To His Grace the Duke of Argyle, upon Reading the Preamble to the Patent Creating Him Duke of Greenwich. by…

Mindless of fate, in these low vile abodes, Tyrants have oft usurp'd the style of Gods: But that the Mortal may be thought Divine, The Herald strait new-modell'd all his line; And venal Priest, with well-dissembled lye, Preambled to the crowd the mimic Deity. Not so great Saturn's son, imperial Jove, He reigns, unquestion'd, in his realms above; No title from descent he need infer, His red right arm proclaims the Thunderer. This, Campbell, be thy pride, illustrious Peer, Alike to shine distinguish'd in thy sphere. All merit but thine own thou may'st disdain, And Kings have been thine ancestors in vain.