The Works of Mr Abraham Cowley Consisting of Those which were formerly Printed: And Those which he Design'd for the Press, Now Published out of the Authors Original Copies ... The Text Edited by A. R. Waller |
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 | The Works of Mr Abraham Cowley |  |
Upon the happie Birth of the Duke. From Voces Votivae ab Academicis Cantabrigiensibus etc. MDCXL.
Whilst the rude North Charles his slow wrath doth call,
Whilst warre is fear'd, and conquest hop'd by all,
The severall shires their various forces lend,
And some do men, some gallant horses send,
Some steel, and some (the stronger weapon) gold.
These warlike contributions are but old:
That countrey learn'd a new and better way,
Which did this royall Prince for Tribute pay.
Who shall henceforth be with such rage possest,
To rouze our English Lion from his rest?
When a new Sonne doth his blest stock adorn,
Then to great Charles is a new Armie born.
In private births Hopes challenge the first place:
There's Certaintie at first in the Kings race;
And we may say, Such will his glories be,
Such his great acts, and, yet not prophesie.
I see in him his Father's boundlesse sprite,
Powerfull as flame, yet gentle as the light.
I see him through an adverse battel thrust,
Bedeck'd with noble sweat and comely dust.
I see the pietie of the day appeare,
Joyn'd with the heate and valour of the yeare,
Which happie Fate did to this birth allow:
I see all this; for sure't is present now.
Leave off then, London, to accuse the starres
For adding a worse terrour to the warres;
Nor quarrel with the heavens, 'cause they beginne
To send the worst effect and scourge of sinne,
That dreadful plague, which, wheresoe're't abide,
Devours both man and each disease beside.
For every life which from great Charles does flow,
And's Female self, weighs down a crowd of low
And vulgar souls: Fate rids of them the earth,
To make more room for a great Princes birth.
So when the sunne, after his watrie rest,
Comes dancing from his chamber of the East,
A thousand pettie lamps spread ore the skie,
Shrink in their doubtfull beams; then wink, and die:
Yet no man grieves; the very birds arise,
And sing glad notes in stead of Elegies:
The leaves and painted flowers, which did erewhile
Tremble with mournfull drops, beginne to smile.
The losse of many why should they bemone,
Who for them more then many have in one?
Whilst warre is fear'd, and conquest hop'd by all,
The severall shires their various forces lend,
And some do men, some gallant horses send,
Some steel, and some (the stronger weapon) gold.
These warlike contributions are but old:
484
Which did this royall Prince for Tribute pay.
Who shall henceforth be with such rage possest,
To rouze our English Lion from his rest?
When a new Sonne doth his blest stock adorn,
Then to great Charles is a new Armie born.
In private births Hopes challenge the first place:
There's Certaintie at first in the Kings race;
And we may say, Such will his glories be,
Such his great acts, and, yet not prophesie.
I see in him his Father's boundlesse sprite,
Powerfull as flame, yet gentle as the light.
I see him through an adverse battel thrust,
Bedeck'd with noble sweat and comely dust.
I see the pietie of the day appeare,
Joyn'd with the heate and valour of the yeare,
Which happie Fate did to this birth allow:
I see all this; for sure't is present now.
Leave off then, London, to accuse the starres
For adding a worse terrour to the warres;
Nor quarrel with the heavens, 'cause they beginne
To send the worst effect and scourge of sinne,
That dreadful plague, which, wheresoe're't abide,
Devours both man and each disease beside.
For every life which from great Charles does flow,
And's Female self, weighs down a crowd of low
And vulgar souls: Fate rids of them the earth,
To make more room for a great Princes birth.
So when the sunne, after his watrie rest,
Comes dancing from his chamber of the East,
A thousand pettie lamps spread ore the skie,
Shrink in their doubtfull beams; then wink, and die:
Yet no man grieves; the very birds arise,
And sing glad notes in stead of Elegies:
The leaves and painted flowers, which did erewhile
Tremble with mournfull drops, beginne to smile.
The losse of many why should they bemone,
Who for them more then many have in one?
How blest must thou thy self, bright Mary, be,
Who by thy wombe canst blesse our miserie?
May't still be fruitfull. May your offspring too
Spread largely, as your fame and virtues do.
Fill every season thus: Time, which devours
Its own sonnes, will be glad and proud of yours.
So will the Year (though sure it weari'd be
With often revolutions) when't shall see
The honour by such births it doth attain,
Joy to return into it self again.
Who by thy wombe canst blesse our miserie?
May't still be fruitfull. May your offspring too
Spread largely, as your fame and virtues do.
Fill every season thus: Time, which devours
Its own sonnes, will be glad and proud of yours.
So will the Year (though sure it weari'd be
With often revolutions) when't shall see
The honour by such births it doth attain,
Joy to return into it self again.
A. Cowley, A.B.T.C.
| The Works of Mr Abraham Cowley | |