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My Lord,
WHile flattering Crouds officiously appear
To give themselves, not you, an happy year;
And by the greatness of their Presents prove
How much they hope, but not how well they love;
The Muses (who your early courtship boast,
Though now your Flames are with their Beauty lost,)
Yet watch their time, that if you have forgot,
They were your Mistresses, the World may not:
Decay'd by Time and Wars, they only prove
Their former Beauty by your former Love;
And now present, as ancient Ladies do,
That courted long at length are forc'd to woo.
For still they look on you with such kind eyes,
As those that see the Churches Sovereign rise;
From their own Order chose, in whose high State,
They think themselves the second choice of Fate.
WHile flattering Crouds officiously appear
To give themselves, not you, an happy year;
And by the greatness of their Presents prove
How much they hope, but not how well they love;
The Muses (who your early courtship boast,
Though now your Flames are with their Beauty lost,)
Yet watch their time, that if you have forgot,
They were your Mistresses, the World may not:
Decay'd by Time and Wars, they only prove
Their former Beauty by your former Love;
And now present, as ancient Ladies do,
That courted long at length are forc'd to woo.
For still they look on you with such kind eyes,
As those that see the Churches Sovereign rise;
From their own Order chose, in whose high State,
They think themselves the second choice of Fate.
When
