Erect thy Crest, Tryumphant OXFORD, see
The Tutelary Gods take care of Thee,
And call One home from banishment to steer
Thy shipwreck'd Barque, and be thy Mariner:
One thou maist trust, whose faith two Kings have prov'd,
Hence the delight of all, and most belov'd:
Whose stock of Vertues made Him first in power
Or'e England, now Our wish'd-for CHANCELLOR.
Go on, Great Hero, let the Church confesse
Thine is a Thirteenth Work for Hercules:
Yours is the Burthen, Ours the Gaine by odds,
That hast restor'd to Us Our exil'd Gods.
Thou by whose beams Our Muses thrive, for Whom
Land-tumults cease, and th' Sea forgets to foame,
Hear Our requests, May OXFORD sprout and grow,
(OXFORD, Your Mother once, Your Daughter now)
Live Our Mecaenas, pile on Books to th' height,
Untill Sir Thomas Bodley groan with weight:
Make LAW amends for its too long disgrace,
Be there no Idiom wanting to this Place:
Let Statutes rule, Restorer be to Us,
(Jove gain'd his lasting Name and Honour thus)
That when You shall (late may it be) go hence,
You may out-vie great Seldens Monuments.