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No vulgar praise, no venal incense flings,

Nor dares, with courtly tongue refin'd,
Profane thy inborn royalty of mind;

For she reveres herfelf and thee!
With modeft pride, to “grace thy youthful

: brow,
The laureat wreaths that Cecil, wore she

: : brings,

And to thy juft, thy gentle hand,

Submits the fafces of her sway ;
While fpirits bleft above, and men below,
Join with glad voice the loud fymphonious

lay

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GRAND CHORUS.
Thro’ the wild waves as they roar,
With watchful eye, and dauntless mien,

Thy steady course of honour keep;
Nor fear the rocks, nor seek the shore,
The star of Brunswick shines serene,

And gilds the horrors of the deep.

THE END.

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