Chapter 4 No.4

May we presume to say, that, at thy birth,

New joy was sprung in heaven, as well as here on earth?

For sure the milder planets did combine

On thy auspicious horoscope to shine,

And even the most malicious were in trine.

Thy brother angels at thy birth

Strung each his lyre, and tuned it high,

That all the people of the sky

Might know a poetess was born on earth.

And then, if ever, mortal ears

Had heard the music of the spheres,

And if no clustering swarm of bees

On thy sweet mouth distill'd their golden dew,

'Twas that such vulgar miracles

Heaven had not leisure to renew:

For all thy blest fraternity of love

Solemnized there thy birth, and kept thy holiday above.