May His Pretty Dukeship Grow Like T'A Rose Of Jericho: Sweeter Far Than Ever Yet Showers Or Sunshines Could Beget. May The Graces And The Hours Strew His Hopes And Him With Flowers: And So Dress Him Up With Love As To Be The Chick Of Jove. May The Thrice-Three Sisters Sing Him The Sovereign Of Their Spring: And Entitle None To Be Prince Of Helicon But He. May His Soft Foot, Where It Treads, Gardens Thence Produce And Meads: And Those Meadows Full Be Set With The Rose And Violet. May His Ample Name Be Known To The Last Succession: And His Actions High Be Told Through The World, But Writ In Gold.