Of your triumphant festivals hath cheer’d
My drooping soul. Nor be thy name forgot,
Illustrious George: for much to thee I owe
Of heart-felt rapture, as with loyal zeal
Glowing, I pile the crackling bonfire high,
Or hurl the mounting rocket through the air,
Or fiery whizzing serpent; thus thy name
Shall still be honour’d, as through future years
The circling Seasons roll their festive round.
Sometimes, by dire compulsive hunger press’d,