Classic Poem

To such great Worth, what lasting Praise is due?
Or where's the Pen that can your Merit shew?
Shew how you slem'd our arbitrary Flood,
And durst in spight of Tyranny be good:
How gen'rously you Art and Nature join,
How sweetly sung the Passage at the Boyne:
How like the Morning Sun, you meet our Eyes,
And by just Steps to your Meridian rise.

Think not, this Author dare attempt your Praise;
No tis an humble Homage which she pays:
As Tenants to their Mannor Lord address
And Tenure by a Pepper-Corn express:
So Kings accept their meanest Subjects Vows,
(Tho' rudely offer'd) with auspicious Brows.