lost are Names of Whig and Tory,
All to bless is Brunswick’s Glory.

RECITATIVO.
HIGH on the Throne is seen
Fair CAROLINA, lovely Queen !
Close by her Side,
In Beauty’s Pride,
Princes and Princesses appear !
As new-born Luminaries rise
Amid the wondring Skies,
So dart they Rays, and gild the British Sphere.

AIR.
HAIL, thou celebrated Race !
Sweetly awful smiles each Face,
Heav’nly Forms with Heav’nly Grace :
O! may long such Beauties bloom,
Years on Years no Charm consume,
And far distant be the Tomb.

CHORUS.
YE tuneful Sons of Art, now sing
In an united Choir,
The great Augustus, Albion’s King,
And Joys around inspire.
From him let Monarchs yet unborn receive
A Pattern how to reign, and how to live.
From him let Monarchs, &c.