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'Tis He, unequal far in Force, o'ercame
A Fleet secure of Conquest and of Fame,
A Fleet by vast expence for Fight prepar'd,
At once the Spaniards Terror and their Guard.
'Tis he my Pois'nous baleful Breath has Born,
But with a gen'rous and Heroick Scorn.
For Fiends must still this just monition have,
Envy's the Coward's homage to the Brave.
Nor Bajazet shall Rule in favour long,
Tho' he so sweetly Gloriana Sung.
A Son of Phæbus, whose Seraphick lays
Were only equal to her Heav'nly Praise.
But He not claims the Muses art alone,
Whose Nobler Gifts in ev'ry Sphear have shone.
A Soul he boasts with Native Grandeur born,
That my Volpone's Schemes rejects with Scorn:
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