To the Queene

A Night-peece most affects the Eye;
Sad Words and Notes charme powerfully:
The pleasing Sorrow they impart,
Slides sweetly to the melting Heart.
Since no sincere Delight we tast,
Our best of Daies with clouds ore-cast;
Wise Nature giddy Mirth disdaines,
And tunes our Soules to Mournefull Straines:
As Aethiop's, who faire colours lack,
Place Beauty in the deepest Black.
And we are counsell'd to be Guests,
Rather at Death's, then Hymen's Feasts.
This was that well-limn'd Face of Woe,
Where of we but a Coppy show:
To you addrest, whose chearefull Ray
Can turne the saddest Night to Day:
Not to infect, or make it lesse;
But to set-off your Happinesse.
Nor are wee all of Black compos'd,
Our setting Sun serenely clos'd.
And, as in Iob, all Stormes dispell'd,
His Evening farre his Morne excell'd;
So Iuda, in her wandring Race,
At length shall rise to greater Grace.
Our Vowes ascend, that you may tast,
Of these, the onely First, and Last.
And wheresoe're the Subject's Best, the Sense
Is better'd by the Speakers Eloquence.
But Sir, to you I will no Trophie raise
From other Mens detraction or dispraise.
That Iewell never had inherent worth,
Which ask't such Foyles as these to set it forth.
If any quarrell your Attempt or Stile
Forgive them: their owne Folly they revile.
Since 'gainst Themselves their factious Envie shall
Confesse this Worke of Yours Canonicall.
Nor may you feare the Poets common Lot,
Read, and Commended, and then quite forgot.
The Brazen Mines and Marble Rockes shall waste,
When your Foundation will unshaken last.
'Tis Fames best pay, that You your Labours see
By their Immortall Subject crowned bee.
For nere was Author in Oblivion hid,
Who Firm'd his Name on such a Pyramid.