Classic Poem

TO THE KING:

Thus S R : againe I kneele; may heaven blesse
Your high Designes, with Glorie and Successe;
May victorie Attend you; but how low
Imperfect Wishes fall to what wee owe?
May you be great, and Happie; and Survive
Glorious to Fame; that Poets may derive
(Poets long Ages hence) from your great Name
All their Invention, all their Art, their Flame.
I need not wish (what Heaven ordains) the Glorie
Immortall, when y' have past this Transitorie;
I would not live to See the Change; though once
I know it must. Long, long 'bove fate or Chance
May you reigne here; and then I wish as much
Glorie, as Immortalitie can touch.
Enough; and if these Accents strike your Ears
With the least pleasure; I will bring a verse
To your Great Name, shall be an Emulation
To all the haughtie Poets, of your Nation.
My hopes live in your Breath; and to your Eyes
My Numbers fall; the Poet lives, or Dies,
As you pronounce. Sir: you may raise a Name
From obscure Nothing, to the Best of Fame;
A Name in nothing happie, but to Sing
The Glories of soe Great, soe Good a King.