Birthday Ode for the Duke of Gloucester

— Tacet —

Who can from joy refrain, this gay,
This pleasing, shining, wond’rous day?
For tho’ the sun has all
His summer’s glories on,
This day has brighter splendours far
From a little rising star.

A Prince of glorious race descended
At his happy Birth attended
With rosy, smiling hours, to show
He will golden days bestow.

The Father brave as e’er was Dane
Whose thund’ring sword has thousands slain
And made him o’er half Europe reign.

The Graces in his Mother shine
Of all the Beauties, Saints and Queens
And Martyrs of her line.
She’s great, let Fortune smile or frown,
Her virtues make all hearts her own:
She reigns without a Crown.

Sound the Trumpet and beat the warlike Drum;
The Prince will be with laurels crown’d
Before his manhood comes.
Ah! how pleas’d he is and gay,
When the Trumpet strikes his ear!
His hands like shaking lilies play
And catch at ev’ry spear.

If now he burns with noble flame,
When grown, what will he do?
From Pole to pole he’ll stretch his fame
And all the world subdue.
Then Thames shall be Queen
Of Tyber and Seine,
Of Nilus, of Indus, and Ganges:
And, without foreign aid,
Our fleets be obey’d
Wherever the wide ocean ranges.