J. Cleaveland revived poems, orations, epistles, and other of his genuine incomparable pieces never before publisht : with some other exquisite remains of the most eminent wits ... that were his contemporaries.

To the Queen.

Most gracious Queen

IF Poets could be born as oft as you Bring Princes forth, something might then be new. Th' Alembecks of the vvombe and brain run crosse Elixar's, they'r more common then our drosse. Your faire and beautifull soyl pure Manna breeds, When our dull mud is barren too in weeds. Though then you here finde nothing fresh but names, This Verse being writ for Charles, and that for Iames: Yet may they now (like sacred Reliques) be Lov'd and imbrac'd for their Antiquity, Your former teeming taught the costive earth, And barren wives the fashion of a birth;

But now (as if your wise fertilitie, An Extract were of all State-policie) You give example unto men, and teach Loyalty more than our Divines can reach. You that do practise base exactions, and Rail at the needfull taxes of our Land, Thinking your money better spent upon A coach, a feast, or some new fashion, Of devout Rebels, the Nonships which be Wals that imprison us to libertie, Like those Athenian Grandees, who to see The costly madness of one Tragedie, Could scatter large supplies, although 'twas known, This want made them Spectatours of their own. Learn homage now from Majesty, the Queen Her self hath here the best of Subjects been; She payes large tribute, that it may appear, Safety, like Heaven, is never bought too dear. I've read of Romane matrons, who did drown Their richest jewels, to preserve their Town; Stopping the gulph with pearls, which grac'd their ears; They rather chuse no ornaments than fears. And those brave Dames of Carthage were content, To shave their dangling tresses, which they lent For cordage then, and glori'd they could see What once was pride, turn'd now to Subsidie:

Baldnesse was beauty there, nor did they care, So they could bend their bows, to lose their hair But you (great Queen) contrive your Coun∣tries good, Not from your locks expence, but from your blood. Each parcell of the Duke, bright as his eyes, Proves you give jewels of a wealthier prise; Who, for a generall safety, wish to be Blest with the pangs of your high agonie, Whil'st the dull lees of man scarce daigne to give Poor common service, that themselves may live;