To the Dutchess of Orleans, when She was taking Leave of the Court at Dover.

THat Sun of Beauty did among us rise,
England first saw the Light of your fair Eyes;
In English too your early Wit was shown;
Favour that Language which was then your own,
When, though a Child, through Guards you made your way,
What Fleet or Army could an Angel stay?
Thrice happy Britain! If she could retain
Whom she first bred within her ambient Main.
Our late-burnt London in Apparel new
Shook off her Ashes to have treated you;
But we must see our Glory snatcht away,
And with warm Tears increase the guilty Se…:
No Wind can favour us; how e're it blows,
We must be wreckt, and our dear Treasure lose
Sighs will not let us half our Sorrows tell;
Fair, Lovely, Great, and best of Nymphs, Farewell▪