To the Queen.

My trembling Muse, with awful Duty press,
 Mong'st kneeling crouds, with thy unfeign'd Address;
 Since meanest Slaves, to Altars may repair,
 With sacred Rites, of Sacrifice and Prayer. 
Heaven takes the Incense, if it is sincere,
 Freely as if the Great, had offer'd there,
 Bless'd with such hopes, my Muse, with Prostrate Zeal,
 Dare at the Feet of her great Sovereign kneel;
 You I revere, like Heaven, not cause you'r high,
 Not for your Glory, but Divinity. 
The radiant Gems, that deck Britannia's Crown,
 Ne'er shone so Bright, till you had put it on;
 You, who have condescended to a Throne. 
In you kind Heaven, the unusual Blessing brings,
 Greatness and Goodness, are consistent Things:
 Your Subjects modest Merits your regard,
 Virtue, not Impudence, now finds Reward;
 Goodness like yours so aws the Bolder sort,
 As makes a Sanctuary of your Court. 
All your Retinue, so reform'd appear,
 As if the Golden Age, were Blooming here;
 Fix'd like the Sun, superior you dispence,
 On all the under World, your blissful Influence. 
The Graces in your smiles, with Grandeur move,
 And form an Air of Majesty and Love:
 Heaven be propitious to my Monarch's Arms,
 And make them as Victorious, as her Charms,
 Revenge on your proud Foes, their Salick Law,
 With your fair Hand, their boasted Greatness awe. 
Why are we barr'd, or why I Woman made,
 Whose Sex forbids to Fight, and to Invade,
 Or give my Queen, more than my wish for Aid? 
I shall not tremble, at the Launce, or Sword,
 Will strait turn Amazon, but speak the Word;
 Scarce can I curb, my eager loyal Soul,
 For you I'd fight, Mankind from Pole to Pole,
 Till all the Kingdoms, in one Empire meet,
 Then lay the Crown at your Imperial Feet. 
They'd bless the Arms, which did their Realms subdue,
 And hug the Chains, which made them Slaves to you;
 May you in Peace, long Rule your Native Land,
 And the just Terror, of Ambition stand:
 May every Subject you protect; Profess
 As much as I, and dare to act no less.