A Continuation of the Same to the Prince of Wales

But turn we hence to you, as some there be

Who in the Coppy wooe the Deity;

Who think then most succesfull steps are trod

When they approach the Image for the God.

Our King hath shewn his Bounty, Sir, in you,

By giving whom, h'hath giv'n us Buildings too.

For we see Harvests in a showre, and when

Heav'n drops a Dew, say it drops Flowers then,

Whiles all that blessed fatness doth not fall

To fill that Basket, or this Barn, but All.

We know y'have Vertues in you now which stand

Eager for Action, and expect Command;

Vertues now ripe, Train'd up, and Nurtur'd so

That they wait only when you'l bid them flow.

Indulge you then, Our Rising Sun, we may

Say your first Rayes broke here to make a Day:

For though the Light, when grown, powrs fuller streams,

'Tis yet more precious in it's Virgin Beams;

And though the third or fourth may do the Cure,

The Eldest Tear of Balsam's still most pure.

'Tis only then our Pride that we may dwell

As Vertues do in you, compleat and well;

That when a College finish'd, is the sport

And Pastime only of your yonger Court,

An Act, to which some could not well arive

After their fifty, done by you at five,

The late and Tardy Stock of Nephews may

Reading your Story, think you were born Gray;

This is the Thread weaves all our Hopes: for since

All Better Vertues now are call'd the Prince

(As smaller Rivers lose their words, and beare

No name but Ocean when they come in there)

Thence we expect them, as these Streams we know

Can from no other Womb or Bosome flow;

Limne you our Venus then throughout, be she

Christned, some Part at least, your Deity;

That when to take you Painters go about,

They be compell'd to leave some of you out;

Whiles you shew something here that won't admit

Colours and shape, something that cannot sit.

Thus shall you nourish future Writers, who

May give Fame back those things you do bestow:

Where Merits too will be your work, and then

That Age will think you gave not stones, but Men.

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