So On This Windy Sea

At His Birth A Star, Unseen Before In Heaven, Proclaims Him Come.

And Live Like Nature's Bastards, Not Her Sons.

Sweet Bird, That Shun The Noise Of Folly, Most Musical, Most Melancholy!

So On This Windy Sea Of Land, The Fiend Walked Up And Down Alone Bent On His Prey.

Daughter To That Good Earl, Once President Of England's Council, And Her Treasury, Who Lived In Both, Unstained With Gold Or Fee, And Left Them Both, More In Himself Content, Till Sad The Breaking Of That Parliament Broke Him, As That Dishonest Victory At Chaeronea, Fatal To Liberty, Killed With Report That Old Man Eloquent. Though Later Born Than To Have Known The Days Wherein Your Father Flourished, Yet By You, Madam, Methinks I See Him Living Yet; So Well Your Words His Noble Virtues Praise, That All Both Judge You To Relate Them True, And To Possess Them, Honoured Margaret.