100Forgive, unbodied Sovereign, forgive,
And from your shining mansion cast an eye
To pity our officious blasphemy,
When we have said the best we can conceive.
Here stop, presumptuous Muse! thy daring flight,
Here hide thy baffled head in shades of night,
Thou too obscure, thy dazzling theme too bright,
For what thou shouldst have said, with grief struck dumb,
Will more emphatically be supplied
By the joint groans of melancholy Christendom.