hir'd for Life, thy Servile Muse must sing
Successive Conquests, and a glorious King;
Must of a Man Immortal vainly boast;
And bring him Lawrels, whatsoe'er they cost:
What Turn wilt Thou employ, what Colours lay
On the Event of that Superior Day,
In which one  Subject's prosp'rous Hand
(So  did will; so  did command:)
Broke the proud Column of thy Master's Praise,
Which sixty Winters had conspir'd to raise?