TO THE QUEEN, On her BIRTH-DAY.

FArewel the Year that threatned so
The fairest Light the World can shew;
Welcome the New, who's every day,
Restoring what was snatch'd away
By pining sickness from the Fair,
That matchless Beauty doth repair
So fast as the approching Spring,
Which does to flow'ry Meadows bring
What the rude Winter from them tore,
Shall give her all she had before:
But we recover not so fast
The sense of such a danger past.
We that esteem'd you sent from Heav'n
A Patern to this Island giv'n,
To shew us what the Blest doe there,
And what Alive they practis'd here.
When that which we Immortal thought
We saw so near destruction brought,
Felt all which you did there endure,
And trembled yet as not secure.
So though the Sun Victorious be,
And from a dark Eclipse set free,
Th'Influence which we fondly fear
Afflicts our thoughts the following year.
But that which may relieve our care
Is, that you have a Help so near
For all the Evils, you can prove
The kindness of your Royal Love.
He that was never known to mourn
So many Kingdoms from him torn,
His tears reserv'd for you more dear,
More priz'd then all those Kingdoms were.
For when no Healing Art prevail'd,
When Cordials and Elixars fail'd,
On your pale Cheeks he drop'd the shower,
Reviv'd you like a dying Flower.

IMPRIMATUR,

ROGER L'ESTRANGE.

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