By living well, let us secure his days; Moderate in hopes, and humble in our ways, 300 No force the free-born spirit can constrain, But charity and great examples gain. Forgiveness is our thanks for such a day: 'Tis god-like God in his own coin to pay. But you, propitious queen, translated here, From your mild heaven, to rule our rugged sphere, Beyond the sunny walks, and circling year: You, who your native climate have bereft Of all the virtues, and the vices left; Whom piety and beauty make their boast, 310 Though beautiful is well in pious lost; So lost, as star-light is dissolved away, And melts into the brightness of the day; Or gold about the regal diadem, Lost to improve the lustre of the gem. What can we add to your triumphant day? Let the great gift the beauteous giver pay. For should our thanks awake the rising sun, And lengthen, as his latest shadows run, That, though the longest day, would soon, too soon be done. 320 Let angels' voices with their harps conspire, But keep the auspicious infant from the quire; Late let him sing above, and let us know No sweeter music than his cries below. Nor can I wish to you, great Monarch, more Than such an annual income to your store; The day which gave this Unit, did not shine For a less omen, than to fill the Trine. After a prince, an admiral beget; The Royal Sovereign wants an anchor yet. 330 Our isle has younger titles still in store, And when the exhausted land can yield no more, Your line can force them from a foreign shore. The name of Great your martial mind will suit; But justice is your darling attribute: Of all the Greeks, 'twas but one hero's[186] due, And, in him, Plutarch prophesied of you. A prince's favours but on few can fall, But justice is a virtue shared by all. Some kings the name of conquerors have assumed, 340 Some to be great, some to be gods presumed; But boundless power and arbitrary lust Made tyrants still abhor the name of just; They shunn'd the praise this godlike virtue gives, And fear'd a title that reproach'd their lives. The Power, from which all kings derive their state, Whom they pretend, at least, to imitate, Is equal both to punish and reward; For few would love their God, unless they fear'd.