As the stout Oak, when round his Trunk the Vine
Does in soft Wreaths, and amorous Foldings twine.
And again,
In Charles, so good a Man and King, we see,
A double Image of the Deity.
Oh! Had he more resembled it! Oh why
Was he not still more like; and cou’d not die?
My Lord Landsdown’s Muse, which may claim her Seat in the highest Point of Parnassus, gives us these Instances of her Sentiments in our Favour;
So own’d by Heaven, less glorious far was he,
Great God of Verse, than I, thus prais’d by thee.