 | Poems on Affairs of State |  |
83
To the KING.
So his bold Tube Man to the Sun apply'd,
And spots unknown in the bright Star descry'd,
Shew'd they obscure him, while too near, they please
And seem his Courtiers, are but his Disease.
Through Optick Trunk the Planet seem'd to hear,
And hurles them off e're since in his career.
And spots unknown in the bright Star descry'd,
Shew'd they obscure him, while too near, they please
And seem his Courtiers, are but his Disease.
Through Optick Trunk the Planet seem'd to hear,
And hurles them off e're since in his career.
And you, (Great Sir) that with him Empire share,
Seen of our World, as he the Charles is there;
Blame not the Muse that brought those Spots to sight,
Which in your Splendor hid, corrode your Light:
(Kings in the Country oft have gone astray,
Nor of a Peasant scorn'd to learn the way,)
Would she the unattended Throne reduce,
Banishing Love, Trust, Ornament and Use?
Better it were to live in Cloysters lock,
Or in fair Fields to rule the easie Flock;
She blames them only who the Court restrain,
And where all England serves, themselves would Reign.
Seen of our World, as he the Charles is there;
Blame not the Muse that brought those Spots to sight,
Which in your Splendor hid, corrode your Light:
(Kings in the Country oft have gone astray,
Nor of a Peasant scorn'd to learn the way,)
Would she the unattended Throne reduce,
Banishing Love, Trust, Ornament and Use?
Better it were to live in Cloysters lock,
Or in fair Fields to rule the easie Flock;
She blames them only who the Court restrain,
And where all England serves, themselves would Reign.
Bold and accurst are they that all this while
Have strove to Isle this Monarch from this Isle;
And to improve themselves by false pretence,
About the common Prince have rais'd a Fence;
The Kingdom from the Crown distinct would see,
And peel the Bark to burn at last the Tree.
But Ceres Corn, and Flora is the Spring,
Bachcus is Wine, the Country is the King.
Have strove to Isle this Monarch from this Isle;
And to improve themselves by false pretence,
About the common Prince have rais'd a Fence;
The Kingdom from the Crown distinct would see,
And peel the Bark to burn at last the Tree.
But Ceres Corn, and Flora is the Spring,
Bachcus is Wine, the Country is the King.
Not so do's Rust insinuating wear,
Nor Powder so the vaulted Bastion tear;
Nor Earthquakes so an hollow Isle o'rewhelm,
As scratching Courtiers undermine a Realm.
And through the Palaces Foundations bore,
Burrowing themselves to hoord their Guilty store:
The smallest Vermin make the greatest wast,
And a poor Warren once a City rac't.
Nor Powder so the vaulted Bastion tear;
Nor Earthquakes so an hollow Isle o'rewhelm,
As scratching Courtiers undermine a Realm.
And through the Palaces Foundations bore,
Burrowing themselves to hoord their Guilty store:
84
And a poor Warren once a City rac't.
But they whom born to Virtue and to Wealth,
Nor Guilt to Flatt'ry binds, nor want to Stealth;
Whose generous Conscience, and whose Courage high,
Do's with clear Councils their large Souls supply;
That serve the King with their Estates and Care
And as in Love on Parliament can stare;
Where few the number, choice is there less hard;
Give us this Court, and rule without a Guard.
Nor Guilt to Flatt'ry binds, nor want to Stealth;
Whose generous Conscience, and whose Courage high,
Do's with clear Councils their large Souls supply;
That serve the King with their Estates and Care
And as in Love on Parliament can stare;
Where few the number, choice is there less hard;
Give us this Court, and rule without a Guard.
By A. M.
| Poems on Affairs of State | |