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His arms he finds on vain attempts employ'd,
Th’ambitious projects for his race destroy'd,
The works of ages sunk in one campaign,
And lives of millions sacrific'd in vain.

Such are th' effects of Anna's royal cares:
By her, Britannia, great in foreign wars,
Ranges through nations, wheresoe’er disjoin'd,
Without the wonted aid of sea and wind.
By her th’unfetter'd Ister's states are free,
And taste the sweets of English liberty:
But who can tell the joys of those that lie
Beneath the constant influence of her eye!
Whilst, in diffusive show'rs, her bounties fall
Like heav'n's indulgence, and descend on all,
Secure the happy, succour the distrest,
Make ev'ry subject glad, and a whole people blest.

Thus would I fąin Britannia's wars rehearse,
In the smooth records of a faithful verse;
That, if such numbers can o'er time prevail,
May tell posterity the wondrous tale.
When actions, unadorn’d, are faint and weak,
Cities and countries must be taught to speak;
Gods may descend in factions from the skies,
And rivers from their oozy beds arise;
Fiction may deck the truth with spurious rays,
And round the hero cast a borrow'd blaze.
Marlbro's exploits appear divinely bright,
And proudly shine in their own native light;
Rais'd of themselves, their genuine charms they boast,
And those who paint them truest praise them mostu

ROS A M O N D.

AN OPERA.

INSCRIBED

TO HER GRACE

THE

DUCHESS OF MARLBOROUGH,

Hic quos durus amor crudeli tabe peredit
Secreti celant Calles, et Myrtea circùm
Sylva tegit.

Virg. Æn.6.

VOL. VI.

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The operą first Italian masters taught,
Enrich'd with songs, but innocent of thought,
Britannia's learned theatre disdains
Melodious trifles, and enervate strains;
And blushes on her injur'd stage to see
Nonsense well tun'd and sweet stupidity.

No charms are wanting to thy artful song,
Soft as Corelli, but as Virgil strong,
From words so sweet new grace the notes receive,
And music borrows helps she us'd to give.
Thy style hath match'd what ancient Romans knew,
Thy flowing numbers far excel the new;
Their cadence in such easy sound convey'd,
That height of thought may seem superfluous aid;
Yet in such charms the noble thoughts abound,
That needless seem the sweets of easy sound.

Landscapes how gay the bow'ry grotto yields,
Which thought creates and lavish fancy builds!
What art can trace the visionary scenes,
The flow'ry groves, and everlasting greens,
The babbling sounds that mimic echo plays,
The fairy shade, and its eternal maze,

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