University of Virginia Library

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A Dreame.

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3

------Methoughts I saw
A grieved King, whose very looks were Law.
He sigh'd as if his tender heart had taken
A farewell of his body, and forsaken
This lower world, his star-like eyes were fixt
Upon the face of Heav'n, his hands conmixt.
His tongue was parsimonious, yet my eare
(That was attentive) could not prevaile to heare
This whisp'ring eccho: Oh be pleas'd t'incline
Thy sacred eares! was ever grief life mine?
Was ever heart so sad? was ever any
So destitute of joy, that had so many
As I have had? though all be snacth'd from me,
Yet let me have an interest in thee.

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4

Oh Heaven! and there he stop'd, as if his breath
Had stept aside to entertaine a death.
My soul was ravish'd, and the private dart
Of new-bred love, struck pity to my heart,
I could not hold, but silently bequeath
Some drops unto the ground, my soule did cleave
Unto his lips, for every word he spoke
Was ponderous, and would have easily broke
Th'obdurest heart; I turn'd away my eye,
And suddenly methoughts I did espie
A sacrifice; which when I did behold,
My bloud recoiled, and my heart grew cold:
I was transported, and methoughts the place
Whereon I stood, seem'd bloudy for a space:
I trembling, cast my wearied eyes about,
Thinking to finde my former object out,
But he was gone; and in his roome was plac'd
A many-headed monster, that disgrac'd
The very place: they vanish'd, then appear'd
A large-pretending rout, as well be-ear'd
As Balam's Asse, methoughts they did excell
The Asse in eares, but could not speak so well.

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5

Methoughts they call'd a Counsell to contrive
Their high designes, and zealously dislive
Some great Offenders that they thought too wise
To live amongst such eares, such cast-up eyes.
“One I observ'd amongst the studious race
“That had (methoughts) a bone-fire in his face:
“Another I discry'd amongst the pack
“That seem'd to bear a Kingdome on his back:
“Another I beheld which pleas'd me best,
“That could not rule himself, yet rul'd the rest:
“Another I espy'd which seem'd to look
“And read, but at the wrong end of his book:
“Another I observ'd, which seem'd to weep,
“And in conclusion, pray'd himself a sleep:
“Another I discry'd, among these Brothers,
“That vow'd 'twas right, because he'd please the others:
“Another he stood up, and wisely broke
“His long-kept silent lips, and thus bespoke.

Come! let's no longer now be kept in awe,
I'me sure our welfare is the Supreme Law;
A King, that's nothing but a power that is
Subordinate; the Lawes are ours, not His;

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6

Is't not the People makes a King? well, then
If we let him be King, we're fools, not Men:
For now we have him in his own-made snare,
We'l keep him fast, oh that we had His haire!

Come, let's proceed, and if our plots hit right
You shall be Lords at least, and I, a Knight.
And let Malignants prate, their Purses shall
Pay tribute for their tongues at Gold-smiths-hall:
And if they grumble at what we shall doe,
We'l make them pay their lives and money too;
The day is ours, let's not abuse that powre
Which Heav'n hath lent us; for sweet things prove sowre
If not made use of, have we not been poore
And others rich? Come, let's increase our store:
Had we but our deserts, might we not crave
The priviledge of all that others have?
All's ours, and yet our miseries are such
That we are rich in little, poor in much;
Alas! our tender hearts are fill'd with pity
To see so many blind in one poor City;
If they would please in a true zealous fashion
To moderate their long-continued passion,

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7

'Twould much rejoice the Saints, & we will pray
That they may live untill a wiser day;
The'are very pious People, and we could
Both live, and die together, if they would
But furnish our desires with every thing
We want, and dote not too much on a King;
He's but a man at most, and yet they must
Adore His Person, though He be unjust.

I could not chuse but laugh the other day,
I 'spy'd a Cavalier that closely lay
Perdue to kisse his hand, and by and by
He starts away, and when he was as nigh
(That which they call a King) as his own length
His legs (not having that sufficient strength
His hast requir'd) receiv'd a sudden fall
And overturn'd himselfe, his King, and all:
The sight much pleas'd me, being very near,
I never help'd the King, nor a Cavalier:
I soone retreated from that happy place,
And left them both in a distracted case;
But as I went, I was so blest to meet
An upright Sister, whose dividing feet

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8

Stept with such innocency; that my heart
Did almost leap upon her to impart
My new-bred joy; her very looks betray'd
Her heart, indeed she was a lovely Maid;
I bow'd my self, and zealously imbrac'd
The small circumf'rence of her bending waste,
I kiss'd her mouth, and having done that duty,
My lips divided, and I prais'd her beauty;
Extreams of joy did almost make me faint:
I thought, oh! here's a Sister for a Saint:
I was amaz'd; my very soule did move
Between the great extreams of feare, and love;
She smil'd upon me, and that very smile
Prov'd a Restorative, and for a while
I mus'd; at last my lips began to break
As that smile had licenced them to speak;
Oh! then my mouth being ram'd with words, let flie
Both wit, and language, and did soare as nigh
As our Remonstrance, oh! how I did heat
Her eares with my discourse, it was so neat
As if my ready mouth had been the Schoole
Of language, yet she pleas'd to call me Foole;

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9

But 'twas in jest I'm sure, or were it not
'Tis nothing, since my goodnesse has forgot
My Sisters weaknesse, and indeed we men
Must bear with Sisters failings, now, and then;
They often trip in zeal, and sometimes take
A fall, and love it for the Giver's sake:
Our greatest faults they'l pardon for a buss,
Come, we must bear with them, they bear with us;
But after she had call'd me fool, she checkt
Her self; I wisely own'd it with neglect,
I spread my cloake upon the ground, and there
We cool'd our passions in the open aire:
Sister, said I, you have been pleas'd to spend
The name of Foole upon your faithfull friend,
It was my worth you rashly did eclips,
And I'le have satisfaction from those lips
That gave th'affront, let me no longer stay,
My fury will admit of no delay.
Dear Brother, she reply'd, if it be so
You must have satisfaction, tak't below;
You soare too high at first, I must detest
Your lofty play, the middle way is best;

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10

But if you are resolv'd, you shall not say
I'm obstinate; for if you will, you may:
I soone return'd her thanks, and with my hand
I pull'd her close, and made her understand
What I had seen: but oh how she was pleas'd!
Ah verily (said she) the news has eas'd
My longing heart. But when the King fell downe
Thou wert unwise thou hadst not snatch'd His Crowne.
'Tis rarely spoken Sister, had I had
The Crown, I should have made a gallant Lad;
Should I but sway the Scepter of this Land,
I'd make my Subjects die at my command;
I'd lop the great ones off, and make the low
Subordinate to me, I'd make them know
The reines were mine; but at the first I'de steale
Into their hearts, and fool them with my zeal.
I would declare unto the world, and take
An Oath, I acted for Religions sake:
I'd fill them full of novelties, and then
Sister thou knowst the common sort of Men
(Like flies) will buz about my new-made light;
I'd call them Babes of grace, and make them fight

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11

With Cerberus himself in my defence,
My Soule now tells me, 'tis a rare pretence:
I'd hire some baubling Preachers to infuse
Division; and to flatter them with newes.
I'd plump their soules with promises, that they
Should never faile to swear, what should I say;
I'd make my Preachers urge them all to joyne
And fight for God; then will their Plate be mine:
This is an art that lies above the reach
Of every braine: I'd suffer all to Preach
And sow sedition, every one should be
At least a Saint and preach upon a Tree:
And if my great occasions should require
Large summes of money, then would I inspire
A Publique faith; and if it would not rise
That way, I'd make the bellows of Excise
To puffe it up; this is a cleanly way
To sweep up money, Souldiers must have pay.
Sister, thou know'st 'tis no disgracing stealth
To make Religion rob the Common-wealth:
What though Malignants raile at our designes,
We can extract our livings from their fines:

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12

I've spoke enough, now Sister I'le divorce
My nimble tongue from this profound discourse:
Now give me leave to dedicate my heart
To thee (my Patronesse) before I part.
Brother, alas! I am a harmlesse maid,
And we you know are easily betrai'd
By mens delusion: If your love be true,
The zeal of my affections light on you;
You know we ought to love, and none can be
More honest in their harmlesse loves than we,
For we may love each other in the spirit,
And pray, and preach together, and inherit
Our owne desires, whilst others send their cries
To their beloveds, and yet loose the prize.
Sister, thou hast exactly satisfy'd
My large desires: may happinesse bety'd
The thriving spirit, truly 'tis a paine
To part, but that I hope to meet againe:
London, (that nest of worth) that yeilding place,
I am resolv'd to view, within the space
Of forty howres, where I intend to spare
Some time, and see some Brethren I have there,

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13

It is a goodly place, as fame relates,
For there the Sisters live, and all the States;
Truly, th'are very godly, and pretend
Just like our selves, to be a faithfull friend
To King, and Monarchie, when as Alas—
And then I wak'd, and let the other passe
Unutter'd, but indeed I doe confesse
I wish that I had heard a great deale lesse,
And yet (to speak the truth) I was perplext
Because I could not hear what followed next.

This was a midnights dreame, I was in paine
Till night had lull'd me in her armes againe,
And for the space of half a tedious howre
I was disturb'd, till sleep had gain'd some power
Over my slumb'ring senses, but at last
Call'd to the bar of sleep, I there was cast:
I had not long in peacefull pleasure slumber'd,
Before an interposing dreame incumber'd
My quiet fancy, suddenly my eare
Was fill'd with such a noise, as none could heare
Without much fear, as if th'incurved back
Of burth'ned Atlas had begun to crack.

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Methoughts I saw the Heav'ns how they begun
(As if th'ad scorn'd the glory of the Sun)
To frowne upon the earth, which seem'd to flame
Like sulpherous Etna from whose bowels came
Whole Regiments of Spirits which disturb'd
The aire, whose fury hated to be curb'd;
Methoughts they were ambitious to expell
Some Potentate, and make his seat, their Hell:
Methoughts at last (I slumb'ring) seem'd to heare
A single voice that whisper'd in my eare,
Yet thund'red in my heart, which made me grone
At every word; exprest in such a tone
Which would with great facility have turn'd
A Tyrants heart, or else consum'd and burn'd
His breast to ashes, and if language could
Move pity in a flinty-soule, this would,
He bolted forth his griefs, like claps of thunder,
As if each word should cleave a heart in sunder;
His voice being guarded with a pleasing force,
I sacrific'd my eares to his discourse;
Methoughts my soule, my very eares were blest
In giving audience, whilst he thus exprest.

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15

Oh Heaven! oh Earth! how can they chuse but frown
To see them make a foot-ball of a Crown?
How long shall I be made an aym'd at mark
Of pointed envie? shall they make me dark
That I made light? and shall that light devoure
The former principle? Unhappy howre
When my abused willingnesse was made
A Stalk-horse unto those, who have bet'rayd
An Island unto tyranny; whose Lawes
Oppresse true Subjects, and make me the Cause:
Malitious age, and will their fury have
My end, untill it send me to my grave?
A grave most peacefull Place, for I'm sure
There's no Rebellion; there I'le rest secure
Where neither grief, nor care, shall date torment
My sublime soule, there, there lies true content.
There there's the death of sorrow, and the life
Of Peace, and there's a period to all strife.
There's none can mock my woes, there's none can trie
A King, nor make a Garrison, but I.
And what I spake, my soule protests is true,
I am no slave to death, but unto you

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16

My soul's my Gods, and Tyrants doe your worst.

Job's soul was free, when's body was accurst.
But you bloud-thirsty Zelots, learn to know
You never can rise high, if I fall low.
I fear no threats, let torments all conjoyne
Themselves, at last ye'l find them yours, not mine.
What though I suffer here, my sufferings shall
Advance my soul; May they not make you fall?
Let out my life, goe make a streaming floud,
And bath your selves in my diffused bloud.
Let loose your furies, give your passions breath;
And let them biat my body unto death.
I am resolv'd, my heart shall flie above
The reach of fear, and view the God of love;
Consider well, what glory can accrew
From my destruction, to such soules as you;
Be not too rash, but know a cause that's dy'd
In guiltlesse bloud cannot be justify'd,
A prosperous vice shall never claime a right
To perpetuity, 'twill but in-right
A totall ruine, 'tis a greater Fame
To die with virtue, than to live with shame:

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You seek for truth, and yet you goe the way
To make the field of truth a Golgatha;
There is a great antipathy between
Faction, and Feate, and yet my eyes have seen
How you (whose restlesse spirits, still increase
With Faction) seem to study for a Peace;
Doe not mistake, for they that will compose
A difference, must never doe't by blowes.
The worst of Apprehensions may descrie
You nourish Spiders, and destroy the Flie.
Who glories in a crime, will in conclusion
Receive a curse, and with that curse confusion:
I long to be resolv'd, pray tell me why
Ye thinke ye cannot live, except I die?
Your thoughts are vain, 'twill be a tainted breath
That has it's derivation from my death.
Am I a Basiliske? and can my eyes
Devoure you? for you know my body lies
Subject to be destroy'd, not to destroy
(By taking up of Arms) your Kingly joy:
But you suppose, If I should long survive,
I would become laborious, and contrive

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Some new designes, & with my numerous forces
Divert the streame of your unlawfull courses;
Make reason your Companions, walke a while,
Consult together, stride not o're the stile
When as the gap lies open, they're unwise
That will (when they foresee a harme) despise
Preventing means; for if you take this life
From my enjoyment, ye'l beget a strife
That will not end, and when that strife is bred
Then will my wrongs survive, though I am dead,
And you that caus'd my guiltlesse heart to bleed
Will find another to revenge the deed;
Aske Heaven's forgivenesse, for ye cannot crave
Leave to abscond your crimes within my Grave:
Be well assur'd, that ev'ry drop which parts
Out of my veins, shall cleave unto your hearts
Like tangling bird-lime which will hold you fast,
And vengance too, shall find you out at last,
Heav'ns all-surveying eye must needs observe
Your late unpolish'd actions, which deserve
As many torments as th'inraged hand
Of veng'ance can impose, or Heav'n command:

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19

Did I not labour with a serious brest
During the Treaty, to restore some rest
To this distemper'd Kingdome; but the gales
Of Malice, wore oppugnant to my sailes;
My heart was loaded with the large encrease
Of hopeful thoughts, my soul was fill'd with peace
But at the last my hopes prov'd uselesse drosse,
And then I lost a Crowne, and found a Crosse;
Heav'n heare my wish, oh grant I may cōmence
A Doctor, in the art of Patience!
It matters not how poor my Person be,
If at the last I may be crown'd with thee,
Thou knowst the secret corners of my heart
Which is at thy disposing, for thou art
The King of Kings, and unto thee i'le pay
The tribute of my soul, both night, and day.
I am thy Subject, give me grace to stand
Firmly obedient to thy just command.
When for my sins I shall receive thy blowes,
Oh give me power to suffer, not oppose!
Pardon my Enemies which have been strong,
And alwayes studious how to doe me wrong:

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And though they'ave vented that which is untrue,
Father forgive, they know not what they doe.
They hate their King, & are not pleasd with any,
O grant, good God, they may not find too many
The chiefest of their worke, is to devoure;
(Stones have usurpt their hearts, as they my powre!)
Against the sound of Peace, their eares are bar'd
Oh never sure, was Pharaohs heart so hard.
They disrespect their King; it was not so
With Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego;
Their tongues have vilifi'd me oftentimes,
These three were never guilty of such Crimes;
Their hearts had vow'd obedience to their King,
And never try'd by force of Armes to bring
Their own Designes to passe; but their submission
Sent comfort to their souls, and much contrition
To him, whose more then seven times heated brest
Did soon regrest what his hot rage exprest.

But well, since thus it is, I'le strive to sway
The Scepter of my miseries, and lay
A good foundation, that my Foes may build
Their torments on my breast, which shall be fill'd

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21

With true content, I'le labour to support,
(But yet must yeeld, when death shal storm the fort)
I cannot start at death, I know it brings
A finis to my ancient griefs, and sings
Anthems of Peace: how happy's he that can
Flie to his God, and scorne the rage of Man:

Thunder ye Sons of tyranny, let rage
Flash from your sulph'rous souls, strive to ingage
The flames of Etna too, and let them dash
Against my breasts I'le owne them as a flash;
Flatter your souls, prepare your hands to do
A deed, that Heav'n will not advise you to.
I pitty you, my heart cannot forbeare
To sigh; and Nature too, commands a teare;
Oh that my head (like to a Fountaine) could
Furnish my eyes with teares, oh then I would
Begin the morning, and conclude the day
With Dropps, and wash the black-brow'd night away;
Oh let my language whet your dull belief,
'Twas you that fill'd my flowing heart with grief,
And now my Torments more and more excell,
Heav'n grant me breath enough to bid Farewell.

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22

Farewell; sad word, that like a bolt of thunder
Hath more then cleft my reaving heart in sunder.
Death's nothing like the sorrow which I finde
Rasing a towre of woe within my minde.

Thou partner of my soul, how can I die
And leave thee here to weep a Lullaby
To my indulgent babes, how can it be
That I must leave so dear a spouse as thee.
Poor hearts, If I must goe and leave you all
Confus'd together in the common hall
Of this inraged world, what will ye doe
But mourne for me, as I have mourn'd for you?
Oh where will you retire your selves, and spend
Your groaning houres, oh what regarding friend
Will give a minnits audience, or relieve
Your pining wants, or moan to hear you grieve?
What Nation will regard, or entertaine
(A royall) though a miserable traine;
This is a sorrow that divides my breast;
This is a grief that cannot be exprest
Without a fractur'd heart, this is a wound
That makes confusion active to confound.

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23

Were it a possibility to have
Ten thousand Lyons lodg'd within this Cave,
(This trunke of mine) they could not more torment
My heart, then this unbounded discontent;
Should all the Tyrants in the world contrive
A way to make a dying soul survive
With living paine, they never could exceed
The Tyrants of these Times in such a deed;
I have been long imprison'd; and at last
Call'd to the barr; how soon I may be cast
Heav'n knows, not I, for they that were so bold
To bring me thither, will, if not controul'd,
Force me to death, their very looks declare
Their resolutions, whilst their hearts prepare
To suck my veins; Ah thus they have betray'd me,
And smile to see how glorious they have made me
They swell'd like mountain:, and at last brough forth
The Mouse of Reformation, whose worth
Is seated in all lofty braines, and hurl'd
Through every corner of th'inquiring World.
But why should I insist upon your Crimes.
May heav'n forgive you, and send better times:

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24

I know my dayes are short, 'tis therefore meet
To leave this crowne, and buy a winding-sheet,
Be gon terrestiall pleasures, for ye are
But Goalers to your Keepers, and insnare
Your fond beleevers, goe, my heart's no tombe
To give you buriall, seek some other roome;
Fly then my soul; but stay, what hand is this
That seems to hold me from my long'd for blisse;
More sorrows yet; will not th'almighty please
'T afford my soul on earth a minnits ease,
Oh thou that mak'st my harvest full of paines,
Grant that my working soul may reap the gaines;
Grief's grown a Pollitition, and it keeps
A strong reserve; what eye is this that weeps
These briny tears into my fluent heart,
As if those floods should drownd me e're I part;
What voice is this I seem to heare? what tones
Are these that lavish out themselves in groanes?
What ayles my thoughts? what neer related breath
Is this that seems to breath a sudden death
Into my panting breast? methinks I heare
A female voice, cry, must I languish here?

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25

Hard-hearted death, why art thou thus unkinde
To take him hence and leave me here behinde
To weep his obsequies, draw up thy boe,
And send me whether I desire to goe.
Shoot, shoot, oh Death, thou shalt not be withstood,
Come dip thy arrows in my crimson blood,
Feare not, let fly, and let thy rovers hide
Their twi-fork'd heads within my wounded side:

Oh Heav'n, since thou wert pleas'd to joyn our hands
And hearts together, let thy strict cōmands
Urge death to strike us both, that we may fly,
And dedicate our souls t'eternity;
Alasse, what joy, what comfort can acrew
To me, when he shall bid this world adue.
I liv'd within his heart, but ah, if he
Shall quit this earth, what life remaines in me.
Alasse sad heart, what canst thou doe but pine;
Never could grief be parralel'd with mine;
I am the sea of grief, all streames doe tend
Towards me, for ah my sorrows know no end;
The sturdy winds of care, and trouble blowes
Into my soul, my Ocean alwayes flowes

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26

And never ebbes; oh miserable age;
How am I made a subject to their rage
Whose pare-boyl'd souls observe no other dyet
But blood; and seem to rest, in our disquiet;
You all-exceeding Tyrants, if ye thirst
For royall blood, be pleas'd to take mine first,
Mines but a draught, yee'le quickly swill it up,
Alas, it will not yeeld each soul a supp;
You are the fountains from whose brests do spring
The streames of murder, and your souls can sing
Nothing but bloody notes; you can contract
The body of all mischief, and enact
What pleases you; But will you subjugate
Your legall King, whose patience is your hate;
But if you seek his fatall overthrow,
Ye'le murder more then thousands at one blow;
But why doe I thus lavish breath in vain,
On those whose fury have no ears; refraine
My trembling tongue; Tyrants; Ile leave you here,
And turn my thoughts to Charls, whose lif's as dear
To me, as death is cheap to you; Alasse,
My heart is full, I cannot let thee passe

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27

Without a sigh, nor can my eyes forbeare
To wash thy sad remembrance with a teare;
Has Heav'n decreed it? must we be devided
Deare King; and must our sorrows be derided;
Thou great Recorder of my thoughts, to thee
I will resigne; command, and I will be
A subject to thy will; Oh let me have
Thy gracious pardon, then a speedy grave,
For ah what comfort can my wasting breast
Hope to receive, when I am dispossest
Of such a Ioy, alas where shall I seate
My heart; teares are my drink, and sighes my meate,
These palled lippes of mine shall never dare
To owne a smile; I'le live with grief and care,
Except my God will please to take me hence,
And make his glorious Kingdome my defence;
Was it not grief enough to be absented
Five yeers from him, whose absence was lamented
With reall dropps, yet then I could obtaine
Some hopes to see him in his throne againe.

But harke! methinks my Fancy seems to heare
An aire of comfort breathing in my eare,

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28

It is the voice of Charles, whose pleasing breath
Seems to advance me from the shades of death,
Methinkes I heare his language, which distills
Out from the Limbicke of his soul, and fills
My pining heart with a triumphing joy
His voice revives me, but his words destroy,
He thus proceeds;—oh thou that are the vine
Which twists about this twining heart of mine,
Approach my presence, and I will declare
How great my suffrings, and my comforts are:

First I was tost, and banded too, and froe
From place, to place, permitted not to goe
Without a guard, a guard that did pretend
Rather to act a murder, then defend:
Then was I hurred to that fatall place
Of London, where I know I must uncase
My willing soul, which shall rejoyce, when they
That are my Iudges shall presume to lay
Their accusations on me, and declare
My new-coyn'd faults, with their pretended care.
And to advance their plotts, they first infirr
I am a Tyrant, and a Murderer,

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29

Nay, and a Traytor too; If so it be
That I'm a Tyrant, where's my Tyranny?
Or if a Murderer; I here require
To know whose blood it was that quench'd my fire.
Suppose (but Heav'n forbid) it should be true,
It was against my God I sinn'd, not you.
Oh what an age is this, where seeming Reason
Pretends to make me, Traytor, without Treason:
Death; come, and welcome, to my heart, I know
That my Redeemer lives, and that I owe
A debt to Nature, which cannot be pay'd
Till these condemned corps of mine are lay'd;
Now grief be gon, and let my comforts take
Possession of my soul, awake, awake
My slumbring senses, I'le tryumph and sing,
For I have found, that Death hath lost her sting;
My soul informes me, that I must lay downe
This Mortall for a true immortall Crowne,
I'm ravish'd with delight, methinks I have
A Heav'n within my bosome, to inslave
The Hell of torments; grief must stand aloof,
Not daring to approach within my roof;

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30

The pleasures of this world doe seem to run,
And fly (like mists) before the morning Sun,
They're all but transetory; and can lay
No claime to perpetuity, to day
They seem like messengers of Joy; to morrow
They prove sad Heraulds, & proclaime a sorrow.
As for the Joyes of heav'n, they farre surmount
My souls arethmatick, I cannot count
Those numerous delights, which alwayes be
Attendants to the souls eternitie:
Thou great Redeemer, to whose sacred powre
I now addresse my self, my long'd for houre
Is almost come, ther's but a little blase
Remains behinde, and yet methinks my dayes
Seem tedious to my soul; I long to throw
This burden downe, that presses me below,
But since thy pleasure must be done, not mine
Call when thou pleasest; for my soul is thine;
I'le not resist thy hand; but kisse thy rod,
I am thy Creature, thou my gracious God:

Come my indulgent Ioyes, and let my breath
Inhabbit in your eares before my death,

---

31

Thou Consort of my heart, why dost thou waste
Those pearly dropps, why do they make such hast
To leave the sweet possessions of thy eyes,
What? wi't thou make a watry Sacrifice;
Oh doe not weep, Heav'n is not pleas'd to see
Those gliding streames, which trickle down for me;
My tender Babes, oh why doe you stand by
And imitate your Mothers stormy eye,
Restraine those tears; for every drop you shed
Falls on my moyst'ned heart, and there hath bred
A brim-fill'd fountaine, which at last will dround
My heart, and give your selves the greatest wound.
Let not, oh let not, your sad eyes exprssse
So great a sorrow, for my happinesse;
Cheer up; cheer up deare souls, & learne to keep
Those tears, or weep, to see your Mother weep,
Weep not for me, I'm going to receive
A lasting Crowne, oh leave (for heav'ns sake) leave
Those heart-infringing groans, why doe ye vex
My Heav'n-desiring soul, and thus perplex
Your pensive hearts, forbeare, and be appeasd,
Be not displeased, with what Heav'n is pleas'd;

---

32

Oh how can ye expect that hee'l fulfill
Your large desires, if thus you thwart his will;
Come smile upon me, and that smile will give
My heart a great incouragement to live,
Death's but a speedy passage from this life,
Unto a better, and concludes all strife
Between this World and us, whilst here we draw
Corrupted aire we're subject to the law
Of grief and care, which daily circumvents
Discordious hearts with griping discontents.
Be not dejected at my death, but rather
Rejoyce, to think that heav'n will be your father,
Comfort your woefull mother, that hath been
A carefull Parent, and my loyall Queen;
Give her that full Obedience which is due,
And Heav'n will be affectionate to you.
Oh let the feare of God be alwaes plac'd
Before your eyes; Let virtue be imbrac'd;
What ere ye doe, be carefull to reserve
A spotlesse minde, which will at last preserve
Your heav'n-bred souls, let not your furies rage
Into revenge, but labour to asswage

---

33

The flames of anger, let them not aspire
Beyond your reach; Passion's the worst of fire:
Be not too much addicted to the hate
Of any, but be wisely moderate,
And when your hands begin to undertake
A consequentiall worke, be sure t'awake
Your slumb'ring reasons, labour to advise
With hea'n, and he will crowne your enterprise
With full successe; and if your foes should chance
To gaine the day, permit your thoughts to glance
Upon your private Crimes, and learne to know
Th'effect can never absolutely show
The justnesse of a cause, for oftentimes
Just Heav'n is pleas'd to punishing private Crimes
With publique means; God knows my cause was iust;
An yet he lay'd my Armies in the dust:
Shall I repine because I dayly see
My foes prevaile, and triumph over me,
No, no I will not, they shall live to dye,
When I shall dye, to live, and glorifie
The Generall of Heav'n, within wohse Tent
I hope to rest, where Time will ne're be spent.
But now, ah now, these lipps must bid farewell,
Methinks I hear (Deaths Orator) the Bell

---

34

Plead for an issue, and I must not stay,
Death comes in haste, and I must post away:

—But know, my dearest, Heav'n will be
A fitter husband for thee far than me.
Thou need'st not fear thy foes contriving harmess
They cannot keep thee from his folding armes,

---

35

As they have done from mine; oh may wee meet,
I dare not say, within a winding sheet;
For I am sure those weeping Babes will misse
Th'unwelcome absence of so great a blisse;
But when thy husband, heav'n shal please to bring
Thy soul into his Quire, oh then wee'l sing
Prolonged Anthems, where we shall combine
Our souls together, in a place divine;
Till then—oh why, why does thy trembling hand
Freeze within mine? Ah me, why dost thou stand
And gaze upon me? are thy veins afray'd
To entertaine thy blood? has grief betray'd
Thy fainting heart to death, wilt thou precede
My resolutions, give me leave to lead
The way to heav'n; Alasse, and wilt thou die
Because I cannot live? cast back thine eye
Upon thy Royall Issue, doe but see
How fast their sighes doe saile in tears to thee,
Oh let the sight of them revive thy heart,
Cheer up, and give me courage to depart;
For they that dye because another dyes,
Usurpe a Death, and make themselves a prize;
Doe not, oh doe not, thus torment thy soul
For my departure, if you must condole,

---

36

Condole my stay, my soul desires to be
Disolu'd (Indulgent God) and rest with thee;
A bed of Roses; that's a fading sweet,
Oh there's no comfort to a winding sheet,
A Grave's the best of Pallaces; for there
Is neither whining grief, nor pining care:
Why should we scorne this earth that entertains
Our wearied bones, and hides us from our paines;
Earth is a place of worth, yet would I have
Not any dote upon't but for a grave:

Now death; march bravely on, and let thy dart
Sing as it flies unto my obvious heart,
What? art thou daunted? dost thou feare to kill
Because I am a King; what? daunted still?
Why dost thou look so pale? what, art thou charm'd
By Majesty: or has thy self disarm'd
Thy self, or else art thou asham'd to doe
So foul a deed, or wil't thou not imbrew
Thy shaft in Royall blood? Come, lay aside
Thy feare, and shoot, or else my foes will chide:
But hold a while (nor doe I bid thee stay,
Because my soul's desirous of delay)
Once more thou sole-Commandresse of my brest,
Draw nere, before I fall into my rest,

---

37

Approach unto me, let these lipps of mine
In{t}aile a farewell on those cheeks of thine,
Weep not, but let thy tender knees salute
The ground with mine, let's labour to confute
Our sorrows with our prayers, and recommend
Our souls to heav'n, whose glory knows no end;
Thou great, thou glorious, thou all-ruling King,
Thou Rocke, thou fountaine, thou eternall spring
Of Grace; we that are cloathed with the night
Of sin, present our selves into thy sight,
And with unfained hearts devoutly pray
That thou wouldst send thy Son to chase away
Our soul-absconding cloudes, that thou mayst take
A pleasure to behold us, for his sake
We begg this needfull grace, in whom we know
Thou art well pleased, and to whom we owe
A debt unpayable, oh therefore let
Thy satisfying mercy pay our debt;
Oh hear our prayres, which strongly do importune
Thy gracious pardon, though it was our fortune
To be unfortunate, yet let us be
Indulgent Father, fortunate with thee,
Forgive our youthfull sins, and speak some peace
Unto our souls, and as our sins encrease,

---

38

So let thy mercy, more, and more abound,
That having lost our sinnes, thou may'st be found;
Heale our back-slidings, guide us in thy way,
That so our feet may never goe astray;
Oh blesse these blessings, which thy blessed hand
Bestow'd upon me, let them fill the Land
With good examples, guard them from their foes
And send them patience, when thou send'st them woes.
Hear me for them, oh God, & them for me
And hear our Saviour for us all, and be
A father, and a husband to them all,
And let me rise in mercy when I fall;
Strengthen their soules, and teach them to renew
Their patience, when my soul shall bid adue
To this infatuated world, oh let
Their hearts seclude all grief, for 'tis a debt
That must be pay'd, let thy exchequer take
Such ill-coyn'd treasure, as my soul can make,
Oh grant (dear Father) this my great request,
Then take me when thou pleasest to thy rest:
So; now my Ioyes, be cheerfull, let's create
A heav'nly mirth, and let our sorrowes waite
Upon our pleasures, let our watchfull eyes
Observe our makers great imunities.

---

39

Let's first observe how his free hand provided
For us, before we were, how he devided
The water from the land, and made it drie
To entertaine our feet, and made the skie
To give us light, and afterwards, he made
Poor helplesse Man, that suddenly betray'd
Himself to ruine, and by deviation,
Abus'd the glory of his free Creation,
But see the bounty of our God above,
Who quickly turn'd his fury into love,
And sent a speedy balsome to make sound
The deadly anguish of so deep a wound;
And shall we be ungratefull? shall wee not
Remember him, that never yet forgot
To pitty us? and shall we waste our dayes
In vaine contentions, and not give him prayse
That gave us his owne Son? whose willing breath
Redeem'd our souls from everlasting death.
Alasse how miserable had we been,
Had his spontanious death not stept between
Veng'ance, and us, and shall we then deny
What he requirs, if he command that I
Retire unto him, shall my soul refuse
To run unto him, and imbrace the newes,

---

40

Oh no, it must not, hee's accurst that shall
Desire to stay, if heav'n be pleas'd to call,
Death has no ears to hear complaint, 'tis vaine
To weep for that which teares cannot regain:

You my sad standers by, when death shall send
A Message to my heart, forbear to spend
Offensive teares, but rather joy, that I
Am gone before you to Eternity,
Where now methinks I see you all, and heare
The lofty Seraphims salute my eare
VVith heav'n-bred raptures, which does even woe
My soul out of my eares, I long to goe
And fill my self with melody, and sing
Perpetuall halalujahs to my King:
So; now my wasting lampe begins to blase,
Come Death, and put a period to my dayes,
Let out my life, that I may fly unto
My God, and bid this loathed world adue:
Adue vaine pleasures of unconstant earth,
Adue false Ioyes, and world-derived mirth:
My dear Relations, I must now expresse
A farewell to you all, and then adresse
My self to Heav'n, within whose Court I shall
(My soul now tells me) shortly meet you all.

---

41

Till then enjoy what heav'n shall please to give,
And rather study how to dye, then live;
Make use of time; and lavish not in vaine
Those houres which cannot be recall'd againe,
Comfort each other, and if fortune frowne,
Smile you at fortune, lay your sorrows downe
Before the face of Heav'n, and hee'l releeve
Your pining wants; oh let your hearts not grieve
For food, and raiment, labour to be true,
And he that feeds the Ravens, will feed you;
Oh let your morning thoughts be sure to mount
To heav'ns high Altar, give him an account
Of all your Actions, they which every day
Make their accounts to God, prepare a way
To goe to Heav'n; But time will give me leave
T'expresse no more, my soul begins to cleave
Unto a blest eternity, my heart
Declares unto me, that I must depart;
Time whets his sithe: oh doe not ring my Knell,
With sighs and sobbs, farewell, my Ioyes, farewell:

So: now the Load-stone of this world shall have,
No art t'atract my soul, I'le not enslave
My self to earth, shall transitory toyes
Surrept my soul from heavens eternall joyes?

---

42

Oh no, they shall not; now I'le dedicate
My self to thee (my God) who didst create
Both soul & body; thou that knowst the thoughts
And hearts of Kings, and numerates their faults,
Pardon what I have done amisse to thee,
Forgive my enemies; Thou know'st I'm free
From what I suffer for; thou know'st my hands
Are clear from blood, thou know'st that my commands
Were not tyranical, thou knowst my brest
Was never stain'd with Treason; My request
Oh God is this; That thou would'st make them know
(And timely feel) what a most wilful blow
Th'ave given to their Consciences; oh turne
Their flaming hearts to thee, which daily burne
Against thy servants, cause them to relent;
And let their griefs induce them to repent,
Be mercifull to them, as they were cruell
To me, and mine, oh quench the blazing feuell
Of their desires, give them not their deserts,
But wash my blood from their Infountain'd hearts;
And as for me, presented to thy eyes
Suppos'd (as an attoning Sacrifice)
By them whose seav'n yeers mallice have contriv'd
My downfall; when my body is disliv'd

---

43

Receive my soul into thy glorious Tent,
And mak't a member of thy Parliament;
Now farewell world, and dirt-composed Crowns
Farewell earths smiles, & fortunes surly frowns.
Farewell to you that thus my life expell,
Oh may my farewell, make you all farewell.

---

AN ELEGY UPON That never to be forgotten CHARLES, THE FIRST; Late (but too soon Martyr'd) King of England, Scotland, France and Ireland.

VVho with unmoved Constancy, lay'd downe
His Life, t'exchange it, for a heav'nly Crowne.

---

49

My shivering body, oh what stormy weather
Was that, which violently tost me hither;
Where am I now? what rubicundious light
Is this? that bloodyes my amazed sight?
What Reformation's this that's newly bred,
And turnes my white, into so deep a Red.
Awake my fancy, come, delude no more,
Say; are my feet upon the English shore?
Sure not; these are usurping thoughts that raine
Within the Kingdom of a troubl'd braine:
If this be England, oh what alteration
Is lately bred within so blest a Nation;
My soul is now assured; for I see
Those lofty Structures where mild Majestie
Did once recide; abounding with a flood
That swells (& almost moates them round) with blood,
England, sad object, that wer't lately crown'd
with a most glorious prince; how art thou drownd
In Royall blood? was not thy master-veine
Open'd of late; ah, who can stop't againe?
Look round about thee, and thou shalt discry
How every face imports an Elegy.
Review thy self, see how thou art ingrain'd
With guiltlesse blood? was ever Land so stain'd?

---

51

Needs must your hearts expect a cloudy night
Now Sol is set, and Cynthia wants her light:
And dost thou thinke, O England, to immure
Thy self in blood, and alwayes rest secure?
Oh no, assure thy self, there is a hand
That rules above, which will correct thy land:
Be well advis'd, oh Nation; learn to know
That language cannot ebb, when blood shal flow,
All hearts all eyes, all hands, all tongues, all Quills
Will think, will weep, will write, & speak their wills,
I'le not invoke; this Subject will invite
Th'obdurest hearts, and teach that pen to write
Which never fram'd a Letter, and infuse
The seed of Life, into a barren Muse:
Thou Great Instructer, teach me to distill
An Eagles Vertues, with an Eagles quill:
Rais'd by a fall, my Muse begins to sing
The melancholly farewells of a King.

And is he gone! did not the dolefull Bells
Desolve, when as they told his sad Farwells.
If he be gone? what language can there be
Remaining in this land, except, Ah me.
Ah me, Ah lasse, how is this realme unblest
In such a losse?—I cannot speak the rest:

---

53

My heart is full of arrowes short of late
From the stiffe Bowe of a commanding State.
Each wound is mortall, yet in spight of paine;
I'le pull them out, and shoot them back againe;
And when my tongue shall empty out my heart,
Let death surprize me with a single dart,
I'le strive t'out-face Rebellion; and my eyes
Shall scorne all new invented Tyrannies;
Sorrow will not be tongue-tyd, tydes must run
Their usuall courses, till their strength is done,
I have a streame of grief within my brest,
That tumbles up, and down, and cannot rest,
I am resolv'd (let death diswade) to speake
What Reason dictates, or my heart must break,
I'le mount the stage, let standers by behold
My actions, for my sorrows must be bold,
I feare not those, whose powers may controul
The language of my tongue, but not my soul;
Advance dejected seuls, hear reason call,
Let not the truth be passive, though we fall.
Blush not to owne those teares, which you have spent
In private, for a Publick discontent;
Let not your tongues be Pris'ners to your lippes
When Iustice calls, oh let not fear ecclipse

---

55

The light of truth, rouse up your selves, draw neare
When Iustice findes a tongue, finde you an eare.
The day's expir'd, bright Sol hath drawn his head
Within the curtaines of his Tethean bed,
Where shall we hide our slumbring soules, and lay
Our wearied limbes, till he renewes the day?
A day! Alasse, have not our wretched eyes
Seen a great fall? can we expect a Rise?
Should Heav'n (who justly may) command his powres
T'expell his light, as we have lately ours,
What should we doe? where should we finde a sun,
That have by too much doing, quite undone
Our wilfull selves? by snuffing out that light
Which he inspir'd, to guard us from the night
Of sad confusion; Ah, how could we spoile
So pure a lampe, and so usurpe that oyle
Which was ordain'd to nourish us? We run
To light a Candle, and put out the Sun;
In vaine we waste our times, and range about
To look for new lights, now the old Light's out,
We seek; and we may finde; but heav'n knows when
Old lights were made by God, & new by men.
Shake England, for thy Grand Vpholders downe,
Thy feet have lately spurn'd against thy Crowne,

---

57

Thy hands are daub'd with blood, one ruine calls
An other, to the others funeralls;
Destruction thunders, and the earth is fill'd
With doleful ecchoes; blood that hath been spill'd
By unjust hands (like Seas) begin to roare,
As if 'twould take revenge upon the shore:
The whistling woods, and their subjected springs
Sends forth Elegious blasts, each corner rings
With unaccustom'd sounds; All things expresse
(By their prognosticating looks) unhappinesse;
Deploring Philomel does now repeate
Contristed notes, upon her Thorny seate;
She has forgot those sweet nocturnall notes
Which lately charm'd all sorrow, now she dotes
Upon her woefull, her prolixed tones,
And findes no sweetnesse in her bitter groanes:

The Commons of the aire conspire to throw
Their Soveraigne downe, and will not fly so low
As formerly; but are resolu'd to be
Oppugnant to the Eagles Majesty.
How pregnant is Rebellion every where,
Not onely here on earth, but in the aire?
Can thunder roare, and not the lofty found
Be heard? can Cedars fall unto the ground,

---

59

And not be seen? can Mountaines shrinke away
And not observ'd? or can there be a day
Without a Sun? or can there be a night
Without some darknesse? can there be a light
Put out unwanted? or can murther be
Committed upon sacred Majestie,
And not lamented? sure no humane heart
Can be so brazen, as not to impart
Some sorrow to the world, for such a losse,
When gold is gone, how uselesse is the drosse:
Now mournfull Muses, light your Torches all,
T'attend your glory to his Funerall;
Shall your Mecænas dye, and you stand still,
And not appeare upon Parnassus hill?
Away, away, invoke Appolloes aide,
Tell him that your Mecænas was betray'd
To an unlawfull death, and you desire
To sacrifice a verse; And then retire:

Could I translate my heart into a verse,
I'de pinne it with my soul upon his herse.
Could I command the word, I'de make it burne
Like a pure lampe upon his sacred Vrne:
Could I command all eyes, I'de have them make
(As a memoriall for Great Charles his sake)

---

61

A sea of teares, that after ages, may
Lament to see, but not lament to say
He dy'd without a teare; and it should be
Call'd the salt Sea of flowing Loyaltie:
Could I command all hearts, I'de make them spend
Some drops of blood upon his tombe, and send
Millions of sighes to Heav'n, that may expresse
His death was Englands great unhappinesse;
Could I command all tongues, I'd make them run
Devision on his praise, till time were done;
Could I command all hands, I'de strike them dead
Because they should not rise against their head.
Could I command all feet, I'de make them goe
And give the Son that duty which they owe
To His deserts------

------I'm in a desert, and I know not where
To guide my steps, that path which seems most faire,
Proves most pernicious to me, and will lend
My feet a good beginning, but no end.
Great Charles, oh happy word, but what's the next
(Bad's th'application of so good a Text)
Is dead; most killing word; what is he dead?
Nay more (if more may be) hee's murthered;

---

63

Ah then my thoughts are murther'd; my sad eyes
Shall never cease to weep his Obsequies:
I'le turne this place into a bubbl'ing spring
Of briny teares; and then I'le freely bring
A Sacrifice to sorrow, which shall be
A flaming heart that's crown'd with Loyaltie:

Now could I spend an age in thoughts, and tyre
The night with sighes, methinks I could inspire.
Sorrow it self, and teach it to proclaime
What ruine waites upon our new-bred flame:
But 'tis in vaine, perswasions have no powre
On them, whose resolutions can devoure
Both Law and Reason, two most horrid Crimes
In these pernicious, these contentious Times:
Come then my thoughts, and let us ruminate
Upon our sorrows; oh unhappy Fate,
Why didst thou snuffe out Charles his royall blaze
In the Aurora of his well-spent dayes?
But 'tis in vaine to blame thee, for thy hand
Cannot refraine to strike, if God command;
Heav'n saw he was too good to be enjoy'd
By us; but not too good to be destroy'd
For his owne glory; Let's rejoyce, we had
So good a King; but grieve, to thinke how bad

---

65

We us'd his goodnesse; VVe may justly say,
He gave in mercy, what he took away
In Iudgement, for his owne commands appointed
We should not touch, (much more slay) his anointed
And yet we have, (as if our hearts had sworn
To contradict his will) abus'd, and torn
His owne Vicegerent, to whose thriving hand
He gave the Scepter of a glorious Land:
But now (unhappy Land) thy glorie's fled,
Thy Crowne is fallen, and thy Charles is dead;
Goe then, deplore thy self, whilst others sing
The living vertues of thy martyr'd King;
His glory shall survive with Fame, when they
Shall lye forgotten in a heape of Clay
That were the Authors of his death, their bones
Shall turne to ashes, as their hearts are stones
But did my tongue expresse that they should be
Forgot; oh no, their long liv'd Tyrannie
Shall be perpetuall; harke, misfortune sings
The worst of Tyrants, kill'd the best of Kings.
He was the best; what impious tongue shall dare
To contradict my language, or impare
His living worth, and they that goe about
To blast his Fame, oh may their tongues drop out.

---

67

Pardon oh Heav'n, if passion make me breake
Into extreames, who can forbeare to speake
In such a lawfull cause? may we not claime
A Priviledge to speak in Charles his name.
Is any timerous? then let them keep
Their language, and reserve themselves to weep:
Is any Joyfull? let them keep their mirth
To please the Tyrants of this groaning earth.
Is any sorry? let them keep their grief
Till heav'n shall please to send their souls reliefe;
Did ever Iland finde so great a losse?
Was ever Nation crownd with such a crosse?
Could ever Kingdome boast they had a Prince
That could be more laborious to convince
The errours of his times, or contradict
The dictates of his rage, or be more strict
In his Devotions; ne're did Prince inherrit
So rich a Crowne, with so inrich'd a spirit.

He was the best of conquerours; he made
Conquests of hearts, although he was betray'd
By some inferiour spirits, which he found
Had lately started from the lowely grownd,
And were not worth a conquest; yet he gave
Them more respects then their deserts could crave

---

69

None could observe during the the time he stood
Before his Pilates, that his royall blood
Mov'd into fury, but his heart was prone
To hear their speeches, and retort his owne;
But when they found his language did increase
With sense, he was desir'd to hold his peace,
And some related that their furies bred,
Because his hatt inclos'd his royall head.
Good God, what times are these, when subjects dare
Presume to make their Soveraigne stand bare;
And when they sent him from their new-made place
Of Iustice, basely spit upon his face,
But he, whose patience could admit no date,
Conquer'd their envies, and subdu'd their hate.
Ah who could blame our Soveraigne to decline
Their wayes, and say, was ever grief like mine?
First when his feet approach'd into the Hall,
The ill-tun'd tongues of sycophants would call
Aloud for Iustice, though they never knew
What Iustice was, yet still they would renew
Their most confounding, and discordious noates,
And baul for Iustice with their sluce-like throats;
But he, that Lambe of Patience, never vented
A word of anger, but with speed prevented

---

71

Their louder cryes, and with a pleasing breath
Reply'd; If Iustice can be gain'd by death,
Ye shall not want it, only be content,
Ye may as soon endeavor to repent,
As now ye doe to spill my blood; advise,
Your souls will suffer for your forward cryes;
Having thus spoke, immediately he stept
Unto the barre, where for a time he kept
Himself in silence; like a sun he shin'd
Amongst those gloomy clowds which had combin'd
Themselves together, plotting to disgrace
His orient luster, and impal'd his face:
And with a thundring voice, they first salute
His ears with Tyrant, Traytor, and impute
Murder unto him: with a pleasing smile
He look'd upon them, and a little while
He made a pause; but by, and by, he broke
His silent lipps, and moderately spoke
To this effect: May I desire to know
From whence this great authority doth flow
That you pretend to act by? If it be
Derivative; I shall desire to see,
And know from whom; till then I shall deny
To give my tongue a licence to reply.

---

73

You are our Pris'ner Sir, you ought not to
Demand what your appointed Iudges doe,
For our Authority 'tis known at large
Unto our selves; pray answer to your charge,
Or else we shall proceed. I thought t'have seen
My Lords and Peers together, that had been
A means to make my fading hopes renew,
For most of them I know, but none of you.
As for my Charge, I owne it as a thing
Of small concernment, as I am a King
You cannot try me, what your new made laws
May doe, I know not, have a care, and pause
Before you act in blood, strive to convince
Your stubborn hearts, & know, I am your Prince;
Y'are but abortive Iudges, have a care,
Ye may be tangl'd in your own made snare:
Proceed; ye can but throw me to the earth,
They which parturiate needs must owne the birth,
God knows my heart; 'tis not my life, that I
Account of, but my Subjects Liberty,
That's all that I desire;—Sir, now we must
A little interrupt you, 'tis unjust
A Prisoner (as you are) should be allow'd
So great a priviledge; y'ave disavow'd

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Our known Authority, and make a sport
Of reall Iustice, and affront the Court;
Feed not your guilty heart with such delay,
Waste no more time, for Iustice will not stay?

Thus having lay'd the burthen of their spight
Upon his head, they sent him from their sight;
But he (that was inspir'd by heav'n) did show
A countenance that did import their woe,
More then a sorrow for his death, his face
Was dy'd with honor, theirs, with foul disgrace,
His patience was their passions, and they found
His minde a kingdom, where his heart was crown'd

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With constant love; oh that I could rehearse
His living vertues, with a living verse:
But now my Pen must leave him for a time,
And dwell upon the mountaines of that crime
Which they committed; Put a King to death!
Oh horrid action! what venomous breath
Pronounc'd that fatall sentence? may it live
To poyson Scorpions, and not dare to give
The least of sounds, to any humane eare.
Sure he was deaf himself, and cou'd not heare
The cadence of his language; for the sound
Had been sufficient to inflict a wound
Within his marble heart; oh such a deed
Stabbe Kingdoms to the hearts, and makes them bleed
Themselves to death; to loose so good a King,
By such base means, will prove a viperous sting
To this detested Land;—

—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.

Habakkuck. cap. 1. vers. 13.

Thou art of purer eyes (Oh God) then to behold evill, and canst not look on iniquity: Wherefore lookest thou upon them that deal treacherously, and holdest thy tongue when the wicked devoureth the man that is more righteous then they?

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91

AN EPITAPH

Upon

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93

AN ELEGY UPON The Right Honorable, the Lord CAPELL, Baron of Hadham; Who was beheaded at Westminster, for maintaining the ancient and Fundamentall Lawes of the Kingdom of England.

Disturbe me not, my thoughts are mounting high,
To build a Nest for Capells memory.
Fool that I am, I doe not meane, a Nest,
No, nor a Kingdome neither, that's the least
Of all my thoughts, It is a world, that shall
Be rul'd by Capells eccho; hollow all

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94

Ye sacred Muses, and conspire to bring
Matterialls for this worke, and learne to sing;
For should ye weep, your eyes might undertake
To drown that world, which I intend to make.
Forbeare; your teares are uselesse, you must now
Gaze upon death with an undaunted brow,
Capell has taught us how to entertaine
The palled looks of Mars, by him we gaine
The art of dying, and from him we have
The diffinition of a Noble grave;
Rare soul, I say, thy ever active Fame
Shall build a world upon thy pregnant name,
And every Letter of thy Name shall raise
A spacious kingdom, where thy ample praise
Shall be recorded, every hearkning eare
Shall prove Ambitious, and admire to heare:
'Twill be a glory, when the world shall say
'Twas bravely done, his Soveraigne lead the way,
And he (as valiant Souldiers ought to doe)
March'd boldly after, and was alwayes true
To sacred Majesty; his Noble breath
Disdain'd the fear of a Tyrannick death;
Death added life unto his thoughts, for he
Contemn'd a life, if bought, with infamie.

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95

The very birds shall learne to prate, and sing,
How Capell suffer'd for his Royall King.
Rouze then ye stupid sons of Morpheus; Let
This shining Sun of English valour set
And rise within your horizons, your hearts
I mean, and teach you how to sing in parts
The Anthems of his worth; oh understand
That this was he, whose death hath fill'd the land
With living sorrow; this was he, whose glory
Shall lend the world an everlasting story:

You lust-obeying Tarquins, that permit
And tollerate your pleasures, to commit
Adulterated actions, and command
England, our poor Lucretia, to stand
Subject to our libidinous desires,
And cannot help her self, heav'n grant your fires
May soon expire, that at the last we may
(Like Tarquins) see you banish'd quite away.
Say, will your hung'ry appetites receive
No satisfaction? have ye vow'd to leave
No noble blood? A lasse how can your meek
And tender consciences, thus roar, and seek
Like greedy Lyons, scenting up, and downe
To finde your prey in every Royall Towne.

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96

Where is that zeal which was in former times
A golden pretext, to your drossy crimes?
Doe ye not think of heav'n? have ye forgot
There is a God? or will ye owne him not;
Where is Religion (your upholder) fled?
What? is that murther'd too; or have ye spread
A vaile upon her, that she may not be
Observ'd, or own'd, but in necessitie,
Has not Religion all this while maintain'd
Your unjust cause? what money's ye have gain'd
Was for Religions sake, which still supply'd
Your wants, but now ye're full, that's lay'd aside;
Vnhappy is that land, whose People braggs,
That they have put Religion up in baggs.
Money preceds Religion now; but stay
Precipitating quill, I've lost my way,
Nay, and my subject too; how came my minde
Thus much to deviate; oh where shall I finde
My former subject? shall my thoughts abject
His memory, and own him with Neglect:
No, no, they shall not, come my Muse, repose
Let's thinke upon our Friend, and let our foes
Remember us, Capell, thy worth shall fill
The black-mouth'd concave of my mourning quil.

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97

He was a Pompie, but receiv'd his harme
From Tyrants, not from Cæsar's noble arme,
He had an Army in his minde, could call
Vertue to be their bold-fac'd Generall;
He had no Pride, no faction to create
Or nurse division in his peacefull state;
He had a Court of Iustice in his breast,
But not to tyrannize, or make inquest
After the sons of Loyalty, or bring
Illegall Iudgements, to their legall King;
He had a heart, that never us'd to hide
The heate of envie, or the flames of Pride;
He had a Conscience never us'd t'exact
Upon a widdowed Kingdome, or extract
The treasures of a Nation, to defray
His owne desires, he never us'd to play
The Devill in the habit of a Saint,
Or teach his Agitators how to paint
A vice with pleasing colours, or prepare
His ready eyes to shed a zealous teare
With a false heart, he never striv'd to please,
And turne the peoples hearts with Peter Reyes;
And to conclude, he never would desire
Other mens faults to maintaine his fire;

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98

Now Reader, thou hast heard he had a minde
Not morgag'd unto basenesse, but inclin'd
To honorable actions; It was he
That was the Embleme of true Charitie,
Yet some unworthy Spirits have exprest
He was a son of Rome, because his breast
Was fill'd with piety, and would still relieve
The Poore, whose wants, instructed him to grieve.
False are those base reports, he was a man
Alwayes reputed a great Puritan,
And not a Papist, and he had a care
To have that hated Book of Common Prayre
Read to his Family, himself would joyne
His aide to any thing that was Devine;
The church did seldome faile to entertaine
His Noble self, and his domestique traine,
Untill this blessed Reformation spread
It self abroad, and struck Religion dead;
And then indeed his Conscience would refuse
To let him heare some Rabshekah abuse
His Gods Annointed, and his reall heart
Could not endure to hear time-servers dart
Arrrows of envy at his King, and raile
Against his Consort, lab'ting to intaile

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99

Disgrace upon their names, and fill the earth
With heapes of errours, and rebellious mirth;
These things his heart abhorr'd, he could not hear
His King abused with a patient care:
He was the soul of Loyalty, his minde
Was alwayes active, for he still inclin'd
His thoughts to goodnesse, striving how to bring
Peace to his Country, honor to his King;
He was a man that alwayes us'd to fly
Upon the wings of true sollidity;
He was compleat, and rich in every part,
His tongue was never traytor to his heart;
But now, ah now (I shall make Death too proud
To speake it) he hath lately left this clowd,
This world of envy, and is gon t'inherit
Those joyes which wait upon a Noble Spirit:
Now, now hee's gone to heav'ns sublimer court,
Where Iustice lives, a place, where false report
Shall finde no care; a place, where none shall dye
For being rich, or wise; there Loyalty
Shall be respected; there, the weeping eyes
Of Orphans shall be pittied; there, the cryes
Of Ladyes pleading for their Lords, shall finde
A full respect; where Vertue is refinde,

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100

There must be happinesse, oh thinke but where
It is, (kinde Reader) and brave Capells there:
There, there, he rests, who stoutly trode the stage
Of blood, whose life, whose death, no age
Will ever paralel, his courage gave
A life to death, and pleasure to a grave;
He had a pleasing countenance, his face
Did seem to blush, but 'twas for their disgrace,
And not his guilt, he never seem'd t'expresse
The least of feare, but hasted to addresse
Himself to heav'n, and like a stagge, he bay'd
At his unsatiated hounds, and lay'd
His life before them, and contemn'd their powre
Because he knew, they onely could devoure
His little world; but for his soul, that went
Before a more conscientious Parliament,
Where now he rests in peacefulnesse, & doubles
His pleasures, whilst his foes survive in troubles.

There rest heroick Capell, and enjoy
Those rich delights, which time cannot destroy;
Rest thou, whilst those are restlesse, which deny'd
To let thee rest on earth, whose hearts are ty'd
In bloody fetters, which conglutinates
Their souls, and leades them to the worst of fates,

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101

But now my quill growes weake, I must forsake
These sable pathes, I dare not undertake
So great a journey, for my feeble pen
Begins to stagger, grief can teach me when
I shall begin, but will not prove my friend,
And lead my sorrows to a peacefull end;
My thoughts encrease, this subject would infuse
A youthfull life, into an ancient Muse.
My heart's compos'd of raptures, and my hand
Receives new strength; methinks I could cōmand
The spacious world, and teach it to expresse
His praise on earth, though not his happinesse
In heav'n, where now I'le leave him, and retire;
I'le cease to write, and practise to admire.

Ye have killed, and condemned the Just, and he doth not resist you. Jam. 5. 6.

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103

An EPITAPH, Upon The Right Honorable

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105

A CURSE, AGAINST The Enemies of PEACE.

Peace, peace Rebellious Vipers; you that cry,
Advance Mechannicks, downe with Majestie.
Cease your vaine wishes, may ye never rest
That love no Peace; nay, may ye ne're be blest
That envie Sion; ah! shall Sions glory
Be thus abstracted, and thus made a story
To after ages hath your hungry zeale
Devoured all your senses at one meale

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106

What doe ye meane? doe ye intend to try
A Reformation with Phlebotomy?
Or has your hell-bred thoughts found out a way
To turne a Canaan, to a Golgotha?
Hath the Tartarian Counsellour invented
Such thriving plotts, that cannot be prevented,
Leave off base acts Mechannicks, and begin
To deal uprightly, and reforme within:
Bury your aged crimes, and then goe call
Your stragling senses to the funerall:
Thus I advise you, if this will not doe,
Assure your selves I'le learne to curse ye too.

May heav'n, whose frowning countenance doth show
An angry resolution, overthrow
You, and your prick-ear'd Progeny, and make
Your children suffer, for their parents sake;
May ye all begge, and wander up and downe
Like vagabonds, be lash'd from Towne to Towne;
And may the Loadstones of your crimes attract
Ten thousand plagues, and may those plagues exact
Upon your lavish souls, let impious Fate
Blush, if she chance to make you fortunate.
May torments pursue torments, and still grow
Till Rithmatick be non-plust, and o'rethrow

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107

Your Treason-loaded hearts; And if this Curse
Will not succeed, may't yeeld unto a worse
For you, that this declining age may see
The just rewards of your impietie.
Let basenesse be entayl'd upon your names,
Too strong for all recovery; Let shames
And lasting infamies remaine
In deeper Charactars then that of Cain.
May your souls burn, till heav'n shall think it good
To quench them in your generations blood,
That all the world may heare you hisse, and cry
Who lov'd no Peace, in Peace shall never dye.

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109

THE AVTHORS FAREWELL To England.

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110