ODE V.
In commendation of the time we live under the
Reign of our gracious K. Charles.
1
Curst be that wretch (Deaths Factor sure) who brought
Dire Swords into the peacefull world, and taught
Smiths, who before could onely make
The Spade, the Plowshare, and the Rake;
Arts, in most cruell wise
Mans life t'epitomize.
2
Then men (fond men alas) rid post to th'grave,
And cut those threads, which yet the Fates would save.
Then Charon sweated at his trade,
And had a bigger Ferry made,
Then, then the silver hayre,
Frequent before, grew rare.
3
Then Revenge married to Ambition,
Begat blacke Warre, then Avarice crept on.
Then limits to each field were strain'd,
And Terminus a Godhead gain'd.
To men before was found,
Besides the Sea, no bound.
4
In what Playne or what River hath not beene
Warres story, writ in blood (sad story) seene?
This truth too well our England knowes,
'Twas civill slaughter dy'd her Rose:
Nay then her Lillie too,
With bloods losse paler grew.
5
Such griefes, nay worse than these, we now should feele,
Did not just Charles silence the rage of steele;
He to our Land blest peace doth bring,
All Neighbour Countries envying.
Happy who did remaine
Unborne till Charles his reigne!
6
Where dreaming Chimicks is you[r] paine and cost?
How is your oyle, how is your labour lost?
Our Charles, blest Alchymist (though strange,
Beleeve it future times) did change
The Iron age of old,
Into an age of Gold.
