A
Congratulatory Poem
TO THE
MINISTERS SONS, on their Splendid
FEAST, Thursday December 7th, 1682.
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REceive a bold unbidden Guest, among
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The least, the worst of all your Nobler throng,
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Who for admittance only dares to Sue,
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Because kind Fate has made him one of you.
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When that wise King, whose young, but mighty hand
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Bore the vast Scepter of the Sacred Land,
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When him and all his Glories time shall rust,
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Then you shall be obscurd with common Dust.
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In vain the trembling Atheist would dethrone
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That Power, which for his Life he dares not own;
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Whilst grateful Heaven its Servants here does grace
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With such a worthy, such a generous Race.
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In vain on Inspiration tother dotes,
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And humane Learning but a need-not Votes;
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Whilst he the Prophets Sons so far may find
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Beyond the usual stamp of Humane kind.
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More madly Rome grants to the Sacred Life
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Dozens of Whores, but not one single Wife:
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Since from the holy Matrimonial Flame
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Of Priests, so great, so brave an Army came.
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All here look pure like Truth, like Vertue fair,
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And all breath something more than common Air.
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Envy look round, and when thy Blood-shot Eye
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Can find no Spot, Envy look round and dye.
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But as for you, let Plenty pleasure bring,
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And Veil you safe beneath her gentle Wing,
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Till from long happy Ages you remove,
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And all your bright Forefathers meet above.
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