Of pleasure more than may be spoken.
Nought have you "done that misbecame
Your place, your person," or your power.
'Tis a right crown of crescent fame,
Of fitness full befitting dower,
That you, my Lord, "have foremost hand"
In dealing justice round the land.
If set in quaint Shakspearian guise,
Not less the motley-wearing Sage
Gaily presents to serious eyes