Knew not to prophesy as well as fight;
Then had they known the future men of metre:
Then had the gen’ral and the monarch spy’d
In fate’s fair book, our nation’s equal pride,
That very Pindar’s cousin Peter!
Daughter of thatch, and stone, and mud,
When I, no longer flesh and blood,
Shall join the lyric bards some half a dozen;
Meed of high worth, and, ’midst th’ Elysian plains,
To Horace and Alcæus read my strains,