A Congratulatory Poem TO THE MINISTERS SONS, on their Splendid FEAST, Thursday December 7th, 1682.  

REceive a bold unbidden Guest, among  
The least, the worst of all your Nobler throng,  
Who for admittance only dares to Sue,  
Because kind Fate has made him one of you.   

When that wise King, whose young, but mighty hand  
Bore the vast Sceptre of the Sacred Land,  
When him and all his Glories time shall rust,  
Than you shall be obscured with common Dust.   

In vain the trembling Atheist would dethrone  
That Power, which for his Life he dares not own;  
Whilst grateful Heaven its Servants here does grace  
With such a worthy, such a generous Race.   

In vain on Inspiration t'other dotes,  
And humane Learning but a need-not Votes;  
Whilst he the Prophet's Sons so far may find  
Beyond the usual stamp of Humane kind.   

More madly Rome grants to the Sacred Life  
Dozen of Whores, but not one single Wife:  
Since from the holy Matrimonial Flame  
Of Priests, so great, so brave an Army came.   

All here look pure like Truth, like Virtue fair,  
And all breath something more than common Air.  
Envy look round, and when thy Bloodshot Eye  
Can find no Spot, Envy look round and die.   

But as for you, let Plenty pleasure bring,  
And Veil you safe beneath her gentle Wing,  
Till from long happy Ages you remove,  
And all your bright Forefathers meet above.    

LONDON, Printed by J. A. for John Dunton at the Black Raven in the Poultry. 1682. 7. December