Rich with auſpicious luſtre riſe,
Thou faireſt regent of the ſkies,
Conſpicuous with thy ſilver bow!
To thee, a god, ’twas given by Jove
To rule the radiant orbs above,
To Gloriana this below.
II.
With joy renew thy deſtin’d race,
And let the mighty months begin:
Let no ill omen cloud thy face,
Thro’ all thy circle ſmile ſerene.
While the ſtern miniſters of fate
Watchful o’er the pale Lutetia wait,
To grieve the Gaul’s perfidious head;
The hours, thy offspring heav’nly fair,
Their whiteſt wings ſhould ever wear,
And gentle joys on Albion ſhed.
III.
When Ilia bore the future fates of Rome,
And the long honours of her race began,
Thus, to prepare the graceful age to come,
They from thy ſtores in happy order ran.
Heroes elected to the liſt of fame,
Fix’d the ſure columns of her riſing ſtate:
’Till the loud triumphs of the Julian name
Render’d the glories of her reign compleat,
Each year advanc’d a rival to the reſt,
In comely ſpoils of war, and great atchievements dreſt.
Florelio, a Paſtoral, lamenting the death of the marquis of Blandford.
Part of the fourteenth chapter of Iſaiah Paraphraſed.
