To Stephen Duck, on his late preferment by Her Majesty

Old Homer tho' a Bard divine, (If not by fame bely'd) Stroll'd about Greece; old Ballads sung; A beggar liv'd and dy'd. Fame Milton too, our British Bard, Who as divinely wrote, Sung like an Angel, but in vain; And dy'd not worth a groat. Thrice happy Duck! a milder fate Thy Genius does attend; Well hast thou thresh'd thy Barns and Brains To make a Queen thy friend! O! may she still new favours grant, And make the Laurel thine! Then shall we see next New Year's Ode, By far the last outshine.