Pardon, sweet Prince! the thoughts that will intrude,
For want is absent, and dejection rude.
40
Methinks I hear, amid the shouts of Fame,
Each jolly victor hail my Henry's name;
And Heaven forbid that, in that jovial day,
One British bard should grieve when all are gay.
No! let him find his country has redress,
And bid adieu to every fond distress;
Or, touch'd too near, from joyful scenes retire,