Iter boreale With large additions of several other poems: being an exact collection of all hitherto extant. Never before published together. The author R. Wild |
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| II. | II. |
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| XVI. |
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II.
I he who whileom sate and sung in Cage
My Kings and Countries Ruines by the rage
Of a rebellious Rout; who weeping saw
Three goodly Kingdoms (drunk with fury) draw
And sheath their Swords (like three enraged brothers)
In one anothers sides, ripping their Mothers
Belly, and tearing out her bleeding heart;
Then jealous that their Father fain would part
Their bloody fray, and let them fight no more,
Fell foul on Him, and slew Him at His dore.
I that have only dar'd to whisper Verses,
And drop a tear (by stealth) on loyal Hearses;
I that enraged at the Times and Rump,
Had gnaw'd my Goose-quill to the very stump,
And flung that in the Fire, no more to write,
But to sit down poor Britains Heraclite,
Now sing the triumphs of the Men of War,
The Glorious Rayes of the bright Northern Star,
Created for the nonce by Heaven to bring
The wise men of three Nations to their King:
MONCK! the great Monck! that syllable outshines
Plantagenet's bright Name, or Constantine's.
'Twas at His Rising that Our Day begun,
Be he the Morning Star to CHARLES our Sun.
He took Rebellion rampant, by the throat,
And made the Canting Quaker change his Note;
His hand it was that wrote, (we saw no more)
Exit Tyrannus over Lamberts dore.
My Kings and Countries Ruines by the rage
Of a rebellious Rout; who weeping saw
Three goodly Kingdoms (drunk with fury) draw
And sheath their Swords (like three enraged brothers)
In one anothers sides, ripping their Mothers
Belly, and tearing out her bleeding heart;
Then jealous that their Father fain would part
Their bloody fray, and let them fight no more,
Fell foul on Him, and slew Him at His dore.
I that have only dar'd to whisper Verses,
And drop a tear (by stealth) on loyal Hearses;
7
Had gnaw'd my Goose-quill to the very stump,
And flung that in the Fire, no more to write,
But to sit down poor Britains Heraclite,
Now sing the triumphs of the Men of War,
The Glorious Rayes of the bright Northern Star,
Created for the nonce by Heaven to bring
The wise men of three Nations to their King:
MONCK! the great Monck! that syllable outshines
Plantagenet's bright Name, or Constantine's.
'Twas at His Rising that Our Day begun,
Be he the Morning Star to CHARLES our Sun.
He took Rebellion rampant, by the throat,
And made the Canting Quaker change his Note;
His hand it was that wrote, (we saw no more)
Exit Tyrannus over Lamberts dore.
Like to some subtle Lightning, so His Words
Dissolved in their Scabbards Rebels Swords.
He with success the Soveraign skill hath found
To dress the Weapon, and to heal the Wound.
George, and his Boyes (as Spirits do, they say)
Only by walking, scare our Foes away.
Dissolved in their Scabbards Rebels Swords.
He with success the Soveraign skill hath found
To dress the Weapon, and to heal the Wound.
George, and his Boyes (as Spirits do, they say)
Only by walking, scare our Foes away.
| Iter boreale | |