God prosper long our gracious K[in]g,

Now sitting on the Throne,

Who leads this Nation in a String,

And governs all but One.

 

This is the Day when, right or wrong,

I Colley Bays, Esq;

Must, for my Sack[sic], indite a Song,

And thrum my Venal Lyre.

 

Not he, who rul'd great Judah's Realm,

Ycleped[sic] Solomon,

Was wiser than ours at the Helm,

Or had a wiser Son.

 

He rak'd up Wealth to glut his Fill,

In Drinking, Whores, and Houses,

Which wiser G—e can save, to fill

His Pocket, and his Spouse's.

 

His Head with Wisdom deep is fraught,

His Breast with Courage glows,

Alas! how mournful is the Thought,

He ever shou'd want Foes?

 

For at his Heart he loves a Drum,

As Children love a Rattle,

If not in Field, in Drawing-Room,

He daily sounds to Battle.

 

The Q—n I also pray God save,

His Consort, plump, and dear,

Who, just as he is Wise and Brave,

Is Pious and Sincere.

 

She's courteous, good, and charms all Folks,

Love's one as well as t'other,

Of Arian and of Orthodox,

Alike the Nursing Mother.

 

Oh! may she always meet Success

In ev'ry Scheme and Job,

And still continue to caress

That honest Statesman BOB.

 

God send the P—ce, that Babe of Grace,

A little Whore and Horse,

A little Meaning in his Face,

And Money in his Purse.

 

Heav'n spread o'er all his Family

That broad Illustrious Glare,

Which shines so flat in ev'ry Eye,

And makes 'em all so stare.

 

All marry gratis, Boy, and Miss,

All still increase their Store,

As in Beginning was, now is,

And shall be evermore.

 

But oh! ev'n Kings must die of Course,

And to their Heirs be civil;

We Poets too, on winged Horse,

Must soon ride to the Devil.

 

Then since I have a Son, like You,

May he Parnasses rule;

So shall the Crown, and Laurel too,

Descend from F[oo]l to F[oo]l.