WHAT can the British senate give,
To make the name of ANNA live,
By future people to be sung,
The labour of each grateful tongue?
Can faithful registers, or rhyme,
In charming eloquence, or sprightly wit,
The wonders of her reign transmit
To th' unborn children of succeeding time?
Can painters' oil, or statuaries' art,
Eternity to her impart?
No! titled statues are but empty things,
Inscrib'd to royal vanity,
The sacrifice of flattery
To lawless Neros, or Bourbonian kings.
True virtue to her kindred stars aspires,
Does all our pomp of stone and verse surpass,
And mingling with etherial fires,
No useless ornament requires
From speaking colours, or from breathing brass.