A nursery of novelties in Variety of Poetry Planted for the delightful leisures of Nobility and Ingenuity. Composed by Tho. Jordan |
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 | A nursery of novelties in Variety of Poetry |  |
2
A Speech made to his Excellency the Lord General Monck, and the Council of State, at Skinners-Hall on Wednesday, being the Fourth of April, 1660. At which time he was nobly entertained by that Honourable Company.
I can forbear no longer, out it mustIf I shall prove ingenious or just,
I have with wary eyes observ'd your steps,
Your Stands, your Turns, your Pauses and your Leaps,
And finde, however you may mask your brow,
You are a States-man, and ambitious too:
A right self-ended Person, for be't known,
Yours and the Publick Safety are all one;
You are ambitious to be good, that feat
Our States-men mist, for they were to be great:
But yet (as Solomon made that choice which
Commanded all) Wisdom will make you rich,
And great, and glorious; and these shall last
As long as time, and after time is past:
When such as have their Countreys Rights betray'd,
Shall receive pay in Lucifers Brigade.
My Lord, I scorn to flatter, I'le be true t'ye,
All the good Deeds y'have done, are but your Duty;
But yet your hand stretch't in Jehovahs Name
Hath snatch'd three burning Kingdoms from the Flame;
Our Laws, our Liberties, or what to us,
And all mankinde may be held precious,
Were at the Stake, this Action hath out-run
All thought; we cannot tell you what y'have done,
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Till divers years have made it manifest:
Those ravenous beasts that our destruction wrought,
When Church and State were to the Barebone brought,
(Praise God) you ransom'd, and without a Club,
Beat down the daring Doctrine of the Tub;
The sinking Pulpit to you did restore,
Our Apron-Prelates must come there no more;
And now the Iron-Monger will not rush in,
But cease to make an Anvile of the Cushin:
This you have done, quite unknown to the silly
Prognostications of Booker and Lilly,
Who know not (with all help their Arts can do)
What 'tis guides Charles his Wain so well as you.
But I forget my Message, Sir! by me
This faithful Hospitable Company
Doth bid you welcome; welcome as the Spring,
As you your self would welcome home—the thing
We all expect, without the which, each Nation
Subsisteth onely by Anticipation:
These ten or twelve years our three Kingdoms have
Liv'd in a darkness equal to the Grave,
Stifled for want of breath until the bright
Beams of your Presence gave a little light:
'Tis yet but twilight, could we gain the Sun,
And the clear wholesome air, the work were done;
You can dispel these mists and make all fair,
We sue for nothing but the Sun and Air
| A nursery of novelties in Variety of Poetry | |