VII.

_The Benediction._

Blest payre of Swans, Oh may you interbring Daily new joyes, and never sing, Live, till all grounds of wishes faile, Till honor, yea till wisedome grow so stale, That, new great heights to trie, 175 It must serve your ambition, to die; Raise heires, and may here, to the worlds end, live Heires from this King, to take thankes, you, to give, Nature and grace doe all, and nothing Art. May never age, or error overthwart 180 With any West, these radiant eyes, with any North, this heart.