Enrag'd Latona urg'd the silver bow:
Immortal vengeance laid their beauties low.
No more a mother now--too much she mourn'd,
By grief incessant into marble turn'd.

But lovely Bristol, with a pious mind,
Owns all her blessings are from Heav'n assign'd.
Her matchless Lord--her beauteous numerous race!
Her virtue, modesty, and ev'ry grace!
For these, devoutly, to the gods she bows,
And offers daily praise, and daily vows:
Phoebus, well-pleas'd, the sacrifice regards;
And thus the grateful mother's zeal rewards:
'Beauty and wit, to all of Bristol's line!
But each in some peculiar grace shall shine!
Or to excel in courts, and please the fair!
Or Conquest gain thro' all the wat'ry war!
With harmony divine the ear to charm!
Or souls with more melodious numbers warm!
By wond'rous memory shall some excel
In awful senates, and in speaking well!
To hold Astræa's scales with equal hand,
And call back justice to that happy land!
To teach mankind how best the gods to praise!
To fix their minds in truth's unerring ways!

'Thus all her honours, Bristol's sons shall wear,
Whilst each his country's good shall make his chiefest care!'