_ Oh Albion! hear the gods and me!
Well am I lost, in saving thee.
Not exile or danger can fright a brave spirit,
With innocence guarded,
With virtue rewarded;
I make of my sufferings a merit.
_Alb._ Since then the gods and thou will have it so,
Go; (Can I live once more to bid thee?) go,
Where thy misfortunes call thee, and thy fate;
Go, guiltless victim of a guilty state!
In war, my champion to defend,
In peaceful hours, when souls unbend,
My brother, and, what's more, my friend!
Borne where the foamy billows roar,
On seas less dangerous than the shore;
Go, where the gods thy refuge have assigned,
Go from my sight; but never from my mind.
_Alban._ Whatever hospitable ground
Shall be for me, unhappy exile, found,
'Till heaven vouchsafe to smile;
What land soe'er,--
Though none so dear
As this ungrateful isle,--
O think! O think! no distance can remove
My vowed allegiance, and my loyal love.
_Alb._ and _Alban._ The rosy-fingered morn appears,
And from her mantle shakes her tears,
In promise of a glorious day;
The sun, returning, mortals chears,
And drives the rising mists away,
In promise of a glorious day. [_Ritornelle._
_The farther part of the heaven opens, and discovers a Machine; as
it moves forward, the clouds which are before it divide, and shew
the person of_ APOLLO, _holding the Reins in his Hand.
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