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Bring their Heav'n with them: their great footsteps
An everlasting smile upon the face
Of the glad Earth they tread on: while with thee
And teach it to expatiate and swell
To majestie and fulnesse, deign to dwell,
Thou by thy self maist sit, (blest Isle) and see
How thy great mother Nature dotes on thee.
Time yet hath dropt few plumes since Hope turn'd
And took into his armes the princely boy,
Whose birth last blest the bed of his sweet mother,
The Prince and Duke of York.
Bright Charles! thou sweet dawn of a glorious Day!
If this were Wisdome's god, that War's stern father;
'Tis but the same is said: Henry and James
Are Mars and Phoebus under diverse names):
O thou full mixture of those mighty souls
tay parlan 1: Segesweet prince, O see.
vely hopes that smile in thee,
trans hd by thy great mother: 45
thy pill sha low; see thy brother,
It in lesse : trace in these eyne
fall stars of thine.
ale snowy alabaster rock
These han is an 1 thine were he wn; those cherries 50
The cor all of thy lips: thou wert of all
This well-wrought e qie the fair principall.
at Nature, dilst thou brag, and tell
How ov'n th' halst drawn that faithfull parallel,
Anh thy n.ster-piece. O then go on, 55 Mike such an other sweet comparison.
Soest then that Maie there? O teach her mother
To show her to her self in such another.
Follow this wonder too; nor let her shine
Alone: Eht sich another star, and twine
The in rosie beams, that so the Morn for one
Th' art pair'd, sweet princesse : in this well-writ book 65
Close up the book, and clasp it with thy kisses.
So have I seen (to dresse their mistresse May)
Two silken sister-flowers consult, and lay
The new-borne Prince.
And now 'twere time to say, sweet queen, no more. Fair source of princes, is thy pretious store
Not yet exhaust? O no! Heavens have no bound,
Embrace themselves. Our measure is not their's; 80
War, blood, and death-names all averse from Ioy
Heare this, we have another bright-ey'd boy:
Dy, dy, foul misbegotten monsters! dy:
To the Queen.
But stay; what glimpse was that? why blusht
Why ran the started aire trembling away?
'Tis she, 'tis she her awfull beauties chase
The Day's abashèd glories, and in face
Of noon wear their own sunshine. O thou bright 125 Mistresse of wonders! Cynthia's is the Night;
But thou at noon dost shine, and art all day
Illustrious sweetnesse! in thy faithfull wombe,
(Nor does thy sun deny't) our Cynthia.
That nest of heroes, all our hopes find room.
Thou art the mother-phenix, and thy brest
Chast as that virgin honour of the East,
But much more fruitfull is; nor does, as she,
Then let the Eastern world brag and be proud
Of one coy phenix, while we have a brood,
A brood of phenixes: while we have brother
And sister-phenixes, and still the mother.
The house and family of phenixes.
And may we long! Long may'st thou live t'increase