 | To the King |  |
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AN ODE UPON THE HAPPY RETURN OF King Charles II. TO HIS LANGVISHING NATIONS, May 29, 1660.
By JAMES SHIRLEY, Gent.
Et capitur minimo Thuris Honore Deus.
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To the King.
I
And is there one Fanatique left, in whoseDegenerate Soul a thought can stray,
And by the witchcraft of a cloud, oppose
This Bright, so long expected, Day?
Whence are these wild effects of Light,
Emergent from our tedious night?
Oh! can it be, those life-creating beams,
That warm the Earth, and gild our streams,
Purging th' infected air, our eyes, and mind,
Making even Moles themselves to see, should strike these poor men blind?
II
It will convert an Atheist to a faithOf the Creation, no less strange,
Will he believe our Chaos, when he hath
Read the Miracles of our change:
In such a rout was all our Frame
Of things, until the Fiat came;
Stoop, and lay down thy reason trifling man,
From such account the world began,
After a dark Abysse to shew his face,
When natures, stifl'd in the deep, came gliding to their place.
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III
But wonder cease, the Altars call to burnWith thanks and vows; what sacrifice
Can be enough, great Prince, for your return,
Who are the Joy of Hearts and Eyes?
Our dutie's paid to him, that is
The Spring of Your, and all our bliss:
Let us to Loyal Monk some trophies bring,
To whom, next God, we owe the King,
Our peace, & Princes; and may you think fit,
Whilest on Your Head three Crowns, on his as many garlands sit.
IV
Now welcome, Royal Sir, our bells impart,And piles of wood, but heat and noyse:
Then take it from the language of a heart,
Whose crowd of wishes break into a voice;
And thus do upward fly. May all
That pious men can think, or call
A blessing, wait and watch about your throne;
Live long our glorious King, and be your own!
And when time, faint with years, points to the Biere,
Find it no loss, to be in Heaven, and Charles the second there.
James Sherley (sic).
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TO THE PEOPLE.
Welcome thou happy day, in which was born
The pledge of all our Joy, the Prince,
Welcome again the same white happy morn,
Although sad thirty winters since!
And now I sing
That Prince our King.
The cure of all our wounds is He.
Guns, every Bell,
And Bone-fires tell
His safe return, our Island round
Nothing but Charles, King Charles resound.
A joyful sight to see.
The pledge of all our Joy, the Prince,
Welcome again the same white happy morn,
Although sad thirty winters since!
And now I sing
That Prince our King.
The cure of all our wounds is He.
Guns, every Bell,
And Bone-fires tell
His safe return, our Island round
Nothing but Charles, King Charles resound.
A joyful sight to see.
The Major, and Train of Scarlet-Brethren ride
To meet the King, next them we told
Five hundred more, all in their plush and pride,
And Chains, you may believe were gold.
Conduits made fine
Pist Claret wine.
The Troops and Trumpets were hard by,
Buff and gold lace
As thick as grass
Triumphant march, to and agen,
Some gallant horse, some gallant men,
A joyful sight to see.
To meet the King, next them we told
Five hundred more, all in their plush and pride,
And Chains, you may believe were gold.
Conduits made fine
Pist Claret wine.
The Troops and Trumpets were hard by,
Buff and gold lace
As thick as grass
Triumphant march, to and agen,
Some gallant horse, some gallant men,
A joyful sight to see.
The Dutch at this strange turning of the stream
Will be our Trouts another while,
But King & Common-wealth's all one to them,
So they may keep their Fishing still,
Purchase and prey
And Spawn at Sea:
But oh, the French that were so free!
Pardonne moy,
Excuse their joy.
The Exil'd Charles this day is come,
Who may send all the Pedlars home.
A joyful sight to see.
Will be our Trouts another while,
But King & Common-wealth's all one to them,
So they may keep their Fishing still,
Purchase and prey
And Spawn at Sea:
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Pardonne moy,
Excuse their joy.
The Exil'd Charles this day is come,
Who may send all the Pedlars home.
A joyful sight to see.
The Irish, that in Usquebauh did pledge
His Birth, their jolly tunes give ore.
A Lord not now is master of a Hedge,
Scarce bonny clabbor within door.
But you that were
No Rebel there
May re-assume your merry glee,
And change your tone
Of Hone, oh Hone
When you shall hear a voice proclaim
Back to the Province whence you came
A joyful sight to see.
His Birth, their jolly tunes give ore.
A Lord not now is master of a Hedge,
Scarce bonny clabbor within door.
But you that were
No Rebel there
May re-assume your merry glee,
And change your tone
Of Hone, oh Hone
When you shall hear a voice proclaim
Back to the Province whence you came
A joyful sight to see.
The Scots like honest men, Hosanna crie,
They knew his Father mickle well,
And say, God save the King; Amen say I,
From such as have the trick to sell.
There are some few
That are true blew.
The Welsh with joy transported be,
Plutter and Nails
Pless Prince of Wales
Who now is King, and pright as star
Upon the top of Penmenmaure,
A joyful sight to see.
They knew his Father mickle well,
And say, God save the King; Amen say I,
From such as have the trick to sell.
There are some few
That are true blew.
The Welsh with joy transported be,
Plutter and Nails
Pless Prince of Wales
Who now is King, and pright as star
Upon the top of Penmenmaure,
A joyful sight to see.
But oh, the Landlord of the Rich Peru
Is sayling with his golden Fleet,
And in a sea, of pure Canary too,
To land his Oar at Charles his feet.
Rouse from your shade
Dull men of Trade!
The storms are laid, the seas are free,
A peace with Spain
Brings all again
You shall like Grandes march in state
And swim in Rios de la Plate,
A joyful sight to see.
Is sayling with his golden Fleet,
And in a sea, of pure Canary too,
To land his Oar at Charles his feet.
Rouse from your shade
Dull men of Trade!
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A peace with Spain
Brings all again
You shall like Grandes march in state
And swim in Rios de la Plate,
A joyful sight to see.
That Hand that brought our best of Kings and Men,
Now fix him in his Royal Throne,
That Knaves may never preach him out agen,
Nor us into Rebellion,
'Tis our turn now
To Vote and Vow,
And Justice cry our streets throughout.
So, Charles, God bless,
Queen, Dukes no less,
And Monk, who has thrown off his Hood,
And by his Prudence, without blood,
Brought all these things about.
Now fix him in his Royal Throne,
That Knaves may never preach him out agen,
Nor us into Rebellion,
'Tis our turn now
To Vote and Vow,
And Justice cry our streets throughout.
So, Charles, God bless,
Queen, Dukes no less,
And Monk, who has thrown off his Hood,
And by his Prudence, without blood,
Brought all these things about.
FINIS.
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