To the Queene

O You, who like a fruitfull Vine,
To this our Royall Cedar joyne:
Since it were impious to divide,
In such a Present, Hearts so ty'd;
Vrania your chast eares invites
To these her more sublime Delights.
Then, with your zealous Lover, daigne
To enter Davids numerous Fane.
Pure Thoughts his Sacrifices are;
Sabaean Incense, fervent Prayer;
This holy Fire fell from the Skies;
The holy Water from his eyes.
O should You with your Voice infuse
Perfection, and create a Muse!
Though meane our Verse, such Excellence
At once would ravish Soule and Sense:
Delight in Heavenly Dwellers move;
And, since they cannot envy, Love:
When they from this our Earthly Spheare
Their owne Coelestiall Musick heare.