’Tis still our duty to adore and praise.
Lo, the bright virtues from her earliest time,
Which souls ungenerous slandered into crime.
Lo, her loved husband’s fame, by foes assailed,
Impotent still. And while each effort failed,
Behold them turn with most dishonest arts,
Against domestic Peace their venomed darts.
Nor sex, nor purity, nor honored age
Could save them from the shafts of blinded rage.
Yet she but lived to triumph and to see