UPON OUR LATE LOSS OF THE DUKE OF CAMBRIDGE.[1]
The failing blossoms which a young plant bears,
Engage our hope for the succeeding years;
And hope is all which art or nature brings,
At the first trial, to accomplish things.
Mankind was first created an essay;
That ruder draught the Deluge wash'd away.
How many ages pass'd, what blood and toil,
Before we made one kingdom of this isle!
How long in vain had nature striven to frame
A perfect princess, ere her Highness came!
For joys so great we must with patience wait;
'Tis the set price of happiness complete.
As a first fruit, Heaven claim'd that lovely boy;
The next shall live, and be the nation's joy.
[1] 'Duke of Cambridge': The Duke of York's second son by Mary d'Este.
He died when he was only a month old, November 1677.