A CONGRATULATORY POEM TO HER MOST Sacred Majesty, ON THE UNIVERSAL HOPES OF ALL Loyal Persons FOR A PRINCE of WALES. By Mrs. A. BEHN.  
LONDON, Printed for Will. Canning, at his Shop in the Temple-Cloysters, 1688.   

A CONGRATULATORY POEM TO HER MOST Sacred Majesty, etc.  
THE Mighty BLESSING is at last arrived:  
Heaven has, at last, the Wondrous WORK achieved.  
Long did th' ALMIGHTY pause, and long debate;  
For MONARCHES are not fashioned at a Heat.  

So the first Nations, that were blessed by Heaven,  
Had the Eternal WORD by Promise given.  
The Faithful did the Coming GOD believe,  
And even that Faith alone had Power to save.   

If Gods we may with Humane Things compare,  
(For Gods and Kings allied most nearly are)  
This is the Second Birth the World e'er knew,  
So long Expected, so much Wanted too.   

Like the first sacred Infant, this will come  
With Promise laden from the Blessed Womb,  
To call the wandering, scattered Nations home.  
Adoring PRINCES shall arrive from far,  
Informed by ANGELS, guided by his Star,  
The Newborn Wonder to behold, and greet;  
And Kings shall offer Incense at his Feet.   

Hail, Royal BOY! whose Coming is designed  
To calm the Murmurs of all Humane Kind.  
On thy great Birth, Depending- Monarches wait:  
From thee the Universe expects its Fate.  
This glorious PROSPECT, like the sacred Law,  
Stints factious Crowds, and keeps the World in awe;  
Breaks their consulted Measures, and overthrows  
All the Designs aspiring STATES propose;  
Arrests the Wheel, in spite of Fortune's Hand,  
And leaves the World's vast Business at a Stand.   

And you, blessed QVEEN, to whom ALL HAIL belongs  
From Angels, rather than from Mortal Tongues;  
Whose Charms of Beauty, Wit and Virtue joined  
To choose you Second Blessed of Womankind.   

ALL HAIL,—  
O Sacred VESSEL, fraught with England's STORE;  
(A PRIZE more valued, ATLAS never ●ore;)  
Guard safe our TREASURE to the wished for Shore.  
And you, Immortal Powers, who have begun  
Your Noblest ●A●RICK: let your WORK go on:  
The Royal YOUTH with all those Charms adorn,  
The World adores in his bright MOTHER'S Form:  
His Soul, by his Illustrious SIRE'S complete:  
All Hero, all Resolved, Divinely Great.   

Where are ye, O ye once officious NINE,  
That on a Theme so glorious, and sublime,  
Your Voices are not tuned to noblest Song▪  
But, Oh! your Lutes are on the Willows hung  
Your loved BRITANNIA listens now no more;  
MARS frights her from the soft Castalian Shore;  
Upon whose Banks, beneath your ●●a●es, each Day,  
The ravished Nymph, charmed with your Numbers, lay.  
But from your Groves the fickle Maid is gone.  
And all your boasted Harmony's undone.  
But once more tune your Lutes and Voices high;  
Your tenderest Strains, and noblest Numbers try:  
Raise those dejected Eyes, in Sorrow dressed,  
And view the PROSPECT of the dawning East.   

A young APOLLO, rising from the Gloom,  
Dressed in his Father's brightest Rays, shall come;  
(Dispersing all the baneful Mists of Night)  
And bless the Earth with New- created LIGHT;  
Make all the Face of Nature sweet and gay,  
Revive her Birth, and triumph o'er the Day.  
Beneath his Feet Eternal Spring shall spread,  
And blossom from the Lustre round his Head.  
He the faint Muses shall anew inspire.  
And from his Beams▪ kindle their useful Fire:  
His Right Hand Crowns, his Left shall Laurels give;  
And POETS shall by Patron PRINCE'S live:  
On all shall scatter Plenty, joy and Peace,  
Unite the World, and make Dissension cease.   

And you, Dread Monarch! ne'er to be confined  
In any glorious Act you have designed;  
Who, like wise Heaven, need but decree alone,  
And with the Thought, the mighty Task is done:  
Who for a stubborn Nation's Glory toil,  
And court her to be Great against her Will▪  
When you esteemed her worth your Royal Care▪  
You gave her this last Blessing, of an HEIR▪  
O happy KING! to whom a Son is born!  
What more can Fortune, Heaven, and You perform▪   

Behold, with Joy three prostrate Nations come:  
ALBION, HIBERNIA and old CALEDON  
Now join their interests, and no more dispute,  
With saucy Murmurs, who is Absolute;  
Since, from the Wonders of your Life, 'tis plain,  
You will, you shall, and must for ever Reign.   
FINIS.