HAIL mighty Prince! this Poem on you waites,
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As the first Offering that Celebrates
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Your wellcome to the Town, almost Destro'yd
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By Priestcraft, and by you again Reviv'd;
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This Glorious Day (in which all Triumphs Live)
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To Heav'n, and you Great Sir, we only Give.
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When Jove first made the World, he ask'd no more
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Of us, but taught us whom we should implore
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As then, so now 'tis our peculiar care,
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With Joyfull thanks to gratifie your ear,
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Who from the Dust has rais'd our Grov'ling State,
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Which hung upon the weakest Wheel of Fate
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An Act so high, and past mankinds believing
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That none but you could er'e think of retrieving
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Yet more, they who this Nation wou'd inthrall,
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Do fill your Triumph with their wretched fall,
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But what dose Heav'n impart when they Design
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To Act something that's Noble and Divine?
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Prophetick Stars this happy time ne're knew,
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This Secret only Lodg'd in Heaven, and you,
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And mighty Prince, (since Fate decrees it so)
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Our Lives unto your Gen'rous Sword we owe,
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Not only, but Estates and Liberty,
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Which is the Sum of all felicity.
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Exhal'd from sullen frowns our Kingdom's Blest,
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And in the umbrage of your Lawralls rest,
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Whilst Joy like Lightning in Tempestious Storms
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Dazles the World and fils it with Alarms,
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Joy now to Lowdest Triumph makes its way
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And we no Difference know 'tween Night and Day,
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Our Souls transported in strong Raptures move
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And yet United are in Artless Love,
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Joy now and Love so very well agree
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As if this year was the first Jubilee,
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Of Care and Business we'll no more alow
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Since Deathless Lawralls florish on your brow,
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Go on brave Prince what i'st you can't effect
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Whom Heav'n with prosporous Stars dose still protect,
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The fury of your Sword, Let the French feel,
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That Kingdom is Designed by you to reel;
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Pull down their Gaudy Pride which long hath stood
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And their own Fields Manure with their own Blood,
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Come here's the Prince's Health a Brimmer round
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And all the Popish Interest Confound,
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