their title's avow'd by my country.

but why of that epocha make such a fuss,

that gave us th' electoral stem?

if bringing them over was lucky for us,

i'm sure 'twas as lucky for them.

but, loyalty, truce! we're on dangerous ground;

who knows how the fashions may alter?

the doctrine, to-day, that is loyalty sound,

to-morrow may bring us a halter!

i send you a trifle, a head of a bard,

a trifle scarce worthy your care;

but accept it, good sir, as a mark of regard,

sincere as a saint's dying prayer.

now life's chilly evening dim shades on your eye,

and ushers the long dreary night:

but you, like the star that athwart gilds the sky,

your course to the latest is bright.