Classic Poem

Well may the programme of thy tragic stage
Invite the curious pomp-expecting eyes
To gaze on present shows of passèd age,
Which just desert Monarchic dare baptise.
Crowns thrown from thrones to tombs, detomb'd arise,
To match thy muse with a Monarchic theme,
That whilst her sacred soaring cleaves the skies,
A vulgar subject may not wrong the same.
And what gives most of lustre to thy fame—
The worthiest Monarch that the sun can see,
Doth grace thy labours with His glorious name,
And deigns protector of thy birth to be.
Thus all Monarchic; patron, subject, style,
Make thee the Monarch-Tragic of this isle.