VERSES
ON
THE
EXPECTED
ARRIVAL
OF
QUEEN
CHARLOTTE
,
IN
AN
EPISTLE
TO
A
FRIEND
,
1761.
BY
—
.
YES
—
every
hopeful
son
of
rhyme
Will
surely
seize
this
happy
time
,
Vault
upon
Pegasus's
back
,
Now
grown
an
academic
hack
,
And
sing
the
beauties
of
a
Queen
,
(
Whom
,
by
the
by
,
he
has
not
seen
)
Will
swear
her
eyes
are
black
as
jet
,
Her
teeth
in
pearls
as
coral
set
,
Will
tell
us
that
the
rose
has
lent
Her
cheek
its
bloom
,
her
lips
its
scent
,
That
Philomel
breaks
off
her
song
,
And
listens
to
her
sweeter
tongue
;
That
Venus
and
the
Graces
join'd
To
form
this
Phoenix
of
her
kind
,
And
Pallas
undertook
to
store
Her
mind
with
Wisdom's
chiefest
lore
;
Thus
form'd
,
Jove
issues
a
decree
That
George's
consort
she
shall
be
:
Then
Cupid
(
for
what
match
is
made
By
poets
without
Cupid's
aid
?
)
Picks
out
the
swiftest
of
his
darts
,
And
pierces
instant
both
their
hearts
.
Your
fearful
Prose-men
here
might
doubt
How
best
to
bring
this
match
about
,
For
winds
and
waves
are
ill-bred
things
,
And
little
care
for
Queens
and
Kings
;
But
as
the
Gods
assembled
stand
,
And
wait
each
youthful
bard's
command
,
All
fancy'd
dangers
they
deride
Of
boisterous
winds
,
and
swelling
tide
;
Neptune
is
call'd
to
wait
upon
her
,
And
sea-nymphs
are
her
maids
of
honour
;
Whilst
we
,
instead
of
eastern
gales
,
With
vows
and
praises
fill
the
sails
,
And
when
,
with
due
poetic
care
They
safely
land
the
Royal
Fair
,
They
catch
the
happy
simile
Of
Venus
rising
from
the
sea
.
Soon
as
she
moves
,
the
hill
and
vale
Responsive
tell
the
joyful
tale
;
And
wonder
holds
th'
enraptur'd
throng
To
see
the
Goddess
pass
along
;
The
bowing
forests
all
adore
her
,
And
flowers
spontaneous
spring
before
her
,
Where
you
and
I
all
day
might
travel
,
And
meet
with
nought
but
sand
and
gravel
;
But
poets
have
a
piercing
eye
,
And
many
pretty
things
can
spy
,
Which
neither
you
nor
I
can
see
,
But
then
the
fault's
in
you
and
me
.
The
King
astonish'd
must
appear
,
And
find
that
Fame
has
wrong'd
his
dear
;
Then
Hymen
,
like
a
bishop
,
stands
,
To
join
the
lovers'
plighted
hands
;
Apollo
and
the
Muses
wait
,
The
nuptial
song
to
celebrate
.
But
I
,
who
rarely
spend
my
time
In
paying
court
or
spinning
rhyme
,
Who
cannot
from
the
high
abodes
Call
down
;
at
will
,
a
troop
of
Gods
,
Must
in
the
plain
prosaic
way
The
wishes
of
my
soul
convey
.
May
Heaven
our
Monarch's
choice
approve
,
May
he
be
blest
with
mutual
love
,
And
be
as
happy
with
his
Queen
As
with
my
Chloe
I
have
been
,
When
wandering
thro'
the
beechen
grove
,
She
sweetly
smil'd
and
talk'd
of
love
!
And
O
!
that
he
may
live
to
see
A
son
as
wise
and
good
as
he
;
And
may
his
consort
grace
the
throne
With
virtues
equal
to
his
own
!
Our
courtly
bards
will
needs
be
telling
,
That
she's
like
Venus
,
or
like
Helen
;
I
wish
that
she
may
prove
as
fair
As
Egremont
and
Pembroke
are
;
For
tho'
by
sages
'tis
confest
,
That
beauty's
but
a
toy
at
best
;
Yet
'tis
,
methinks
,
in
married
life
,
A
pretty
douceur
with
a
wife
:
And
may
the
minutes
as
they
fly
Strengthen
still
the
nuptial
tye
,
While
hand
in
hand
thro'
life
they
go
,
Till
love
shall
into
friendship
grow
;
For
tho'
these
blessings
rarely
wait
On
regal
pomp
,
and
tinsel'd
state
,
Yet
happiness
is
virtue's
lot
,
Alike
in
palace
and
in
cot
:
'Tis
true
,
the
grave
affairs
of
state
With
little
folks
have
little
weight
;
Yet
I
confess
my
patriot
heart
In
Britain's
welfare
bears
its
part
;
With
transport
glows
at
George's
name
,
And
triumphs
in
its
country's
fame
:
With
hourly
pleasure
I
can
sit
And
talk
of
Granby
,
Hawke
,
and
Pitt
;
And
whilst
I
praise
the
good
and
brave
,
Disdain
the
coward
and
the
knave
.
At
growth
of
taxes
others
fret
,
And
shudder
at
the
nation's
debt
;
I
ne'er
the
fancied
ills
bemoan
,
No
debts
disturb
me
,
but
my
own
.
What
!
tho'
our
coffers
sink
,
our
trade
Repairs
the
breach
which
war
has
made
;
And
if
expences
now
run
high
,
Our
minds
must
with
our
means
comply
.
Thus
far
my
politics
extend
,
And
here
my
warmest
wishes
end
,
May
Merit
flourish
,
Faction
cease
,
And
I
and
Europe
live
in
Peace
!