Nor dare we trust so soft a messenger,
  New from her sickness, to that northern air: 
  Rest here a while, your lustre to restore,
  That they may see you as you shone before;
  For yet the eclipse not wholly past, you wade
  Through some remains, and dimness of a shade.

    A subject in his prince may claim a right,
  Nor suffer him with strength impair’d to fight;
  Till force returns, his ardour we restrain,
  And curb his warlike wish to cross the main. 110

    Now past the danger, let the learn’d begin
  The inquiry where disease could enter in;
  How those malignant atoms forced their way;
  What in the faultless frame they found to make their prey,
  Where every element was weigh’d so well,
  That Heaven alone, who mix’d the mass, could tell
  Which of the four ingredients could rebel;
  And where, imprison’d in so sweet a cage,
  A soul might well be pleased to pass an age.

    And yet the fine materials made it weak:  120
  Porcelain, by being pure, is apt to break: 
  Even to your breast the sickness durst aspire;
  And, forced from that fair temple to retire,
  Profanely set the holy place on fire. 
  In vain your lord, like young Vespasian, mourn’d
  When the fierce flames the sanctuary burn’d: 
  And I prepared to pay in verses rude
  A most detested act of gratitude: 
  Even this had been your elegy, which now
  Is offer’d for your health, the table of my vow. 130

    Your angel sure our Morley’s mind inspired,
  To find the remedy your ill required;
  As once the Macedon, by Jove’s decree,
  Was taught to dream an herb for Ptolemy: 
  Or Heaven, which had such over-cost bestow’d,
  As scarce it could afford to flesh and blood,
  So liked the frame, he would not work anew,
  To save the charges of another you. 
  Or by his middle science did he steer,
  And saw some great contingent good appear, 140
  Well worth a miracle to keep you here: 
  And for that end preserved the precious mould,
  Which all the future Ormonds was to hold;
  And meditated in his better mind
  An heir from you, which may redeem the failing kind.

    Blest be the Power which has at once restored
  The hopes of lost succession to your lord! 
  Joy to the first and last of each degree—­
  Virtue to courts, and, what I long’d to see,
  To you the Graces, and the Muse to me! 150
  O daughter of the rose! whose cheeks unite
  The differing titles of the red and white;
  Who Heaven’s alternate beauty well display,
  The blush of morning, and the milky way;
  Whose face is Paradise, but fenced from sin: 
  For God in either eye has placed a cherubin.