That mighty King, their Prince, their Priest, their Sire;
Their Lawes, Religion, Manners, Life and frame,
And Amais, mount-rais’d, Library of Fame.
Well, I am sped, bids Englands Court adiew,
And by the way the Hiberne bounds I view;
In whose defects, the truth like Razor sharpe
Shall sadly tune, my new-string’d Irish Harpe:
Then scud I France, and crossed the Pyrheneise
At the Columbian heights, which threat the skies;
And coasting Pampelon, I trac’d all Spaine,