Englands Caesar His Maiesties most Royall Coronation. Together with the manner of the solemne shewes prepared for the honour of his entry into the Cittie of London. Eliza. her Coronation in Heauen. And Londons sorrow for her visitation. By Henry Petowe |
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 | Englands Caesar |  |
Ad Lectorem.
Go princely writ apparelled in loue,The poyson of all sorrowes to remooue:
Inrich thy selfe and me by thy selfe riches,
And striue to mount beyond our Poets pitches.
And thou kind Reader, reading this my writ,
Applaud the inuention of an infant wit.
Though yoong it be, it hath as good a hart,
To merite well, as those of high desart.
Then blame it not although for Fame it striue,
For after death Fame still remaines aliue.
Thine in all loue, H. P.
The Induction.
Now turne I wandring all my hopes againe,
And loose them from the prison of dispaire,
Ceasing my teares that did bedew the plaine,
And clearing sighes which did eclipse the ayre.
My mourning weeds are off, and sigh I may not,
Ioy stops my teares, and (Ioying) weepe I cannot.
And loose them from the prison of dispaire,
Ceasing my teares that did bedew the plaine,
And clearing sighes which did eclipse the ayre.
My mourning weeds are off, and sigh I may not,
Ioy stops my teares, and (Ioying) weepe I cannot.
Nor tonge, nor penne, nor witte can truly sing,
His wondrous worth and matchlesse dignitie,
I meane the glory of the English King,
Which wraps my Muse in all felicitie.
Oh, were my penne so rich in Poetrie,
As to pourtray his royall Maiestie.
His wondrous worth and matchlesse dignitie,
I meane the glory of the English King,
Which wraps my Muse in all felicitie.
Oh, were my penne so rich in Poetrie,
As to pourtray his royall Maiestie.
But since she is not as I would she were,
And since I cannot as I wish I could.
No maruell though her weakenes doe forbeare,
To sing that Royall song which all pennes should.
Yet what she can she will for loue compile,
Not seeking glory for a stately stile.
And since I cannot as I wish I could.
No maruell though her weakenes doe forbeare,
To sing that Royall song which all pennes should.
Yet what she can she will for loue compile,
Not seeking glory for a stately stile.
Goe ioyfull truce-men in your virgin weedes,
Vnder a Royall Patron I haue past you,
Soake vp the teares of euery hart that bleeds,
And on the wings of Fame hence quickly hast you.
And from the siluer mayne of Calmy Thames,
Sound forth the worth of our Heroicke Iames.
Vnder a Royall Patron I haue past you,
Soake vp the teares of euery hart that bleeds,
And on the wings of Fame hence quickly hast you.
And from the siluer mayne of Calmy Thames,
Sound forth the worth of our Heroicke Iames.
Into the eares of drooping London thunder,
The King of peace and plentie sallies by:
Bid her reioyce in him our English wonder,
Who mournes to see her in extremitie.
He mournes for her euen at his Coronation,
T'will greiue her soule to taste his Royall passion.
Yet London thou art happie by his teares,
That weepes for thee, whom all the world else feares.
The King of peace and plentie sallies by:
Bid her reioyce in him our English wonder,
Who mournes to see her in extremitie.
He mournes for her euen at his Coronation,
T'will greiue her soule to taste his Royall passion.
Yet London thou art happie by his teares,
That weepes for thee, whom all the world else feares.
HIS MAIESTIES MOST Royall Coronation.
Within the Table of AEternitie,
In leaues outwaring Brasse shall Fame write downe,
With Quilles of Steele the lasting memory,
Of Englands Cæsar, and great Cæsars Crowne.
Giue place yee silent shadowes of blacke night,
And let the brightest Lamp of Heauen shine,
Vanish thou Time of Dreames, for to delight,
This Ieme must be suruei'd with Angels eyne.
Angels as bright as is the brow of Heauen,
When nere a Clowd Hangs lowring in the Sky,
When foggy mists are from the Sphere bereuen,
And Angels bewtie Mates with Heauens eye.
Such Sunne-bright Angels with a smiling face,
Must Englands Cæsars Coronation grace.
In leaues outwaring Brasse shall Fame write downe,
With Quilles of Steele the lasting memory,
Of Englands Cæsar, and great Cæsars Crowne.
Giue place yee silent shadowes of blacke night,
And let the brightest Lamp of Heauen shine,
Vanish thou Time of Dreames, for to delight,
This Ieme must be suruei'd with Angels eyne.
Angels as bright as is the brow of Heauen,
When nere a Clowd Hangs lowring in the Sky,
When foggy mists are from the Sphere bereuen,
And Angels bewtie Mates with Heauens eye.
Such Sunne-bright Angels with a smiling face,
Must Englands Cæsars Coronation grace.
Mount high my Soule the Harbinger of light,
Plaies Iocand Musicke to the welcome day,
Aurora blushes and the sable night,
Vnto the ruddy morning giues faire way.
From forth th'esterne clyme behold the Sunne,
Shines on the Turrets of great Cæsars Towre,
And summons him to ware what he hath won,
By true succession what brow dares to lowre,
Or contradict the will of mightie Ioue,
He'le haue it so for Englands future blisse,
Our King is his anoynted derest loue,
And what we haue we farme it but as his.
Then like true leigmen let our voyces sing,
Glory to God that he may blesse our King.
Plaies Iocand Musicke to the welcome day,
Aurora blushes and the sable night,
Vnto the ruddy morning giues faire way.
From forth th'esterne clyme behold the Sunne,
Shines on the Turrets of great Cæsars Towre,
And summons him to ware what he hath won,
By true succession what brow dares to lowre,
Or contradict the will of mightie Ioue,
He'le haue it so for Englands future blisse,
Our King is his anoynted derest loue,
And what we haue we farme it but as his.
Then like true leigmen let our voyces sing,
Glory to God that he may blesse our King.
This is the day, yea this the happie day,
Makes Heauen smile, and Tellus weepe for ioy,
Euen from her dry parch't womb a liquid sea,
Of Christall water issuing o're the bay.
Of the o'r ioyed earth, of my iocand Soule,
Can'st thou forbeare excesse, surfet and die,
My thoughts of ioy are farre beyond controule.
My Spirit in a blisfull extasie.
See see the azure firmament is clere,
Through which we may discerne as in a glasse,
Faire troups of Angels that doe guild the Spheres.
Gaze setled eyes the like sight neuer was.
Reioyce faire England for thy Soueraigne pray,
Angels themselues grace this triumphant day.
Makes Heauen smile, and Tellus weepe for ioy,
Euen from her dry parch't womb a liquid sea,
Of Christall water issuing o're the bay.
Of the o'r ioyed earth, of my iocand Soule,
Can'st thou forbeare excesse, surfet and die,
My thoughts of ioy are farre beyond controule.
My Spirit in a blisfull extasie.
See see the azure firmament is clere,
Through which we may discerne as in a glasse,
Faire troups of Angels that doe guild the Spheres.
Gaze setled eyes the like sight neuer was.
Reioyce faire England for thy Soueraigne pray,
Angels themselues grace this triumphant day.
But stay my Pen, my Muse doth gin to slumber,
And slumbring dreames a dreame of sacred blisse,
Oh happie vision wake and tell this wonder,
Awake my Soule, my Pen write what it is.
Me thought faire Tryton with his siluer Trump,
(As if he progra'st to the Parliament,
Of all the Gods) sounds not a solemne dumpe,
But with a florish, wraps heauen in content.
Next him the winged Mercury doth pace,
Clad in rich robes by Vesta's virgins wrought,
Who on his shoulder beares a Golden mace,
Euchast with glorious Pearle (oh heauenly thought)
What then succeedes, this obiect after seene?
Delia triumphant which was late our Queene.
And slumbring dreames a dreame of sacred blisse,
Oh happie vision wake and tell this wonder,
Awake my Soule, my Pen write what it is.
Me thought faire Tryton with his siluer Trump,
(As if he progra'st to the Parliament,
Of all the Gods) sounds not a solemne dumpe,
But with a florish, wraps heauen in content.
Next him the winged Mercury doth pace,
Clad in rich robes by Vesta's virgins wrought,
Who on his shoulder beares a Golden mace,
Euchast with glorious Pearle (oh heauenly thought)
What then succeedes, this obiect after seene?
Delia triumphant which was late our Queene.
On whose right hand attended Ganymed,
Darling to Heauen and the pride of Ioue,
By t'other hand was she by Cupid led,
Venus faire issue and the God of Loue.
Thus paced triumphant Delia to her throne,
The chast Dyana bearing vp her traine,
Then followed the Sences one by one,
Touching their siluer strings with sweetest streyne.
Next them drad Ioue with Iuno in his hand,
Apollo next with Pallas arme in arme.
Then Berecynthia with a siluer wand,
Mars, Neptune, Vulcan, all the Elizian swarme,
Of Nectar sucking Gods and Goddesses,
Measuring the siluer pau'ment of the Skies.
Darling to Heauen and the pride of Ioue,
By t'other hand was she by Cupid led,
Venus faire issue and the God of Loue.
Thus paced triumphant Delia to her throne,
The chast Dyana bearing vp her traine,
Then followed the Sences one by one,
Touching their siluer strings with sweetest streyne.
Next them drad Ioue with Iuno in his hand,
Apollo next with Pallas arme in arme.
Then Berecynthia with a siluer wand,
Mars, Neptune, Vulcan, all the Elizian swarme,
Of Nectar sucking Gods and Goddesses,
Measuring the siluer pau'ment of the Skies.
Oh happie sight! But what ensued then,
Delia's Instalment in the throne of Blisse,
Stay busie thoughts. Oh stay my forward Pen.
At which rare triumph th'infernall Soules of Dis,
Made stay of torment and did feele no paine,
Tantalus that time did taft the pleasant fruite,
Which neuer till that houre he could attaine.
The busie murmur of the Dam'de was mute.
Ixions wheele that (ceaselesse) euertournd,
Stay'd then in spight of Fate (Oh time of wonder)
The Sulphure flames of hell, which euer burnd.
Were then extinc't what then could Hell keepe vnder.
Vnder subiection Pluto had no Soule,
So much the powers of Heauen did hell controule.
Delia's Instalment in the throne of Blisse,
Stay busie thoughts. Oh stay my forward Pen.
At which rare triumph th'infernall Soules of Dis,
Made stay of torment and did feele no paine,
Tantalus that time did taft the pleasant fruite,
Which neuer till that houre he could attaine.
The busie murmur of the Dam'de was mute.
Ixions wheele that (ceaselesse) euertournd,
Stay'd then in spight of Fate (Oh time of wonder)
The Sulphure flames of hell, which euer burnd.
Were then extinc't what then could Hell keepe vnder.
Vnder subiection Pluto had no Soule,
So much the powers of Heauen did hell controule.
Pore Sysiphus whose toyle was endlesse paine,
When he perceau'd his tumbling stone lye still,
And when those triumphes ceast, to role againe,
From toppe to bottome of that tedious hill.
Then Lamentation drencht in teares of woo,
Yell's forth a horrid cry, why chaungeth Time,
Why doe the powers of Heauen deride vs so.
Why mount our ioyes? and at the high'st decline.
Oh welcome mynet of most sweete delight,
Why left it vs so soone, come once againe,
Shake hands with vs once more in hels dispight.
That we may tast of ioy in midst of paine.
No no (vnhappie Soules) it cannot be,
Yee now are euer sway'd by Destinie.
When he perceau'd his tumbling stone lye still,
And when those triumphes ceast, to role againe,
From toppe to bottome of that tedious hill.
Then Lamentation drencht in teares of woo,
Yell's forth a horrid cry, why chaungeth Time,
Why doe the powers of Heauen deride vs so.
Why mount our ioyes? and at the high'st decline.
Oh welcome mynet of most sweete delight,
Why left it vs so soone, come once againe,
Shake hands with vs once more in hels dispight.
That we may tast of ioy in midst of paine.
No no (vnhappie Soules) it cannot be,
Yee now are euer sway'd by Destinie.
Delia's in Heauen, there let Eliza stay,
Crownd with the wreath of euerlasting blisse.
Discend my Muse tread thou an other way,
See that thy daring quill stray not amisse,
Let thy sweete tunes harp on diuinest song,
Base not at all, but on a treble String,
Warble a high streynd Himne with siluer tong,
To lawd the Coronation of a King.
A King whose vertues make the Muses labor,
Striuing which most and best may sing his praise,
Begging no pencion but the worlds kind fauor,
For singing Iames in their celestiall layes.
Iames Englands King defendor of the faith,
Long may he be so, so his England prai'th.
Crownd with the wreath of euerlasting blisse.
Discend my Muse tread thou an other way,
See that thy daring quill stray not amisse,
Let thy sweete tunes harp on diuinest song,
Base not at all, but on a treble String,
Warble a high streynd Himne with siluer tong,
To lawd the Coronation of a King.
A King whose vertues make the Muses labor,
Striuing which most and best may sing his praise,
Begging no pencion but the worlds kind fauor,
For singing Iames in their celestiall layes.
Iames Englands King defendor of the faith,
Long may he be so, so his England prai'th.
Gaze London gaze, that surfet'st with a longing,
To see thy Soueraignes Coronation day:
Thy people iocond in a dang'rous thronging,
Lift vp their voyces; on their hart-strings play,
Crying Haile Cæsar with a shrill toung'd streyne:
Cæsar the princely Author of their peace,
Whose very name pierc't through the liuer veyne
Of hot Rebellion, weak'ned her increase,
Of long wish't streames of bloud: the name of King
Made forward Insurrection start and die.
Oh wholesome North from forth whose wombe did spring,
The blessed Sunne of our felicitie.
Shine Sunne on vs, but when our soules mount hie,
Let thy bright beames guild our posteritie.
To see thy Soueraignes Coronation day:
Thy people iocond in a dang'rous thronging,
Lift vp their voyces; on their hart-strings play,
Crying Haile Cæsar with a shrill toung'd streyne:
Cæsar the princely Author of their peace,
Whose very name pierc't through the liuer veyne
Of hot Rebellion, weak'ned her increase,
Of long wish't streames of bloud: the name of King
Made forward Insurrection start and die.
Oh wholesome North from forth whose wombe did spring,
The blessed Sunne of our felicitie.
Shine Sunne on vs, but when our soules mount hie,
Let thy bright beames guild our posteritie.
He comes he comes, see London where he comes,
That claspeth peace and plenty in his armes!
Embrace him kindly, Times glasse how quicke it runes:
Be thou as quicke, and with some heau'nly Charmes,
Mixt with the milke of prayer, Iuyce of zeale,
Lie groueling in the dust in the mid-way:
And let not passe the solace of thy weale,
Before he heare thy harmeles Orphans pray.
Pray London pray, with hands heau'd to the skies,
And let each able Infant, smyling sing,
Hymnes from their harts, for such to heauen flies,
In honour of King Iames our lawfull King.
Holde fast his fore-locke, and make stay of Time,
Till he doth heare our harts how true they chime.
That claspeth peace and plenty in his armes!
Embrace him kindly, Times glasse how quicke it runes:
Be thou as quicke, and with some heau'nly Charmes,
Mixt with the milke of prayer, Iuyce of zeale,
Lie groueling in the dust in the mid-way:
And let not passe the solace of thy weale,
Before he heare thy harmeles Orphans pray.
Pray London pray, with hands heau'd to the skies,
And let each able Infant, smyling sing,
Hymnes from their harts, for such to heauen flies,
In honour of King Iames our lawfull King.
Holde fast his fore-locke, and make stay of Time,
Till he doth heare our harts how true they chime.
Heauen stand at gaze, yee blessed Angels see,
Looke through the Windowes of the firmament,
Vpon the Phœnix of all Soueraignty:
Bid heauens Eliza from that continent,
Where she sits crownd in blisse: bid her looke downe
On princely Iames her deere succeeding brother:
To see him goe tryumphant to his Crowne,
Belou'd of those that whilome call'd her mother:
Bid her but looke if that her princely will,
Be not perform'd euen to our vtmost duty:
In all obedience: our true harts fulfill
Her dread command: late Earths now Heauens beauty!
She will'd vs loue him, and in loue perseuer,
And we do vow to loue King Iames for euer.
Looke through the Windowes of the firmament,
Vpon the Phœnix of all Soueraignty:
Bid heauens Eliza from that continent,
Where she sits crownd in blisse: bid her looke downe
On princely Iames her deere succeeding brother:
To see him goe tryumphant to his Crowne,
Belou'd of those that whilome call'd her mother:
Bid her but looke if that her princely will,
Be not perform'd euen to our vtmost duty:
In all obedience: our true harts fulfill
Her dread command: late Earths now Heauens beauty!
She will'd vs loue him, and in loue perseuer,
And we do vow to loue King Iames for euer.
So long as life in him or breath in vs,
So long we vow in sight of God and Heauen:
Oh might our prayers be propitious,
That our dread King may neuer hence be'reauen!
Then should Belphœbe know her subiects loue:
What care they haue in trayning vp their yong:
That to her great Successor they may prooue,
Loyall in duety that from virtue sprong.
When she shall see from her cœlestiall Sphere;
And he on earth perceiue his subiects zeale,
How in their harts they do affect him deare,
And he in peace maintaine the common weale:
Both Heauen and Earth will then reioyce and sing,
A happie people and a blessed King.
So long we vow in sight of God and Heauen:
Oh might our prayers be propitious,
That our dread King may neuer hence be'reauen!
Then should Belphœbe know her subiects loue:
What care they haue in trayning vp their yong:
That to her great Successor they may prooue,
Loyall in duety that from virtue sprong.
When she shall see from her cœlestiall Sphere;
And he on earth perceiue his subiects zeale,
How in their harts they do affect him deare,
And he in peace maintaine the common weale:
Both Heauen and Earth will then reioyce and sing,
A happie people and a blessed King.
O'pe wide yee Oryent gates of Cæsars tower;
Cæsar him selfe with a most royall trayne
Must grace your golden leaues, this is the hower,
Fly open then for Cæsars entertayne.
Vsher his way, my Muse say that he comes,
At whose vprise Phœbus doeth stand at gaze,
Thinking the Heauens had ordeyn'd two Sunnes;
One for the earth, which made Heauens Sunne amaze.
Such is the glory of his reflecting gleames,
Compos'd of sacred mettall: made by Ioue
That night turnes day when as he darts his beames,
Frownes into smyles such is his princely loue.
Then London smyle, let no brow dare to frowne,
When Royall Iames rides to his regall Crowne.
Cæsar him selfe with a most royall trayne
Must grace your golden leaues, this is the hower,
Fly open then for Cæsars entertayne.
Vsher his way, my Muse say that he comes,
At whose vprise Phœbus doeth stand at gaze,
Thinking the Heauens had ordeyn'd two Sunnes;
One for the earth, which made Heauens Sunne amaze.
Such is the glory of his reflecting gleames,
Compos'd of sacred mettall: made by Ioue
That night turnes day when as he darts his beames,
Frownes into smyles such is his princely loue.
Then London smyle, let no brow dare to frowne,
When Royall Iames rides to his regall Crowne.
Thus should the flynty pauements of the streete,
Be clad in greene (th'apparrell of the spring)
As if their Ioy were young, and therefore sweet:
And being sweet, a present for a King.
The houses Mantled all in Tapestry,
The hygh Piramides of the churches thunder,
Eyes neuer saw such glorious royeltie,
The pride of London and the English wonder.
The Synowes of the Cittye Troynouant,
Clad in their richest robes in comely sort,
Whose faire demeanour drawes like Adaman,
Spectators hearts, bearing so rich a port.
Thus should they sit rayld in on either side
Of euery streete twixt whome our King shold ryde.
Be clad in greene (th'apparrell of the spring)
As if their Ioy were young, and therefore sweet:
And being sweet, a present for a King.
The houses Mantled all in Tapestry,
The hygh Piramides of the churches thunder,
Eyes neuer saw such glorious royeltie,
The pride of London and the English wonder.
The Synowes of the Cittye Troynouant,
Clad in their richest robes in comely sort,
Whose faire demeanour drawes like Adaman,
Spectators hearts, bearing so rich a port.
Thus should they sit rayld in on either side
Of euery streete twixt whome our King shold ryde.
Suppose this done, what glory hath been seene,
Within the compasse of the earth like this:
At Coronation of a King or Queene,
No Maruell he's elected King of blisse.
Roome greedy multitude, let th'ayre of heauen
Breath euerlasting life into his soule,
To make him all immortall: Ioue make euen
The yeares of Iames with Nestors, and controule
The vile pretences and Inuentions
Of Trayterous thoughts: if any slaue there be
Repining at his state, and by Inuentions
Of priuie Treason, seek our miserie.
Thou most of might if any such there be,
Confound him in his thought of Treachery.
Within the compasse of the earth like this:
At Coronation of a King or Queene,
No Maruell he's elected King of blisse.
Roome greedy multitude, let th'ayre of heauen
Breath euerlasting life into his soule,
To make him all immortall: Ioue make euen
The yeares of Iames with Nestors, and controule
The vile pretences and Inuentions
Of Trayterous thoughts: if any slaue there be
Repining at his state, and by Inuentions
Of priuie Treason, seek our miserie.
Thou most of might if any such there be,
Confound him in his thought of Treachery.
He shines like Phœbus in the welkins brest,
So may he shine for euer on this Ile,
Darting his crimson rayes from his bright crest,
And from his gladsome face a gracious smile:
And see that Sunne whose bewtie's of such power,
As dazleth all spectators eyes (oh wonder!)
The eye of day lookes pale at this blest hower,
As if his glory had brought Phœbus vnder.
Oh blessed Sunne, keepe thy dyurnall course,
May neuer be extinct thy radiant light:
But as thy glory glisters on the sourse
Of siluer Thamesis (Water-nymphes delight)
So London in her bosome hopes to see,
Tryumphant Iames in all his royaltie.
So may he shine for euer on this Ile,
Darting his crimson rayes from his bright crest,
And from his gladsome face a gracious smile:
And see that Sunne whose bewtie's of such power,
As dazleth all spectators eyes (oh wonder!)
The eye of day lookes pale at this blest hower,
As if his glory had brought Phœbus vnder.
Oh blessed Sunne, keepe thy dyurnall course,
May neuer be extinct thy radiant light:
But as thy glory glisters on the sourse
Of siluer Thamesis (Water-nymphes delight)
So London in her bosome hopes to see,
Tryumphant Iames in all his royaltie.
Oh thou that onely canst, forbeare thy rod
Of fell correction, wee will sinne no more:
Oh thou eternall Essence, onely God;
Now London feeles thy scourge, she doth deplore
Her masse of sinne; oh she doth weepe at hart:
Thy visitation doeth in force her weepe,
She wants her Sou'raigne which procures her smart.
His sight would lull her in her ioyes asleepe:
But thou say'st no, for by thy mighty hand,
What she and hers intended to performe
In Iames his honour, thou dost countermaund;
And mak'st her know, that she is but a Worme.
A Worme that hath her being from thy power,
And must not dare but stoop when Ioue doth lower.
Of fell correction, wee will sinne no more:
Oh thou eternall Essence, onely God;
Now London feeles thy scourge, she doth deplore
Her masse of sinne; oh she doth weepe at hart:
Thy visitation doeth in force her weepe,
She wants her Sou'raigne which procures her smart.
His sight would lull her in her ioyes asleepe:
But thou say'st no, for by thy mighty hand,
What she and hers intended to performe
In Iames his honour, thou dost countermaund;
And mak'st her know, that she is but a Worme.
A Worme that hath her being from thy power,
And must not dare but stoop when Ioue doth lower.
And now thou frown'st, oh she doth quake for feare:
Her hands are daily heaued to the skies,
With impetrations, that thou would'st forbeare,
See how trill teares distill from her moyst eies?
How can a Mother choose, but euer weepe,
When as her children loath their natiue bed?
Her yong ones in her bosome will not sleepe,
But to a forrayne fosterer are fled.
Yet like a Mother she doth daily pray,
Thou would'st not note such disobedience:
But to be mercifull to them that stray,
And in their losse to giue her patience.
She weepes for losse of them which now are gon,
Thinking thereby to shunne correction.
Her hands are daily heaued to the skies,
With impetrations, that thou would'st forbeare,
See how trill teares distill from her moyst eies?
How can a Mother choose, but euer weepe,
When as her children loath their natiue bed?
Her yong ones in her bosome will not sleepe,
But to a forrayne fosterer are fled.
Yet like a Mother she doth daily pray,
Thou would'st not note such disobedience:
But to be mercifull to them that stray,
And in their losse to giue her patience.
She weepes for losse of them which now are gon,
Thinking thereby to shunne correction.
But who knowes not thy power is euery where?
In Cittie, Country, both on Land and Sea?
Then do we think thou canst not touch vs there?
Yes yes, tis too apparant euery day.
But stay great glory of æternitie,
Wee doe confesse thy might almightie force,
Be mercifull to vs in miserie,
And for thy deare anoynted, take remorce.
Smooth thy deepe furrowed front, shriu'led with ire:
Open thine eares vnto our sad complaints:
Let vs at last reioyce in our desire,
And helpe weake London that now helples faints.
For while thou frown'st, alas she feares to die:
And but to thee she knowes not where to flie.
In Cittie, Country, both on Land and Sea?
Then do we think thou canst not touch vs there?
Yes yes, tis too apparant euery day.
But stay great glory of æternitie,
Wee doe confesse thy might almightie force,
Be mercifull to vs in miserie,
And for thy deare anoynted, take remorce.
Smooth thy deepe furrowed front, shriu'led with ire:
Open thine eares vnto our sad complaints:
Let vs at last reioyce in our desire,
And helpe weake London that now helples faints.
For while thou frown'st, alas she feares to die:
And but to thee she knowes not where to flie.
Thou mad'st the sore; but who can giue the cure?
Thou gau'st the blowe, but who can salue the wound?
Thou prick'st the hart, but who can helpe procure?
Thou mad'st the bruise, but who can make it sound?
Thou all in all canst salue, make sound, and cure
The sore, the blow, the wound, yea more then this,
Thy ministring is present helpe, tis sure:
And he that prayes to thee, prayes not amisse.
Deigne then dread Lord from thy high throne of grace,
Where Angels praise thee with diuinest song,
To looke on London with a smyling face,
And breake thy rod which she hath felt too long.
Then will her friends draw neere, and she shall see,
Her long wisht Soueraigne, in his royaltie.
Thou gau'st the blowe, but who can salue the wound?
Thou prick'st the hart, but who can helpe procure?
Thou mad'st the bruise, but who can make it sound?
Thou all in all canst salue, make sound, and cure
The sore, the blow, the wound, yea more then this,
Thy ministring is present helpe, tis sure:
And he that prayes to thee, prayes not amisse.
Deigne then dread Lord from thy high throne of grace,
Where Angels praise thee with diuinest song,
To looke on London with a smyling face,
And breake thy rod which she hath felt too long.
Then will her friends draw neere, and she shall see,
Her long wisht Soueraigne, in his royaltie.
For him she weepes, for Iames his want she mornes:
Want of his presence, that should guild her streetes
For want of him, in passion she burnes,
And from her residence all comfort fleetes.
Thousands of treasure hath her bounty wasted
In honour of her King to welcome him:
But woe is she, that honour is not tasted,
For royall Iames on siluer Thames doth swim.
The Water hath that glory, for he glides
Vpon the pearly mayne vnto his Crowne:
And lookes with pittie on London as he rydes,
Saying, alas thou should'st haue this renowne.
So well he knew that wofull London lou'd him
That her distresse vnto compassion mou'd him.
Want of his presence, that should guild her streetes
For want of him, in passion she burnes,
And from her residence all comfort fleetes.
Thousands of treasure hath her bounty wasted
In honour of her King to welcome him:
But woe is she, that honour is not tasted,
For royall Iames on siluer Thames doth swim.
The Water hath that glory, for he glides
Vpon the pearly mayne vnto his Crowne:
And lookes with pittie on London as he rydes,
Saying, alas thou should'st haue this renowne.
So well he knew that wofull London lou'd him
That her distresse vnto compassion mou'd him.
And from his royall loue thus doth he greete her,
Before the glancy Isacles of Winter
By heat of Sunne be molten, he will meet her
In all her pompe, till when of ioy he'le stint her.
Meane time he wils her teach her yong to pray
That Heauens almightie may surcease his hand:
For when he heares of such an happie day,
Hele glad the Chamber of the Fairy Land.
Then shal her showes, and princely ornaments;
Her famous Pageants (Londons solemne pride)
Be at the ful, and surfet with contents;
Such ioy shall mantle her on euery side:
Where Iames shal ride, Conduits shal flow with wine
In honour of his state and happie time.
Before the glancy Isacles of Winter
By heat of Sunne be molten, he will meet her
In all her pompe, till when of ioy he'le stint her.
Meane time he wils her teach her yong to pray
That Heauens almightie may surcease his hand:
For when he heares of such an happie day,
Hele glad the Chamber of the Fairy Land.
Then shal her showes, and princely ornaments;
Her famous Pageants (Londons solemne pride)
Be at the ful, and surfet with contents;
Such ioy shall mantle her on euery side:
Where Iames shal ride, Conduits shal flow with wine
In honour of his state and happie time.
This is the day that should haue fam'd our City,
But that the hand of God lyes heauy on it:
All you that know it, crie alas tis pitty,
And pray Iehoua may looke downe vpon it:
Whose ioyes like shadowes tooke their sudden flight;
Whose weale is fleeting like deluding sleepe:
That in an houre mixe sorrow with delight,
Her paths to ioy, is tedious, long and steepe.
Giue period all-almightie to her plaint:
Vnhappie London, wittie in selfe-grieuing;
Let her now ioy, let griefe no longer taynt
Her tender hart that makes her woe her liuing.
Let her now smyle, and as she smyleth sing:
Glory to God, and God preserue the King,
But that the hand of God lyes heauy on it:
All you that know it, crie alas tis pitty,
And pray Iehoua may looke downe vpon it:
Whose ioyes like shadowes tooke their sudden flight;
Whose weale is fleeting like deluding sleepe:
That in an houre mixe sorrow with delight,
Her paths to ioy, is tedious, long and steepe.
Giue period all-almightie to her plaint:
Vnhappie London, wittie in selfe-grieuing;
Let her now ioy, let griefe no longer taynt
Her tender hart that makes her woe her liuing.
Let her now smyle, and as she smyleth sing:
Glory to God, and God preserue the King,
FINIS.
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