The Copy. 1676

IF to pay Vows, be only due
To Persons, who can equal you;
Then your adorers must be few.

For when in Desarts Kings remain,
Their Name and Office both are vain;
Whilst they have none o're whom to reign.

And Fame (which is the great ones choice)
Is rais'd but by the publick noise;
An Eccho from the Peoples voice.

Hence then my comfort is compleat;
And my design (tho boldly great)
Has no suspition of defeat.

I often hear our Prophets say,
That poorest Mortals safely may,
To Heav'n, their true devotions pay.

Incourag'd thus is my design;
The object of my thoughts divine;
Which here I offer at your Shrine.

When that bright Soul to Heav'n flew;
Her glorious Mantle fell your due;
Her Spirit doubly shar'd to You.

Your Youth she did so justly frame,
Both to her goodness and her fame;
Y' are not the Copy, but the same.

She gave this Age a happy doom,
When she form'd you within her Wombe;
And yours must bless the Age to come.