ruin on! 
  Rich in themselves—­all excellence they find,
  Wit! beauty! wisdom! and a constant mind! 
  No vain desires of change disturb their joy;
  Such sweets, like bliss divine, can never cloy: 
  Fill’d with that spirit which great souls inflame,
  Their wondrous offspring start to early fame. 
  In their young minds, immortal sparkles rise! 
  And all their mother flashes from their eyes! 
  From thence such scenes of beauty charm the sight,
  We know not where o fix the strong delight! 
  Hervey’s soft features—­next, Eliza bright! 
  Anna just dawning, like Aurora’s light! 
  With all the smiling train of Cupids round,
  Fond little loves, with flowing graces crown’d.

    As some fair flowers, who all their bloom disclose,
  The Spanish Jas’min, or the British Rose? 
  Arriv’d at full perfection, charm the sense,
  Whilst the young blossoms gradual sweets dispense. 
  The eldest born, with almost equal pride;
  The next appears in fainter colours dy’d: 
  New op’ning buds, as less in debt to time,
  Wait to perform the promise of their prime! 
  All blest descendants of the beauteous tree,
  What now their parent is, themselves shall be.

    Oh! could I paint the younger Hervey’s mind,
  Where wit and judgment, fire and taste refin’d
  To match his face, with equal art are join’d: 
  Oh best belov’d of Jove! to thee alone,
  What would enrich the whole, he gives to one!

    [A]In Titian’s colours whilst Adonis glows,
  See fairest Bristol more than Venus shows;
  View well the valu’d piece, how nice each part;
  Yet nature’s hand surpasses Titian’s art! 
  Such had his Venus and Adonis been,
  The standard beauty had from thence been seen! 
  Whose arbitrary laws had fix’d the doom
  To Hervey’s form, and Bristol’s ever bloom!

    [B]As once Kazeia, now Eliza warms
  The kindred-fair bequeath’d her all her charms;
  Such were her darts, so piercing and so strong,
  Endow’d by Phoebus both, with tuneful song;
  But far from thee Eliza be her doom;
  Snatch’d hence by death, in all her beauty’s bloom. 
  Long may’st thou live, adorning Bristol’s name,
  With future heroes to augment his fame.

    When haughty Niobe, with joy and pride,
  Saw all her shining offspring grace her side;
  She view’d their charms, exulting at each line,
  And then oppos’d ’em to the race divine! 
  Enrag’d Latona urg’d the silver bow: 
  Immortal vengeance laid their beauties low. 
  No more a mother now—­too much she mourn’d,
  By grief incessant into marble turn’d.

    But lovely Bristol, with a pious mind,
  Owns all her blessings are from Heav’n assign’d. 
  Her matchless Lord—­her beauteous numerous race! 
  Her virtue, modesty, and ev’ry grace! 
  For these, devoutly, to the gods she bows,