As if he for your Head a Crown design'd. }
We shall not search into Fates Secret Womb,
God alone knows the things that are to come;
But should you never sit on _David_'s Throne,
'Tis better to deserve than wear a Crown.
Of Royal Blood, and of great Birth you are,
Born under some benign auspicious Star,
Lov'd by the best, and prais'd by every Tongue,
The glorious Subject of each worthy Song:
The young man's Wish, Joy of each Warlike Wight,
The People's Darling, and the World's Delight.
A Crowd of Vertues fill your Princely Breast, }
And what appears more glorious than the rest, }
You are of Truth and Loyalty possest. }
That I would cherish in you, that would raise
To an admired height, that I would chiefly praise.
Let Fools and subtil Politicians scorn
Fair Vertue, which doth best a Prince adorn:
Whilst you her bright and shining Robes put on,
You will appear more great than _Solomon_.
Let not Great Prince, the Fumes of Vulgar Praise,
Your bolder Spirits to Ambition raise.
We cannot see into the Mist of Fate,
Till time brings forth, you must expecting wait;
But Fortune, rather Providence, not Chance,
The constant, stout, and wise doth still advance.
Let your quick Eye be to her Motions ty'd;
But still let Noble Vertue be your Guide:
For when that God and Vertue points the way,
There can be then no danger to obey.