REader, draw near, and offer thy Divine
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Sighs here, as Incense at this Sacred Shrine,
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Which like some choice Regalio, keeps in trust
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The Royal Reliques, and selected Dust
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Of such a QUEEN, as (had Her days been spun
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Out by Her Deeds) might have outliv'd the Sun,
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And forc'd the Worlds great Luminary t'have
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His Chaos, Clymacterick, with Her Grave.
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See! how pale Europ's Princes at the news
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Of Her Translation, have transform'd their hues,
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The Fields disroabed of their best array,
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Looking as dull, and discontent as They.
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The days shrunk shorter, in their shades retire,
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And Autumn seeming with the QUEEN t'expire,
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Bids Night, and Nature, hang the Universe
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With Black, as one Grand Hatchment o'er Her Hearse,
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Since less then Publick Obsequies would be
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Piacular for such a QUEEN as She:
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A Queen to Kings, and Emperors ally'd:
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Great HENRIES Daughter, and Blest CHARLES his Bride;
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Whose Blood with Bourbons have, whole Realms ingrost,
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And redeem'd more, then half the World hath lost.
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Yet did the Pungent Thistle interpose
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'Twixt Her French Lillies, and our English Rose,
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Hail! Queen of Cares, and Crosses! to'st and hurl'd
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Through all the Changes of a giddy World,
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Where Thy fixt Minde maintain'd so calm a State,
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As crown'd Thee conqueror of Thy Self and Fate,
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Claiming the Garland, by Thy matchless Life
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Of a Dear Mother, and Indulgent Wife.
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And having gain'd it, meekly do'st lay down
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A transient Diadem, for a fixed Crown.
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