Who her, so Great, can paint beside, The Pencil her own Hand did guide? What Verse can celebrate her Fame, But such as She herself did frame?
Though much Excellence she did show, And many Qualities did know, Yet this, alone, she could not tell, To wit, How much she did excel. Or if her Worth she rightly knew, More to her Modesty was due, } That Parts in her no Pride could raise } Desirous still to merit Praise, } But fled, as she deserv'd, the Bays. Contented always to retire, Court Glory she did not admire; Although it lay so neer and faire, It's Grace to none more open were: But with the World how should she close, Who Christ in her first Childhood chose?
So with her Parents she did live, That they to Her did Honour give, As she to them. In a Num'rous Race And Vertuous, the highest Place None envy'd her: Sisters, Brothers Her Admirers were and Lovers: She was to all s'obliging sweet, All in One Love to her did meet. A Virgin-Life not only led, But it's Example might be said. The Ages Ornament, the Name That gave her Sex and Country Fame.
Those who her Person never knew, Will hardly think these things are true: But those that did, will More believe, And higher things of her conceive.
Thy Eyes in tears now, Reader, steep: For Her if't lawful be to weep, Whose blessed and Seraphique End Angels in Triumph did attend.
Alexandreis.
I Sing the Man that never Equal knew, Whose Mighty Arms all Asia did subdue, Whose Conquests through the spacious World do ring, That City-Raser, King-destroying King, Who o're the Warlike Macedons did Reign, And worthily the Name of Great did gain. This is the Prince (if Fame you will believe, To ancient Story any credit give.) Who when the Globe of Earth he had subdu'd, With Tears the easie Victory pursu'd; Because that no more Worlds there were to win, No further Scene to act his Glorys in.
Ah that some pitying Muse would now inspire My frozen style with a Poetique fire, And Raptures worthy of his Matchless Fame, Whose Deeds I sing, whose never fading Name Long as the world shall fresh and deathless last, No less to future Ages, then the past. Great my presumption is, I must confess, But if I thrive, my Glory's ne're the less; Nor will it from his Conquests derogate A Female Pen his Acts did celebrate. If thou O Muse wilt thy assistance give, Such as made Naso and great Maro live, With him whom Melas fertile Banks did bear, Live, though their Bodies dust and ashes are; Whose Laurels were not fresher, than their Fame Is now, and will for ever be the same. If the like favour thou wilt grant to me, O Queen of Verse, I'll not ungrateful be, My choicest hours to thee I'll Dedicate, 'Tis thou shalt rule, 'tis thou shalt be my Fate. But if Coy Goddess thou shalt this deny, And from my humble suit disdaining fly, I'll stoop and beg no more, since I know this, Writing of him, I cannot write amiss: His lofty Deeds will raise each feeble line, And God-like Acts will make my Verse Divine.