The True-Born Englishman. (page 52)

Lord Fame’s Eternal Trumpet let her sound;
Listen ye distant Poles, and endless Round.
May the strong Blast the welcome News convey
As far as Sound can reach, or Spirit fly.
To Neighb’ring Worlds, if such there be, relate
Our Hero’s Fame, for theirs to imitate.
To distant Worlds of Spirits let her rehearse:
For Spirits without the helps of Voice converse.
May Angels hear the gladsome News on high,
Mixt with their everlasting Symphony.
And Hell it self stand in suspence to know
Whether it be the Fatal Blast, or no.


    The Fame of Virtue ’tis for which I found,
And Heroes with Immortal Triumphs crown’d.
Fame built on solid Virtue swifter flies,
Than Morning Light can spread my Eastern Skies.

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