O thou, from whom these bounteous blessings flow,
To whom, as chief, the hopes of peace we owe,
(For next to thee, the man whom kings contend
To stile companion, and to make their friend,
Great , rich in every courtly grace,
With joyful pride accepts the second place)
From Britain's isle, and Isis' sacred spring
One hour, oh! listen while the muses sing.
Tho' ministers of mighty monarchs wait,
With beating hearts, to learn their masters' fate,
One hour forbear to speak thy Queen's commands,
Nor think the world, thy charge, neglected stands;
The blissful prospects, in my verse display'd,
May lure the stubborn, the deceiv'd persuade,
Ev'n thou to peace shalt speedier urge the way,
And more be hasten'd by this short delay.