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Yet thinks it so. But even that too
New matter for our Muse supplies,
Say then, dread queen, how may we do
Needs must your noble praises' strength,
To the Queen;
UPON HER NUMEROUS PROGENY: A PANEGYRIC.
Britain the mighty Ocean's lovely bride!
Now stretch thyself (fair Isle) and grow; spread wide
Are they not odds? and glorious? that to thee
Are gilded with the union of those rays
Whose each divided beam would be a sun,
Sure if for these thou mean'st to find a seat,
And so thou art; their presence makes thee so:
Of the glad earth they tread on; while with thee
And teach it to expatiate, and swell
To majesty and fulness, deign to dwell;
Thou by thyself may'st sit (blest Isle), and see
Time yet hath dropt few plumes since Hope turned Joy,
And took into his arms the princely Boy,
Whose birth last blest the bed of his sweet mother,
And bade us first salute our prince, a brother.
The Prince and Duke of York.
Bright Charles! thou sweet dawn of a glorious day!
O thou full mixture of those mighty souls
Thy little self in less: trace in these eyne
The beams that dance in those full stars of thine.
From the same snowy alabaster rock
Those hands and thine were hewn; those cherries mock
The coral of thy lips. Thou wert of all
This well-wrought copy the fair principal.
Justly, great Nature, didst thou brag and tell
See'st thou that Mary there? O, teach her mother
Fellow this wonder too, nor let her shine
Alone; light such another star, and twine
These words scarce wakened Heaven, when, lo! our vows
Sat crowned upon the noble infant's brows.
Th' art paired, sweet princess: in this well-writ book
Read o'er thyself; peruse each line, each look.
And when th' hast summed up all those blooming blisses, Close up the book, and clasp it with thy kisses.
So have I seen (to dress their mistress May) Two silken sister-flowers consult, and lay Their bashful cheeks together; newly they
Peeped from their buds, showed like the garden's eyes Scarce waked like was the crimson of their joys, Like were the tears they wept, so like, that one Seemed but the other's kind reflection.
The New-born Prince.
And now 'twere time to say, sweet queen, no more.
Embrace themselves. Our measure is not theirs ;
Die, die, foul misbegotten monsters! die : Make haste away, or e'er the World's bright eye Blush to a cloud of blood.
O far from men
Fly hence, and in your Hyperborean den
Shine forth; nor fear the threats of boisterous War.
While thou, fair halcyon, on a sea of balm
Shalt float; where, while thou lay'st thy lovely head,
To whispers, soft as thine own slumbers be,
Shine then, sweet supernumerary star,
Nor fear the boisterous names of blood and war:
They've here no other business but to die.