An Ode or Song, by all the Muses, in celebration of her Majesty's birthday, 1630

1. Clio. Up, public joy, remember
This sixteenth of November,
Some brave uncommon way:
And though the parish-steeple
Be silent to the people
Ring thou it holy-day.

2. Mel. What though the thrifty Tower,
And guns there spare to pour
Their noises forth in thunder:
As fearful to awake
This city, or to shake
Their guarded gates asunder?

3. Thal. Yet let our trumpets sound,
And cleave both air and ground,
With beating of our drums:
Let every lyre be strung,
Harp, lute, theorbo sprung,
With touch of learned thumbs.

4. Eut. That when the quire is full,
The harmony may pull
The angels from their spheres:
And each intelligence
May wish itself a sense,
Whilst it the ditty hears.

5. Terp. Behold the royal Mary,
The daughter of great Harry!
And sister to just Lewis!
Comes in the pomp and glory
Of all her brother's story,
And of her father's prowess!

6. Erat. She shows so far above
The feigned queen of love,
This sea girt isle upon:
As here no Venus were;
But that she reigning here,
Had put the ceston on!

7. Call. See, see our active king,
Hath taken twice the ring,
Upon his pointed lance:
Whilst all the ravish'd rout
Do mingle in a shout,
Hey for the flower of France!

8. Ura. This day the court doth measure
Her joy in state and pleasure;
And with a reverend fear,
The revels and the play,
Sum up this crowned day,
Her two and twentieth year.

9. Poly. Sweet, happy Mary, all
The people her do call,
And this the womb divine!
So fruitful, and so fair,
Hath brought the land an heir,
And Charles a Caroline!