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* * * * * SAY, Father Thames, whose gentle pace | |
| Gives leave to view what beauties grace | |
| Your flowery banks, if you have seen | |
| The much-sung Grotto of the queen. | |
| Contemplative, forget awhile | 5 |
| Oxonian towers, and Windsor’s pile, | |
| And Wolsey’s pride (his greatest guilt), | |
| And what great William since has built, | |
| And flowing past by Richmond scenes | |
| (Honored retreat of two great queens), | 10 |
| From Lion House, whose proud survey | |
| Browbeats your flood, look ’cross the way, | |
| And view, from highest swell of tide, | |
| The milder scenes of Surrey side. | |
| |
| Though yet no palace grace the shore, | 15 |
| To lodge that pair you should adore; | |
| Nor abbeys, great in ruins, rise, | |
| Royal equivalents for vice; | |
| Behold a grot, in Delphic grove, | |
| The Graces’ and the Muses’ love; | 20 |
| (O, might our laureate here, | |
| How would he hail his new-born year!) | |
| A temple from vain glories free, | |
| Whose goddess is Philosophy, | |
| Whose sides such licensed idols crown | 25 |
| As superstition would pull down: | |
| The only pilgrimage I know, | |
| That men of sense would choose to go; | |
| Which sweet abode, her wisest choice, | |
| Urania cheers with heavenly voice, | 30 |
| While all the virtues gather round | |
| To see her consecrate the ground. * * * * * | |
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