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VVhile I with awful Fear and Trembling paid
Humble Oblations to the mighty Dead,
Methought the sweating Marble did unclose,
And from Death's Mansion the dead Monarch rose;
His Eyes o're all scatter'd a sullen Light,
Such as divides the breaking Day from Night;
By whose faint Rays the Object I discern'd
All pale—with ghastly Majesty adorn'd.
His stiffen'd Loyns a purple Mantle bore,
His Brows a VVreath of wither'd Lawrels wore,
Such as had flourish'd there in Life before.