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Shalt flote; where while thou layst thy lovely head,
The angry billows shall but make thy bed:
Storms, when they look on thee, shall straight relent;
And Tempests, when they tast thy breath, repent
To whispers soft as thine own slumbers be,
Or souls of Virgins which shall sigh for thee.
Shine then, sweet supernumerary Starre;

Nor feare the boysterous names of Bloud and Warre:
Thy Birthday is their Death's Nativitie;
They've here no other businesse but to die.

To the Queen.

But stay; what glimpse was that? why blusht the day? Why ran the started aire trembling away? Who's this that comes circled in rayes that scorn Acquaintance with the Sun? what second morn At midday opes a presence which Heavens eye Stands off and points at? Is't some Deity Stept from her throne of starres, deignes to be seen? Is it some Deity? or i'st our Queen?

'Tis she, 'tis she: Her awfull beauties chase The Day's abashed glories, and in face

Of noon wear their own Sunshine. O thou bright
Mistresse of wonders! Cynthia's is the night;
But thou at noon dost shine, and art all day
(Nor does thy Sun deny't) our Cynthia.

Illustrious sweetnesse! in thy faithfull wombe,
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,
Deny to mighty Love a Deitie.

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.

And may we long! Long mayst Thou live t'increase
The house and family of Phenixes.
Nor may the life that gives their eye-lids light
E're prove the dismall morning of thy night:

Ne're may a birth of thine be bought so dear
To make his costly cradle of thy beer.

O mayst thou thus make all the year thine own, And see such names of joy sit white upon

The brow of every month! And when th'hast done,
Mayst in a son of His find every son
Repeated, and that son still in another,
And so in each child often prove a Mother.
Long mayst Thou, laden with such clusters, lean
Upon thy Royall Elm, fair Vine! And when
The Heav'ns will stay no longer, may thy glory
And name dwell sweet in some Eternall story!

Pardon, bright Excellence, an untun'd string, That in thy eares thus keeps a murmuring. O speake a lowly Muses pardon, speake Her pardon, or her sentence; onely breake Thy silence. Speake, and she shall take from thence Numbers, and sweetnesse, and an influence

Confessing Thee. Or if too long I stay,

O speake Thou, and my Pipe hath nought to say:
For see Apollo all this while stands mute,
Expecting by thy voice to tune his Lute.

But Gods are gracious; and their Altars make
Pretious the offrings that their Altars take.
Give then this rurall wreath fire from thine eyes,
This rural wreath dares be thy Sacrifice.


Uid tibi vana suos offert mea bulla tumores? Quid facit ad vestrum pondus inane meum? Expectat nostros humeros toga fortior; ista En mea bulla, lares en tua dextra mihi.


Quid tu? quæ nova machina,
Que tam fortuito globo
In vitam properas brevem?
Qualis virgineos adhuc
Cypris concutiens sinus,
Cypris jam nova, jam recens,
Et spumis media in suis,
Promsit purpureum latus;
Concha de patriâ micas,
Pulchrog exsilis impetu;
Statim millibus ebria
Ducens terga coloribus
Evolvis tumidos sinus

Sphæra plena volubili.
Cujus per varium latus,
Cujus per teretem globum
Iris lubrica cursitans
Centum per species vagas,
Et piti facies chori
Circum regnat, & undig
Et se Diva volatilis
Jucundo levis impetu
Et vertigine perfidâ
Lasciva sequitur fugâ
Et pulchrè dubitat; fluit
Tam fallax toties novis,
Tot se per reduces vias,
Erroresque reciprocos
Spargit vena Coloribus;
Et pompa natat ebriâ.
Tali militia micans
Agmen se rude dividit;
Campis quippe volantibus,

Et campi levis æquore Ordo insanus obambulans Passim se fugit, & fugat; Passim perdit, & invenit. Pulchrum spargitur hîc Chaos. Hic viva, hic vaga flumina Ripâ non propriâ meant, Sed miscent socias vias, Communig sub alveo Stipant delicias suas. Quarum proximitas vaga Tam discrimine lubrico, Tam subtilibus arguit Functuram tenuem notis, Pompa ut florida nullibi Sinceras habeat vias; Nec vultu niteat suo. Sed dulcis cumulus novos Miscens purpureus sinus Flagrant divitiis suis, Privatum renuens jubar. Floris diluvio vagi, Floris Sydere publico Latè ver subit aureum, Atque effunditur in suæ Vires undique Copia. Nempe omnis quia cernitur, Nullus cernitur hic color, Et vicinia contumax Allidit species vagas. Illic contiguis aquis Marcent pallidula faces. Unda hic vena tenellulæ, Flammis ebria proximis Discit purpureas vias, Et rubro salit alveo. Ostri Sanguineum jubar Lambunt lactea flumina; Suasu cærulei maris Mansuescit seges aurea;

Et lucis faciles genæ
Vanas ad nebulas stupent;
Subg uvis rubicundulis
Flagrant sobria lilia.
Vicinis adeo rosis
Vicina invigilant nives,
Ut sint & niveæ rosa,
Ut sint & rosæ nives;
Accendunty rose nives,
Extinguunt nives rosas.
Illic cum viridi rubet,
Hic & cum rutilo viret
Lascivi facies chori.
Et quicquid rota lubrica
Cauda stelligere notat,
Pulchrum pergit & in ambitum.
Hic coeli implicitus labor,
Orbes orbibus obvii;
Hic grex velleris aurei
Grex pellucidus ætheris;
Qui noctis nigra pascua
Puris morsibus atterit;
Hic quicquid nitidum et vagum
Cali vibrat arenula

Dulci pingitur in joco.
Hic mundus tener impedit
Sese amplexibus in suis.
Succinetig sinu globi
Errat per proprium decus.
Hic nitant subitæ faces,
Et ludunt tremulum diem.
Mox se surripiunt sui &
Quærunt tecta supercili;
Atg abdunt petulans jubar,
Subsiduntq proterviter.
Atg hæc omnia quam brevis
Sunt mendacia machine!
Currunt scilicèt omnia

Sphæra, non vitreâ quidem, (Ut quondam siculus globus)

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