The fame of virtue ’tis for which I sound, And heroes with immortal triumphs crowned. Fame, built on solid virtue, swifter flies Than morning light can spread my eastern skies. The gathering air returns the doubling sound, And loud repeating thunders force it round; Echoes return from caverns of the deep; Old Chaos dreamt on’t in eternal sleep; Time hands it forward to its latest urn, From whence it never, never shall return; Nothing is heard so far or lasts so long; ’Tis heard by every ear and spoke by every tongue. My hero, with the sails of honour furled, Rises like the great genius of the world. By Fate and Fame wisely prepared to be The soul of war and life of victory; He spreads the wings of virtue on the throne, And every wind of glory fans them on. Immortal trophies dwell upon his brow, Fresh as the garlands he has won but now. By different steps the high ascent he gains, And differently that high ascent maintains. Princes for pride and lust of rule make war, And struggle for the name of conqueror. Some fight for fame, and some for victory; He fights to save, and conquers to set free. Then seek no phrase his titles to conceal, And hide with words what actions must reveal, No parallel from Hebrew stories take Of god-like kings my similes to make; No borrowed names conceal my living theme, But names and things directly I proclaim. ’Tis honest merit does his glory raise, Whom that exalts let no man fear to praise: Of such a subject no man need be shy, Virtue’s above the reach of flattery. He needs no character but his own fame, Nor any flattering titles but his name: William’s the name that’s spoke by every tongue, William’s the darling subject of my song. Listen, ye virgins to the charming sound, And in eternal dances hand it round: Your early offerings to this altar bring, Make him at once a lover and a king. May he submit to none but to your arms, Nor ever be subdued but by your charms. May your soft thoughts for him be all sublime, And every tender vow be made for him. May he be first in every morning thought, And Heaven ne’er hear a prayer when he’s left out. May every omen, every boding dream, Be fortunate by mentioning his name; May this one charm infernal power affright, And guard you from the terrors of the night; May every cheerful glass, as it goes down To William’s health, be cordials to your own. Let every song be chorused with his name, And music pay a tribute to his fame; Let every poet tune his artful verse, And in immortal strains his deeds rehearse. And may Apollo never more inspire The disobedient bard with his seraphic fire; May all my sons their graceful homage pay, His praises sing, and for his safety pray. Satire, return to our unthankful isle, Secured by Heaven’s regard and William’s toil; To both ungrateful and to both untrue, Rebels to God, and to good-nature too. If e’er this nation be distressed again, To whomsoe’er they cry, they’ll cry in vain; To Heaven they cannot have the face to look,