Classic Poem

Madam,

As when the first day dawn'd, man's greedy ey
Was apt to dwell on the bright Prodigy,
Till he might careless of his Organ grow,
And so his wonder prove his danger too:
So when our countrey (which was doom'd to be
Close mourner to it's own obscurity,
And in neglected chaos so long lay)
Was rescu'd by your beams into a day,
Like men into a sudden lustre brought,
We Justly fear'd to gaze more then we ought

2

From hence it is you loose most of your right,
Since none can pay't, or durst doe't if they might
It is perfection's misery, that art and wit,
While they would honour, doe but injure it
But as the Deity slights our expense,
And loves devotion more then eloquence:
So 'tis our confidence you are divine,
Makes us at distance thus approach your shrine,
And thus secur'd, to you who need no art,
I that speak least my wit, may speak my heart

3

Then (much above our zealous injury)
Receive this tribute of our shades from me,
While your great splendours, like eternall spring,
To these sad groves such a refreshment bring,
That the despised Countrey may be growne,
And justly too, the envy of the Towne
That so when all mankind at length have lost
The vertuous grandeur which they once did boast,
Of you, like pilgrims, they may here obtaine
Worth to recruit the dying world againe