Now frequent trines the happier lights among,

And high-raised Jove from his dark prison freed, Those weights took off that on his planet hung, Will gloriously the new-laid work succeed.

Methinks already from this chymic flame,
I see a city of more precious mould:
Rich as the town which gives the Indies name,
With silver pav'd, and all divine with gold.

Already laboring with a mighty fate,

She shakes the rubbish from her mounting brow, And seems to have renew'd her charter's date, Which Heaven will to the death of Time allow.

More great than human now, and more august, Now deified she from her fires does rise: Her widening streets on new foundations trust, And opening into larger parts she flies.

Before she like some shepherdess did show,
Who sat to bathe her by a river's side;
Not answering to her fame, but rude and low,
Nor taught the beauteous arts of modern pride.

Now like a maiden queen she will behold,

From her high turrets, hourly suitors come; The East with incense, and the West with gold, Will stand like suppliants to receive her doom.

The silver Thames, her own domestic flood,

Shall bear her vessels like a sweeping train; And often wind, as of his mistress proud,

With longing eyes to meet her face again.

The wealthy Tagus, and the wealthier Rhine, The glory of their towns no more shall boast, And Seyne, that would with Belgian rivers join, Shall find her lustre stain'd, and traffic lost.

The venturous merchant, who design'd more far,
And touches on our hospitable shore,
Charm'd with the splendor of this northern star,
Shall here unlade him, and depart no more.

Our powerful navy shall no longer meet,

The wealth of France or Holland to invade; The beauty of this town without a fleet,

From all the world shall vindicate her trade.

And while this fam'd emporium we prepare,

The British ocean shall such triumphs boast, That those, who now disdain our trade to share, Shall rob like pirates on our wealthy coast.

Already we have conquer'd half the war,

And the less dangerous part is left behind : Our trouble now is but to make them dare,

And not so great to vanquish as to find.

Thus to the eastern wealth through storms we go,
But now, the Cape once doubled, fear no more;

A constant trade-wind will securely blow,
And gently lay us on the spicy shore.

With ravish'd ears
The monarch hears.
Assumes the god,
Affects to nod,

And seems to shake the spheres.

The praise of Bacchus then the sweet musician sung:
Of Bacchus ever fair and ever young:

The jolly god in triumph comes;
Sound the trumpets; beat the drums;
Flush'd with a purple grace,

He shows his honest face;

Now give the hautboys breath: he comes, he comes.
Bacchus, ever fair and young,

Drinking joys did first ordain ;
Bacchus' blessings are a treasure,
Drinking is the soldier's pleasure.

Rich the treasure,
Sweet the pleasure;

Sweet is pleasure after pain