To His ROYAL HIGHNESS The DUKE of CUMBERLAND, On His BIRTH-DAY

Twelve times hath SOL his annual Race begun, Since JOVE descended from his radiant Throne: Around the pendent Globe, the God pursu'd His circling March, and human Actions view'd; But griev'd that Virtue droop'd her languid Head, While Vice, from Clime to Clime, contagious spread. Back, to his native Seat, he sternly flies; And sends an Edict thro' the spacious Skies, To call th'Ethereal Pow'rs: Swift flew his Word; Th'Ethereal Pow'rs, as swift, attend their Lord. Upon Olympus' Top the Synod met, Where, high inthron'd, the thund'ring Monarch sat; And, with a Nod, that shook the Spheres, he swore, The Minor Gods should visit Earth no more. What, must your earthly Sons, MINERVA cry'd, Explore their doubtful Way without a Guide? If PALLAS must no more to Mortals go, Let PALLAS beg a Substitute below, Worthy to rule the World, whose noble Mind May copy out the Gods to human Kind. She lowly bow'd; and JOVE, consenting, smil'd; Go, form, said he, this new-imagin'd Child: Collect the best Materials, where you will; And let us see, for once, MINERVA's Skill. He said; she hastens o'er the bright Abodes, Selecting each Perfection of the Gods: From MARS she warlike Strength and Courage took; But soften'd them with VENUS' graceful Look: To these she added HERMES' Eloquence, And crown'd it with her own superior Sense: Some of APOLLO's piercing Rays she stole; And, while the MUSES play'd, she form'd a Soul. When thus compos'd the bright Ingredients lay, She nobly drest them in Ethereal Clay; JOVE touch'd the Mass with his enliv'ning Hand, And vital Warmth inspir'd a CUMBERLAND.