Because the hope is his, that bids him fly
Night's soft repose, and sleep's mild power defy;
That after-ages may repeat his praise,
And fame's fair meed be his for length of days.
Delightful prospect! when we leave behind
A worthy offspring of the fruitful mind,
Which, born and nursed through many an anxious day,
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Shall all our labour, all our care repay.
Yet all are not these births of noble kind,