That to the height of this great Argument,
Thy Universal Sway o’er all the World,
In everlasting Numbers, like the Theme
I may record, and sing thy matchless Worth.
Had the Oxonion Bard thy Praise rehears’d,
His Muse had yet retain’d her wonted height;
Such as of late o’er Blenheim Field she soar’d
Aerial, now in Ariconian Bogs
She lies Inglorious floundring like her Theme
Languid and Faint, and on damp Wing emerg’d