To Her Highness, the lady Mary, eldest daughter of his Royal Highness, the Duke.

Madam,

Being unexpectedly called out of my obscurity, to the glory of serving Your Highness (and indeed the whole court), in an entertainment so considerable as this. My fears and amazements were such as (I believe) shepherds and herdsmen had of old, when from their flocks and herds they were called to prophesy to Kings. I knew not how to interpret the meaning of that command, which laid on such feeble shoulders, a burden too heavy for the strongest to bear. Fain, would I have shrunk back again into my former shades and hid myself in my native obscurity. But fearing to dispute with oracles and resist heavenly powers, I adventured on dangerous obedience, knowing that if I must perish, it was better to perish a martyr, than a criminal. But recollecting myself, I remembered that divine commands were presages rather of favour, than ruin. That when heaven pres sed any to his wars, he gave them courage, as well as pay. This made me hope, that in the glorious work to which I was called, I should be inspired.

And this I thought it my duty to believe, when I remembered in whose service I was employed, in the service of a princess, over whose great and victorious father, a glorious genius always hovered, assisting the meanest of his followers, when engaged in services of his, of what kind soever. And sure (thought I) he will not neglect me, now I serve so fair, so excellent and so considerable a part of him. Now I am under the shadow of his wings, I shall partake of his influence. This made me think it a sin to despair and thrust me on with all the boldness and giddiness (but, to my sorrow, not with the exalted raptures) of one inspired. For, after all, it was not with me according to my faith. This poem savours too little of inspiration and too much of my own weak unassisted self. Nay, as it was first written it came even short of myself and sure that must be a wretched thing which wants the perfection I can give it. And though no man is to blame for having no more wit than he has, yet he is an ill-mannered churl, who will not spend his whole stock to entertain such a guest. For my defects and inabilities, nature alone must answer (and I am heartily sorry for them), but I must, with all submission, charge your highness with being the occasion of my latter offence. If you will invite yourself to the greatest table in England and not give them time to prepare, you will not find an entertainment fit for you. A Poem, is a thing, consists of many and different images and though a man’s estate be but small, yet if it lies in many hands, it will require time to get it in. Nature herself proceeds always slowly and gradually, to perfection. Nay, we find heaven pondering and consulting, when he was to make a creature on which he meant to bestow excellence. I will not pretend, that I have materials in me, to have formed a poem of such perfection, as so great an occasion required. But I am certain I could have written something more worthy of your highness’s favour and the great honour to which this was preferred, had I had time enough allowed me to ripen my conceptions. But (madam) if Your Highness did expect, I should have entitled thoughts fine as your own and made you speak as excellently as you think, you then laid a task on me too great for anything but an angel for none can have angelical thoughts, but they who have angelical virtues. And none do, or ever did, in so much youth, come so near the perfection of angels as yourself and your young princely sister, in whom all those excellencies shine, which the best of us can but rudely paint. But, madam, what need was there of that perfection of wit, the charms of your person, youth and mien, the lustre of your high quality and the extraordinary grace that attended everything you said and did, spoke to the eyes and souls of all that saw you, in a language more divine than wit can invent, in a language wherein nature entertained them with her own ingenuity and by a thousand charming expressions so took up all their attention, that the best of writers could not have made you speak anything, your audience would have been at leisure to regard, or for which they would have descended from one moments pleasure of admiring you. The foresight of this, made fortune, who always loves to favour the least deserving, throw the honour of this service on me. She knew there was no need of excellence in a writer, when there was so much in you; and since the best of writers would not have appeared considerable, indulged her humour in selecting the worst. A favour, which in many respects exalts me above all my contemporaries and will make the world judge me, though not the best, the happiest writer of the age.

But, madam, as it is the fate of all things to be subject to inconstancy and neither happiness nor misery last long, especially when in extremes. This poem, made like the first man, by the command and for the service of a divinity, (almost out of nothing too) and placed at the instant of its formation, in a paradise of happiness and honour, now driven from its bles sed estate and its ever flourishing gardens, is going to wander round the world, in a condition of poverty, misery and exile; where, instead of its past felicit y ’s, the many visions of heaven, when the sovereign glories of this isle descended frequently to visit (and seemed to recreate themselves in) its bowers. Instead of the extreme lustre it received from the most graceful action of your highness, of the princess Anne, your sister and of the other young ladies, which like so many beautiful angels attended you, it is now condemned to want and nakedness, to starve under the cold wind of censure, to all the sufferings that the native of a rich and happy soul, must expect when banished to cold and barbarous regions. In this condition, forced by its misery and bound by the duty of a creature, it makes this humble sacrifice of itself to your highness, to beg such a share of your protection and favour, as may enable it to live in a condition, becoming a creature which had once the honour to be so near to you and to receive such particular graces from you. Your Highness’s favour will yet make it spend its days in honour, revive with pleasure the remembrance of the past glories and give an immortality, not only to this poor poem, but to the (otherwise) most obscure name of,

Madam,

Your Highness’s most humble and most devoted servant,

John Crowne.