No vulgar praise, no venal incenfe flings, Nor dares, with courtly tongue refin'd, Profane thy inborn royalty of mind;

For the reveres herfelf and thee!

With modeft pride, to grace thy youthful : brow,

The laureat wreaths that Cecil, wore the
I brings,

And to thy juft, thy gentle hand,
Submits the fafces of her fway;

While fpirits bleft above, and men below, Join with glad voice the loud fymphonious lay.

GRAND CHORUS.

Thro' the wild waves as they roar,
With watchful eye, and dauntlefs mien,

Thy steady course of honour keep;
Nor fear the rocks, nor féek the shore,
The ftar of Brunswick fhines ferene,

And gilds the horrors of the deep.
JUCE

THE

END.