Vpon the Duke of Yorke his Birth A Panegyricke.

BRittaine, the mighty Oceans lovely Bride,
Now strech thy self (faire Ile) and grow, spread wide
Thy bosome and make roome; Thou art opprest
With thine owne Gloryes: and art strangely blest
Beyond thy selfe: for lo! the Gods, the Gods
Come fast upon thee, and those glorious ods,
Swell thy full gloryes to a pitch so high,
As sits above thy best capacitye.
Are they not ods? and glorious? that to thee
Those mighty Genii throng, which well might bee
Each one an Ages labour, that thy dayes
Are guilded with the Vnion of those Rayes,
Whose each divided Beame would be a Sun,
To glad the Spheare of any Nation.
O if for these thou mean'st to find a seat,
Th'ast need ô Brittaine to be truly Great.
And so thou art, their presence makes thee so,
They are thy Greatnesse; Gods where e're they go
Bring their Heaven with them, their great footsteps place
An everlasting smile upon the face,
Of the glad Earth they tread on, while with thee
Those Beames that ampliate Mortalitie,
And teach it to expatiate, and swell
To Majesty, and fulnesse deigne to dwell.
Thou by thy selfe maist sit, (blest Isle) and see
How thy Great Mother Nature doats on thee:
Thee therefore from the rest apart she hurl'd,
And seem'd to make an Isle, but made a world.
Great Charles! thou sweet Dawne of a glorious day,
Center of those thy Grandsires, shall I say
Henry and Iames, or Mars and Phoebus rather?
If this were Wisdomes God, that Wars sterne father,
'Tis but the same is said, Henry and Iames
Are Mars and Phoebus under divers Names.
O thou full mixture of those mighty soules,
Whose vast intelligences tun'd the Poles
Of Peace and Warre; Thou for whose manly brow
Both Lawrels twine into one wreath, and wooe
To be thy Garland: see (sweet Prince) ô see
Thou and the lovely hopes that smile in thee
Are ta'ne out and transcrib'd by thy Great Mother,
See, see thy reall shadow, see thy Brother,
Thy little selfe in lesse, read in these Eyne
The beames that dance in those full starres of thine.
From the same snowy Alablaster Rocke
These hands and thine were hew'n, these Cherrimock
The Corall of thy lips. Thou art of all
This well-wrought Copy the faire Principall.

Iustly, Great Nature, may'st thou brag and tell
How even th'ast drawne this faithfull Paralell,
And matcht thy Master-Peece: ô then go on
Make such another sweet comparison.
See'st thou that Mary there? ô teach her Mother
To shew her to her selfe in such another:
Fellow this wonder too, nor let her shine
Alone, light such another starre, and twine
Their Rosie Beames, so that the Morne for one
Venus, may have a Constellation.

So have I seene (to dresse their Mistresse May)
Two silken sister flowers consult, and lay
Their bashfull cheekes together, newly they
Peep't from their buds, shew'd like the Gardens eyes
Scarce wakt: like was the Crimson of their joyes,
Like were the Pearle… they wept, so like that one
Seem'd but the others kind reflection.
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 scorne
Acquaintance with the Sunne? what second Morne
At mid-day opes a presence which Heavens eye
Stands off and points at? is't some Deity
Stept from her Throne of starres deignes to be seene…
Is it some Deity? or is't our Queene?
'Tis shee, 'tis shee: her awfull Beauties chase
The Dayes abashed Glories, and in face
Of Noone weare their owne Sunshine, ô thou bright
Mistresse of wonders! Cynthia's is the Night,
But thou at Noone dost shine, and art all Day,
(Nor does the Sunne deny't) our Cynthia,
Illustrious sweetnesse! In thy faithfull wombe,
That' Nest of Heroes, all our hopes finde roome.
Thou art the Mother Phaenix, and thy Breast
Chast as that Virgin honour of the East,
But much more fruitfull is; nor does, as shee,
Deny to mighty Love a Deity▪
Then let the Easterne world bragge and be proud
Of one coy Phaenix, while we have a brood
A brood of Phaenixes; while we have Brother
And Sister Phaenixes, and still the Mother;
And may we long; long may'st thou live, t'encrease
The house and family of Phaenixes.
Nor may the light 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 deare,
To make his costly cradle of thy Beere.
O mayst thou thus make all the yeare thine owne,
And see such Names of joy sit white upon
The brow of every Moneth; and when that's done
Mayest 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 mayest thou laden with such clusters leane
Vpon thy Royall Elme (faire Vine) and when
The Heavens 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 Appollo all this while stands mute,
Expecting by thy voyce to tune his Lute.
But Gods are gratious: and their Altars, make
Pretious their offerings that their Altars take.
Give then this rurall wreath fire from thine eyes.
This rurall wreath dares be thy sacrifice.