’Tis then the troubler of the World retreats
From his lost Kingdoms, fill’d with Rage and Shame;
Foil’d and disgrac’d, he to his People goes,
To veil his Loss and aggravate their Woes.
What Happy Language shall describe the Times,
When British Virtue bade the World be free,
Mark’d with a Tyrant’s Fall, his Flight, his Crimes, 150
And with our Hope, Heaven-favour’d Boy, in thee?
Thus all Things happy in the Date agree,
When Charms that grace the Land, and Powers that sway,