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What Virtue, Tunbridge, will in Thee be found,
If all thy Waters can aſſwage the Wound!

O the tranſcendent Charms! 'Tis Heav'n to gaze.
O the ſurpaſſing Themes! what Tongue can praiſe?
The Bard had Theſe Conſummate Nymphs in view,
(At leaſt, ye Fair, 'tis beſt apply'd to you)
When in prophetic Verſe that Truth he taught,
The Herds Race excels the Poet's Thought.

Hail more than Mortal Sire! Thou Great in Wars!
Forbear to charge Injuſtice on thy Stars;
Tho' Envy dares her preſent Cenſure caſt,
Yet Envy's ſelf ſhall pay Reſpect laſt,
And all the World muſt ſtill conſent to prize
The Father's Potent Arms, the Daughters Radiant Eyes.

                                       L O N D O N:
Printed for Bernard Lintot, at the Croſs-Keys between the two Temple Gates in
Fleet-Street. 1712.                                                                                          (Price 2d.)

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