Of heavenly stature, but most human smile,
Gyved with our faults he stands,
Truth’s white and Love’s red roses tendering us,
Whose thorns are in his hands.
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SIR,
WHILE at the helm of state you ride,
Our nation's envy, and its pride;
While foreign courts with wonder gaze,
And curse those councils which they praise;
Would you not wonder, sir, to view
Your bard a greater man than you?
Which that he is, you cannot doubt,
When...