Virtue’s triumphant shrine, who dost engage | |
At once three kingdoms in a pilgrimage, | |
Which in ecstatic duty strive to come | |
Out of themselves as well as from their home, | |
| 5 | Whilst England grows one camp and London is |
Itself the nation, not metropolis, | |
And loyal Kent renews her arts again, | |
Fencing her ways with moving groves of men, | |
Forgive this distant homage, which doth meet | |
| 10 | Your blest approach on sedentary feet. |
And though my youth, not patient yet to bear | |
The weight of arms, denies me to appear | |
In steel before you, yet, Great Sir, approve | |
My manly wishes and more vigourous love | |
| 15 | In whom a cold respect were treason to |
A father’s ashes, greater than to you; | |
Whose one ambition ‘tis for to be known | |
By daring loyalty your Wilmot’s son. |