To His Royal Highness, the Prince of Orange and Nassau

hy Sov'reign Honour, and Thy Kingly Sway, Well blazon'd by the artful Poet's Song, Shall save Thee, Orange, from th' unnumber'd Throng, That, like the Leaves of Autumn, flit away, Call'd by sad Death to be Oblivion's Prey, And over-heap'd by Time's invidious wrong: Ah me, how many, thy sweet Peers among Shall wail, lamenting, for their natal Day! But thou, a Star, that from the briny Foam Is finely lighted in the sparkling Morn, Shall burn in Glory to thy sacred Home, And the wild Air, and Ocean well adorn: I first of Poets, 'mid the darkling Gloom, Saw thee to Light and fine Distinction born!