You have perform’d even in your Moon of age;
Refin’d to Lectures, Playes, to Schooles a stage.
Such vertue got[,] why is your Poet lesse
A Priest then his who had a power to blesse?
So hopefull is my rage that I begin
To shew that feare which strives to keep it in:
And what was meant a blessing soars so high
That it is now become a Prophesie.
Your selfe (our Plannet which renewes our year)
Shall so inlighten all, and every where,