The works of Sr William Davenant ... Consisting of Those which were formerly Printed, and Those which he design'd for the Press: Now published Out of the Authors Originall Copies |
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A New-years-Gift to the Queen, in the Year 1643.
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 | The works of Sr William Davenant |  |
295
A New-years-Gift to the Queen, in the Year 1643.
1
Madam, 'tis fit I now make evenMy numerous accompts with Heaven,
Least all my old years crimes, if unforgiven,
Should still stand charg'd upon the new:
And, since Confession makes them less,
My greater Crimes I will confess,
Which are, my Praises writ of you.
2
Not that 'tis likely I can beProphane in such a high degree,
To think those Praises are Idolatrie;
But I implore my sorrows may
Excuse me from those torments due
For my attempts of praising you
The Poets dull and common way.
3
First, I confess I did you wrong,When rashly in each Lyrick Song,
I said, your Native Beauty did belong
Unto some Planet of the Night:
As if I fondly could surmise
You had such weak and needy Eyes,
As borrow'd to maintain their light.
4
Next, I confess, with sighs and teares,That to unknown harmonious Spheares
Or to the feather'd Eastern Quiristers
I likned you when you did sing;
Your sweetness, unto Buds and Flowers
When dews of May or April showers
Begin, or consummate the Spring.
5
Be mercifull; and think not onThe course injustice I have done
By either dull and false comparison:
Why should we liken you to ought
We take on trust for Excellence;
Or what doth please the Peoples sence,
Or what by rasher Fame is taught.
6
With greater safety we may dareResemble you to what you are;
And fitly yours unto your own compare,
For when you sing, then we should say
This Musick now doth charme the Eare,
Just like that Musick we did heare
From your own voice the other day.
296
7
And when you breathe, we need not bringSo many Flowers, as in the Spring
Would beautifie an Ethnick offering,
To shew or similize you more:
It were much wiser to declare,
This odour so perfumes the Ayre
As that when you pass'd by before.
8
But oh! How can I hope for rest?Conscience, which to anothers breast
Comes but in visit, as a hasty Guest,
Not only dwells but rules in me;
As if my groanes must ever last;
Because I said that you are chast
Like bashful cold Euridice.
9
Sure he that in his wits distressDoes trust a Fable to express
Your worth, takes silly paines to make it less.
Those who compare your Chastity
Must cautious grow, and only sweare
You are but like to what you were,
When in your blooming Infancy.
10
Madam, since now I have made evenMy numerous accompts with Heaven,
I boldly may expect to be forgiven;
For when I liken or Commend
Each single vertue with the rest
That strive for higher place within your Breast,
I find your Mercy does transcend.
| The works of Sr William Davenant | |