Hallow the threshold, crown the posts anew!
The day shall have its due.
Twist all our victories into one bright wreath,
On which let honour breathe;
Then throw it round the temples of our Queen!
'Tis she that must preserve those glories green.
When greater tempests than on sea before
Received her on the shore;
When she was shot at "for the King's own good"
By legions hired to blood;
How bravely did she do, how bravely bear!
And show'd, though they durst rage, she durst not fear.
Courage was cast about her like a dress
Of solemn comeliness:
A gather'd mind and an untroubled face
Did give her dangers grace:
Thus, arm'd with innocence, secure they move
Whose highest "treason" is but highest love.
— William Cartwright
1611–1643
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