Tixall Poetry.
285
Ah! who would to this world be wedd.
Since that Good Love itselfe is dead?
Forgive the word, she could not dye,
But her mortal dress lay'd by,
To put on immortallitye.
Since that Good Love itselfe is dead?
Forgive the word, she could not dye,
But her mortal dress lay'd by,
To put on immortallitye.
To
Her Royal Highness the Dutchess of York.
on the Happy Birth of the Princess Catherina Laura.
Wise Nature before Summer's heat doth bring
The gentle warmth of Zephir's breathing Spring;
And promises the fruité she will bestow
By smiling fields, and blossomes on each bow.
So this fayre bud, sprung in your beautye's May,
Seemes, at her entrance to the world, to say,
Doubt not, Great Brittayne, but my mother more
And higher blessings has for you in store;
The gentle warmth of Zephir's breathing Spring;
And promises the fruité she will bestow
By smiling fields, and blossomes on each bow.
So this fayre bud, sprung in your beautye's May,
Seemes, at her entrance to the world, to say,
Doubt not, Great Brittayne, but my mother more
And higher blessings has for you in store;
