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Henry King - To the Queen at Oxford
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Great Lady! That thus quite against our use, 
We speak your welcome by an English Muse, 
And in a vulgar tongue our zeales contrive, 
Is to confess your large prerogative, 
Who have the pow`rful freedom to dispense 
With our strict Rules, or Customes difference. 
Tis fit when such a Star deigns to appeare 
And shine within the Academick Spheare, 
That ev`ry Colledge grac`t by your resort, 
Should onely speak the language of your Court; 
As if Apollo`s learned Quire, but You 
No other Queen of the Ascendent knew. 
Let those that list invoke the Delphian name, 
To light their verse, and quench their doting flame; 
In Helicon it were High Treason now, 
Did any to a feign`d Minerva bow; 
When You are present, whose chast vertues stain 
The vaunted glories of her Maiden brain. 
I would not flatter. May that dyet feed 
Deform`d and vicious soules: they onely need 
Such physick, who grown sick of their decayes, 
Are onely cur`d with surfets of false praise; 
Like those, who fall`n from Youth or Beauties grace, 
Lay colours on which more bely the face. 
Be You still what You are; a glorious Theme 
For Truth to crown. So when that Diademe 
Which circles Your fair brow drops off, and time 
Shall lift You to that pitch our prayers climbe; 
Posterity will plat a nobler wreath, 
To crown Your fame and memory in death. 
This is sad truth and plain, which I might fear 
Would scarce prove welcome to a Princes ear; 
And hardly may you think that Writer wise 
Who preaches there where he should poetize; 
Yet where so rich a bank of goodness is, 
Triumphs and Feasts admit such thoughts as this; 
Nor will your vertue from her Client turn, 
Although he bring his tribute in an urn. 
Enough of this: who knowes not when to end 
Needs must by tedious diligence offend. 
`Tis not a Poets office to advance 
The precious value of allegiance. 
And least of all the rest do I affect 
To word my duty in this dialect. 
My service lies a better way, whose tone 
Is spirited by full devotion. 
Thus whil`st I mention You, Your Royal Mate, 
And Those which your blest line perpetuate, 
I shall such votes of happiness reherse, 
Whose softest accents will out-tongue my verse.
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