High on a throne of glitt'ring ore,
Exalted by almighty Fate,
Outshining the bright gem she wore,
The gracious Gloriana sat.

The dazzling beams of majesty,
(Too fierce for mortal eyes to see)
She veil'd, and with a smiling brow,
Thus taught th'admiring world below:

"Since virtue is the chiefest good,
Gay pow'r should only be her dress,
State often taints the purest blood,
Free conscience is a solid peace.

Glory is but a flatt'ring dream
Of wealth that is not, though it seem;
False vision, whose vain joys do make
Poor mortals poorer when they wake.

The fawning crowd of slaves that bow
With praise could ne'er my sense control;
Vast pyramids of state seem low,
So much above it sits my soul."

She spoke, whilst gods unseen that stood
Admiring one so great, so good,
Flew straight to heav'n, and all along,
Bright Gloriana was their song.