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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=455527" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>To His Grace The Duke Of Buckingham And Normanby, At The Camp Before Philipsburgh.</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Return, brave Youth! suspend thy Martial Fire,<br>Nor, like great Berwick, in the Field expire.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Illustrious Exile! thou art gone at last;<br>Thy Toils, and various Dangers now are past:<br>The royal Blood, which flow'd in Berwick's Veins,<br>Is now pour'd out on hostile German Plains:<br>But tho' in Dust thy mortal Part be laid,<br>Yet shall thy dear--bought Laurels never fade:<br>Tho' to a foreign Prince's Service ty'd,<br>You liv'd with Glory, and with Glory dy'd.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">MUSE, look not back, nor vainly mourn the Fate,<br>Which robb'd Britannia of an Arm so great.<br>On the sad Scene may Princes turn their Eye;<br>And from Oppression's fatal Footsteps fly;<br>Of arbitrary Pow'r the Danger see,<br>To British Monarchs the forbidden Tree;<br>Which, like the first, forbid by Pow'r divine,<br>Hurts not themselves alone, but taints their Line.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">SHEFFIELD, since martial Ardor fires your Breast,<br>Make Albion only in that Ardor blest;<br>Nor yet by War alone exalt thy Name;<br>Give Science her hereditary Claim:<br>Return, brave Youth! your longing Country grace;<br>Think what you owe Britannia, and your Race.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Mary+Barber">Mary Barber</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=455527" data-title="To His Grace The Duke Of Buckingham And Normanby, At The Camp Before Philipsburgh. de Mary Barber" data-description="Return, brave Youth! suspend thy Martial Fire,
Nor, like great Berwick, in the Field expire.

Illustrious Exile! thou art gone at last;
Thy Toils, and various Dangers now are past:
The royal Blood, which flow'd in Berwick's Veins,
Is now pour'd ou..."></div>
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