TO THE QUEEN, On her BIRTHDAY.  

FArewel the Year that threatened so  
The fairest Light the World can show;  
Welcome the New, who's every day,  
Restoring what was snatched away  
By pining sickness from the Fair,  
That matchless Beauty doth repair  
So fast as the approaching Spring,  
Which does to flowery Meadows bring  
What the rude Winter from them tore,  
Shall give her all she had before:  
But we recover not so fast  
The sense of such a danger past.  
We that esteemed you sent from Heaven  
A Pattern to this Island given,  
To show us what the Blessed do there,  
And what Alive they practised here.  
When that which we Immortal thought  
We saw so near destruction brought,  
Felt all which you did there endure,  
And trembled yet as not secure.  
So though the Sun Victorious be,  
And from a dark Eclipse set free,  
Th'Influence which we fond fear  
Afflicts our thoughts the following year.  
But that which may relieve our care  
Is, that you have a Help so near  
For all the Evils, you can prove  
The kindness of your Royal Love.  
He that was never known to mourn  
So many Kingdoms from him torn,  
His tears reserved for you more dear,  
More prized than all those Kingdoms were.  
For when no Healing Art prevailed,  
When Cordials and Elixirs failed,  
On your pale Cheeks he dropped the shower,  
Revived you like a dying Flower.    

IMPRIMATUR,  
ROGER L'ESTRANGE. Dec. 5. 1663.