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By Plots so rude, so Hellish a Pretence,
As ev'n wou'd call in question Providence:
Or why Avenging Thunder did not strike
Those Cursed hands durst touch the Sacred Ark;
But as where long the Sun is Set in Night,
They with more joy Salute the breaking Light,
Heav'n cast this Cloud before your Radient Beams,
To prove their Force by contrary Extreams;
The Nations all with new Devotion bow,
To Glories never understood till now:
'Twas Majesty and Beauty Aw'd before,
But now the Brighter Vertue they adore.
This the Great Lord of all Your Vows beheld,
And with disdain Hells baffl'd rage repell'd;
He knew Your Soul and the soft Angel there,
And long (kind Rivals) did that Empire share;
And all your Tears, your pleading Eloquence,
Were needless Treasures, lavish'd to convince
Th' Adorer of your known, and Sacred Innocence.
When not for Life the Royal Suppliant mov'd,
But His belief, whom more than Life she lov'd;
From whom, if e're a frown she cou'd receive,
'Twas when She doubted that He cou'd believe;
While he repeats the dear confirming Vows,
And the first soft adressing Lover shows.
By your reflecting Smiles the World was gay,
Faction was fled, and Universal Joy
Made the glad business of the welcome day.
Ah! too secure we baskt beneath the Sun,
And little thought his Race so near was run,
But
