Classic Poem

If I should say, that in your face were seen
Natures best Picture of the Cyprian Queen;
If I should swear under Minerva 's Name,
Poets (who Prophets are) fore-told your fame,
The future age would think it flattery,
But to the present which can witness be,
'Twould seem beneath your high deserts as far,
As you above the rest of women are.
When Mannors name with Villiers joyn'd I see,
How do I reverence your Nobility!
But when the vertues of your Stock I view,
(Envi'd in your dead Lord, admir'd in you)
I half adore them: for what woman can
Besides your self (nay I might say what man)
Both Sex, and Birth, and Fate, and years excel
In Mind, in Fame, in Worth, in living well?
Oh, how had this begot Idolatry,
If you had liv'd in the Worlds Infancy,
When mans too much Religion, made the best
Or Deities, or Semi-gods at least?
But we, forbidden this by piety,
Or, if we were not, by your modesty,
Will make our hearts an Altar, and there pray
Not to, but for you, nor that England may
Enjoy your equal, when you once are gone,
But what's more possible, t'enjoy you long.