To BRITTAIN'S QUEEN the Nations turn their Eyes,
On Her Resolves the Western World relies,
Confiding still, amidst its dire Alarms,
In  Councils, and in CHURCHILL'S Arms:
Thrice Happy BRITTAIN, from the Kingdoms rent,
To sit the Guardian of the Continent!
That sees her Bravest Son advanc'd so high,
And flourishing so near her Prince's Eye;
Thy Fav'rites grow not up by Fortune's sport,
Or from the Crimes, or Follies of a Court;
On the firm Basis of Desert they rise,
From long try'd Faith, and Friendship's Holy Ties:
Their Sov'raign's well-distinguish'd Smiles they share,
Her Ornaments in Peace, her Strength in War,
The Nation thanks them with a Publick Voice,
By Show'rs of Blessings Heav'n approves their Choice;
Envy it self is dumb, in Wonder lost,
And Factions strive who shall applaud 'em most.