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Regale Lectum Miseriae: or, a Kingly bed of Miserie

In which is contained, a dreame: with An Elegie upon the Martyrdome of Charls, late King of England, of blessed Memory: and Another upon the Right Honourable The Lord Capel. With A curse against the Enemies of Peace, and the Authors Farewell to England. By John Quarles

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—If Kings transgresse,
And prove Tyrannical, we must addresse
Our selves to Heav'n, and by our Prayers desire
Th'assistance of his mercy, to inspire
Our Soules with true obedience, that we may
Strengthen our selves, and passively Obey

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What actively we cannot; for Kings reigne
By God, we therefore ought not to maintaine
Our rage against them; he that shall controul
The actions of a King, burthens his Soul
With a most ponderous crime; If, to suppose
But Ill of Kings be sin; oh how have those
Transgress'd that have destroy'd their King, and made
Him subject, to bad subjects, that betray'd
Their Souls to Tyranny: Oh Heav'n forgive
What they have done, and let their sorrows live
Within their Souls; Oh make them to behold
Their errors; Let not Conquest make them bold.
Here stop my Muse, let's labour to accost
Our former glory, Charles, though we have lost
His Sacred Person, yet we must not loose
His happy memory; Ah who can chuse
But sigh, when as they seate his glorious name
Within their serious thoughts: If ever Fame
Receiv'd a Crown; It was from him, whose worth
My wearied Quill's too weak to blazon forth;
And when the best of my endeavor's done,
I shall but light a Candle to the Sun,
Yet I will spend my strength; a feeble light
Plac'd by a greater, makes it shine more bright:

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He was ('tis not unknown to all the earth)
A Prince by vertue, and a Prince by birth.
In the exordium of his Reigne, he sway'd
The Scepter of this Land, (till time betray'd
Cupid to Mars) with a Majestique brow,
And made his cheerfull subjects hearts to bowe
In honor, and it could not be exprest
Whether he rul'd himself, or subjects best;
He was a Prince, whose life and conversation
Impoverish'd vices, and inrich'd his Nation
With good examples, honor never found
So sweet a harbour, vertue never crown'd
So rare a heart; Love reign'd within his eye,
And there was cloathed with Divinitie,
Vertue and Majesty did seem to strive
Within his Royall breast, which should suruive
In greatest glory, but 'twas soon decided,
Martha and Mary, would not be devided,
No more would they, there was a simpathy
Between them both, for if the one should dye,
The other could not live, they were combin'd
Within his breast, and could not be disjoyn'd.
Oh happy is that Land, where Vertue shall
Meet Majesty within a Princes hall.

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He was a King, not onely over Land,
But over Passion, for he could command
His Royall self, and when approaching trouble
Assail'd his minde, his wisedome would redouble
His present patience, and he would allow
The worst of sorrows, a contented brow;
His undevided soul was alwayes free
To propagate the workes of Pietie;
His heart was still attracted to good motions,
By the true Loadstone of his firme devotions.
He alwayes studied how to recompence
Good deeds with full rewards: as for offence
He sooner would forgive it, then impose
A punishment; his meeknesse made his foes
Grow supercillious, and at last, they made
A private snare, and zealously betray'd
The Lord of Englands life, whose free consent
Granted them a trieniall Parliament
To salve the Kingdomes grievances, but they
Took not the grievances, but Him away;
It could not be distinguish'd which did Reigne
Mars or Apollo, most within his braine:
He was a Cæsar, and the equall fame
Of Warr, and Wisdome dwelt upon his Name;

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As for his Martiall parts, Edge-hill will beare
An everlasting record, how his care
And resolution did maintain that fight,
Till day submitted to th'incroaching night;
Although Heav'ns Generall was pleas'd to bring
Such small conditions, to so great a King;
We must not judge, that 'tis successe, that can
Procure the title of a Valiant man,
For that, will but instruct him how to fly
Upon the wings of popularity;
As for his Theologick parts I may
Without presumption absolutely say
He was a second David, and could raise
A lofty straine to sing his Makers praise;
Read but his Meditations, and you'le finde
His breast retain'd a heav'n-enamel'd minde:
Now Reader, close thine eyes, & doe not read
My following lines, except thy heart can bleed,
And thou not dye; ah heer's a mournfull text,
Imports a death, suppose what follows next,
And 'tis enough; oh that I could ingrosse
The language of the world, t'expresse this losse;
Break hearts, weep eyes, lament your Soveraigns fall,
And let him swimme unto his funerall

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In Subjects teares; oh had yon seen his feet
Mounted the stage of blood, and run to meet
The fury of his foes, and how his breath
Proclaim'd a correspondency with death;
Oh then thy diving heart most needs have found
The depth of sorrow, and receiv'd a wound
That Time could not recure, oh such a fight
Had been sufficient to have made a night
Within this little world, hadst thou but seen
What foul-defending patience stood between
Passion, and him; with what a pleasing grace,
(As if that Death had blush'd within his face)
He look'd upon his people, which surrounded
His mourning Scaffold, whilst his thoughts abounded
With heav'nly raptures; his Angellike voice
Taught Ioy to weep and sorrow to rejoyce;
Teares blinded many, that they could not see
So bloody, so abhorr'd a Tragedie.
He look'd, as if he rather came to view
His Subjects, then to bid them all adue;
Feare had no habitation in his breast,
And what he spoke, was reddily exprest;
Heav'ns sacred Orator devinely tipp'd
His tongue with golden languages, and dipp'd

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His soul in Loves sweet fountaine, so that all
That lov'd, admir'd, and griev'd to see him fall;
Whilst he (submitting Prince) devoutly pray'd
That heav'n would pardon those that had betray'd
His body to the grave; as from his soul
He had forgave them all, and did condole
Their sad conditions; having spent his breath,
He yeelded (like a lambe) unto his death.
Much more he utter'd; but my burthen'd Quill
Recoyles, and will not prosecute my will;
My Pen, and I, must now abruptly part,
Pardon (oh Reader) for love bindes my heart
With chaines of sorrow, let me crave, what I
Shall want in language, that thou wilt supply
In Meditation; but before I let
My quill desert my hand, I'le make it sett
This Tragi comick period to my story,
Charles liv'd in trouble, and he dy'd in glory.
FINIS.