Wer't thou a George, I'd ſpare Thee for his ſake,
And Thee the Guardian of my Fortune make;
The Charms of George fierce Poverty might tame,
Since Wars and Tyrants own the peaceful Name.
Here on this Side you boaſt the Herald's Part,
But that's no Cordial for a poor Man's Heart.
Here Lyons couch, and there a Lyon roars;
Men rage in Want, but are ſerene in Stores.
The ſterneſt Aſpect ſhew'd the greateſt Mind,
When by theſe ſymbols War was firſt deſign'd,
There Lilies ſhew the fickle Pride of France,
Melting away almoſt as they advance;
No fading thing in Greatneſs can endure,
Who's rich to Day, tomorrow may be poor.
The Harp there bends its melancholy Strings,
Ah! Muſick Sadneſs to the Thoughtful Brings.
A Crown its Honours on the whole conveys,
A Sceptre there its Majeſty diſplays;
The ſword defends it by an awful Force;
