Excellent in the two Sister-Arts of Poësie, and Painting.
An ODE.
I.
Thou Youngest Virgin-Daughter of the Skies, Made in the last Promotion of the Blest; Whose Palmes, new pluckt from Paradise, In spreading Branches more sublimely rise, Rich with Immortal Green above the rest: Whether, adopted to some Neighbouring Star, Thou rol'st above us, in thy wand'ring Race, Or, in Procession fixt and regular, Mov'd with the Heavens Majestick Pace; Or, call'd to more Superiour Bliss, Thou tread'st, with Seraphims, the vast Abyss. What ever happy Region be thy place, Cease thy Celestial Song a little space; (Thou wilt have Time enough for Hymns Divine, Since Heav'ns Eternal Year is thine.) Hear then a Mortal Muse thy Praise rehearse, In no ignoble Verse; But such as thy own voice did practise here, When thy first Fruits of Poesie were giv'n; To make thy self a welcome Inmate there: While yet a young Probationer, And Candidate of Heav'n.