Th' Antiquity which other Nations boaſt,
Would here turn Modern, and in age be loſt.
Scotland in Senior Glory will contend,
When lame Chronology with Age grows blind.
Here mighty Anceſtors preſerve their Stile,
From long Preſcription, ancient as the Iſle.
Not raiſ'd on Party Favour, Bribes and Fear,
Blood, Tyranny, Oppreſſion, Theft and War;
Not raiſd by ſtrength OF FACE, or ſtrength of Purſe,
A Stock of Money, or a Stock that's worſe;
But from the Youth of Time, their Names remain,
When Vertue only could that Fame obtain.
Back, further back than Story can relate,
When Infant Nations fix'd their Forms of State.
When Tricks of State and Court Intreague unknown,
No mighty Knave could Brother Villain Crown.
From Blood to Blood their Violence purſue,
Firſt ſteal their Honours, then proclaim 'em due.
By Fraud and ſtrong Oppreſſions Crowns obtain,
While thoſe ſupport the Frauds, and theſe the Reign;
Alternate Violences Fame ſupply,
The modern Fund of mean Nobility.
If there be any thing in Birth and Blood,
Or were Antiquity but underſtood;
If the old Trophies of our Fathers Fame,
