R ight Princely virtue, fit to reign! E nthronised in her spirit remain, G uiding our fortunes ever! I f we this Star once cease to see; N o doubt our State will shipwrecked be, A nd torn and sunk for ever.
E XILED ASTRÆA is come again! L o here She doth all things maintain I n number, weight, and measure! S he rules us, with delightful pain, A nd we obey with pleasure!
B y Love, She rules more than by Law! E ven her great Mercy breedeth awe; T his is her sword and sceptre! H erewith She hearts did ever draw, A nd this guard ever kept her.
R eward doth sit in her right hand! E ach Virtue, thence takes her garland, G athered in Honour's garden! I n her left hand (wherein should be N ought but the sword) sits Clemency! A nd conquers Vice with pardon.
E VEN as her State, so is her Mind L ifted above the vulgar kind! I t treads proud Fortune under! S unlike, it sits above the wind; A bove the storms, and thunder.
B rave Spirit! Large Heart! admiring nought! E steeming each thing, as it ought! T hat swelleth not, nor shrinketh! H onour is always in her thought; A nd of great things, She thinketh!
R ocks, pillars, and heaven's axletree E xemplify her Constancy! G reat changes never change her! I n her sex, fears are wont to rise; N ature permits, Virtue denies, A nd scorns the face of danger!
E MPRESS of Kingdoms, though She be; L arger is her Sovereignty, I f She herself do govern! S ubject unto herself is She; A nd of herself, true Sovereign!
B eauty's Crown, though She do wear; E xalted into Fortune's Chair; T hroned like the Queen of Pleasure: H er virtues still possess her ear, A nd counsel her to Measure!
R eason (if She incarnate were) E ven Reason's self could never bear G reatness with Moderation! I n her, one temper still is seen. N o liberty claims She as Queen! A nd shows no alteration!
E NVY, go weep! My Muse and I L augh thee to scorn! Thy feeble eye I s dazzled with the glory S hining in this gay Poesy, A nd little golden Story!
B ehold, how my proud quill doth shed E ternal nectar on her head! T he pomp of Coronation H ath not such power, her fame to spread, A s this my admiration!
R espect my pen, as free and frank; E xpecting nor reward, nor thank! G reat wonder only moves it! I never made it mercenary! N or should my Muse, this burden carry A s hired; but that she loves it!