Say, art Thou come, and, to deceive our Eyes
Dissembled under _DORSET's_ fair Disguise?
If so; go on, Great _Sackvile_, to regard
The Poet, and th'imploring Muse reward.
So to Thy Fame a _Pyramid_ shall rise,
Nor shall the Poet fix thee in the Skies.
For if a Verse Eternity can claim,
Thy Own are able to preserve thy Name.
This Province all is Thine, o'er which in vain
_Octavius_ hover'd long, and sought to Reign.
This Sun prevail'd upon his Eagle's sight,
Glar'd in their Royal Eyes, and stop'd their flight.
Let him his Title to such Glory bring,
You give as freely, and more nobly sing.
Reason will judge, when both their Claims produce,
He shall his Empire boast, and Thou the Muse.
_Horace_ and He are in Thy Nature joyn'd,
The Patron's Bounty with the Poet's Mind.

O Light of _England_, and her highest Grace!
Thou best and greatest of thy Ancient Race!
Descend, when I invoke thy Name, to shine
(For 'tis thy Praise) on each unworthy Line,
While to the World, unprejudic'd, I tell
The noblest Poets, and who most excel.
Thee with the Foremost thro' the Globe I send,
Far as the British Arms or Memory extend.

But 'twould be vain, and tedious, to reherse
The meaner Croud, undignify'd for Verse