 | Heroick Stanzas On his Maiesties Coronation |  |
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Heroick Stanzas On his MAIESTIES Coronation.
I
How different looks the visage of this day,From that which did to fears our hopes betray!
When Worcester flam'd; and Severn's Chrystal flood
Blush'd with the Crimson stain of loyal blood.
Where still unblasted stood the Royal Oak
Amidst the flames of hell, and dismal smoke:
Had any hope after that fatal blow
To see this day that smiles upon us now?
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II
What Faith unshaken stood, when hell spake loudA rebels conquest from a sulphury cloud?
When Majesty which Fortune overbore
Lost in black smoke, or drown'd in Crimson gore,
Was forc'd to vail the splendor of its light,
And with obscurer beams secure its flight.
Twas in the evening of that fatal day,
Heav'n seem'd to frown all hope and Faith away.
III
Heav'n then was kind, although he seem'd to frown,That loss (what e're we thought) spake Charles his own:
Where his escape shew'd greater love and care
Than if he had come off a conquerour.
In's preservation heaven more plainly shew'd
A miracle, than if he had subdu'd.
His valour not o'recome; by none out-done;
More fame and glory than the victor won.
IV
'Twas kindnesse then that Victory deny'd;The Scots their King to unjust Laws had ty'd:
Heaven broke those bonds, & snatch'd the King away.
The Presbyterian cause 'twas lost the day:
Those who the Realme, and Father had undone,
So Fates decree, must not bring in the Son:
Least Scots Presbyterize our Monarchy,
Charles ransom'd is with losse of Victory.
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V
'Tis not by bloody Arms, or dreadful War(Those helps to lesse beloved Monarchs ar')
That he must conquer and assume his right;
The splendor of his conquest shines more bright:
Peace brings him in, Olive his Temples binds,
And his great virtues conquer hearts and minds.
Thus Phæbus conquers with a gentle ray,
The foggy mists that overcloud the day:
VI
The time's not ripe, God is more wise than we;We first must feel the yoak of tyrannie,
The raging smart of self-giv'n wounds endure,
And the usurping tyrants rod must cure
Our itch of change, and liberties pretence,
That we may better taste our lawful Prince:
That we hereafter in true spheres may move,
His Laws obey, his sacred person love.
VII
Mans help must not contribute here, for thusGod shews his care both of the King and us;
To forraign Arms he sha'n't beholden be,
But to's own virtues for the Victorie.
Our sad distress must make us see our sin;
His virtues, and our streights must call him in:
God jealous seems, and no hands but his own,
Must place our King upon his royal Throne.
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VIII
Monck the bright Phospher of our royal Sun,The approaching glory of our day forerun;
In him all eyes beheld the glimmering morn,
Who pointing where our happinesse is born,
Conducted all the wise men of the Land
Where they the royal birth might understand.
Thus breaks our royal Phæbus into sight,
Through all the sables of a dismal night.
IX
Since heav'n to shew a miracle thought good,To give a King without expence of blood;
Heir to a Throne with skill to govern it,
Whom God had made by twelve years passion fit:
The potent rebels of three Realms o'rethrow
With his own power, and we not strike a blow.
All should expresse for such great favours shew'd,
The highest tokens of our gratitude.
X
Aspiring Pyramids that touch the skieUnder his vaster Fame and Glory lie;
No Cæsar e're deserv'd to triumph so,
Triumphal Arches are too mean and low
When th'arched vault of the bright spangled frame,
Cann't bound the Eccho of his mighty Name.
All signes of Honor that we can expresse
Are faint reflections, than his merits lesse.
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XI
Who sees his person, and no more; would vowDivinity is writ upon his brow,
His make and port shews a cœlestial race,
A Princely Majesty dwells on his face.
A reverential awe beams from his eye,
In all the image of a Deity;
Whose power and earthly Godhead we shall finde,
Rule in the vaster heaven of his mind.
XII
Such Heroes worshipt were in times of oldAnd Altars smok'd to such of better mold:
Had he then liv'd he had been better priz'd,
Whom his own subjects would have sacrific'd,
To expiate the guilt of being good
And crime of being born a Prince, with blood.
That age returnes, and he the Scepter sways,
Whose worth's beyond the reach of pens and prayse.
XIII
'Tis you, dread Soveraign! whom we all adore,Whose beams your Chaos'd Realms to form restore;
Soe Phæbus shapes the clods of Niles fat mud,
To animals, endued with life and blood:
To you great Prince we owe the all we have,
The freest subject was before a slave;
VVe all had lost, but now our Joys renew,
And we have all again in having you.
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XIV
See with what lightsome joy the merry swaineComes here to see You take Your Crowns again;
Now for himself he sows, from pillage freed,
With joy expects the time to reap his seed:
Who sadly whistled to his Teame, O hone
Now sprightly sings, the King enjoys his own:
They all come here with hearts to worship You,
Who bring them Peace, and with peace plenty too.
XV
Souldiers lay by their Arms; now Wars must cease,And, Cæsar crown'd, the world indues a peace;
The fane of Janus now is lockt up fast,
Soft peace and plenty, rest, and art's embrac't:
These glittering arms which the throngd streets do line
Those valiant souldiers that so bravely shine,
And will for none but for the Cause engage,
Secure the Crown from all Phanatick rage.
XVI
The Merchant fears no Foes, but angry skies,His ships flie home with wealth not made a prize:
The wealthy Cit'zen plies his gainful Trade,
And fears no Tax, as when the tyrant sway'd:
The Citie rich holds up her head on high,
And with her ships sucks both the Indies dry:
Thus by their stately Arches they would shew,
All by the blessing comes of having You.
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XVII
Lawless rebellion here doth keep her Guard,The other side shews rebels just reward:
The second Arch would to the world declare,
Neptune and all his Nimphs your subjects are:
This shews the Fane of concord by your hand
Is rear'd: And Peace how flows within our Land:
The last, to plenty sacred, doth presage,
Your presence shall make ours a golden age.
XVIII
See, Royal Sir! how youthful, trim and gayThe Citie shews, on this great Holiday!
How new she looks, her rusty weeds flung by,
Th'Epitomy of your vast Monarchy:
The mir'cle of your presence makes her shine,
And thus converts her water into wine:
So her old sorrows to new joys convert,
And by her gaity you must judge her heart.
XIX
The Lawyers now look cheerful, for they seeTheir Littleton again at Libertie:
The Law shall run; not shakell'd by the sword,
Subjects not made offendors for a word:
You are a Judge they know gives judgement right,
That rules by Laws, not by tyrannick might;
The Judge with smiles relieves his austere frown,
To see the tyrants sword cede to the gown.
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XX
What a vast confluence of the Gentry flowsHither, to see your Crowns empale your brows:
This sea of gentle blood, shall all be shed,
E're rebels touch the Crowns upon your Head:
The flood of joy, thus tydes in every piece;
And Peru's wealth adorns the English fleece:
Such Loyal hearts some have, that they'l undo
Themselves; But they'l be fine to wait on You.
XXI
How thwack'd the Galleries and Windows beWith Englands pride, in all their braverie:
Clear firmament of smiling stars, from whence
They showre upon you a kind influence:
Those sterne-soft warriers, yield the conquest now,
Your Majesty makes their proud beauties bow:
The rosie dies, which to their faces steal
Betray that passion which for you they feel.
XXII
But see the greater planets all combine,And with connexed beams their lustres shine:
Strangers will never say your Kingdom's poor
Who see such mines of gold and silver wore:
They'l be convinc't, that they have mines for you
When you shall need, who have so much for shew:
This Troop of Princes speaks your wealth and might,
When so many Crowns are prest to keep your right.
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XXIII
This day the Muses doth anew inspire,Your sight great Prince renews their sacred fire,
Quench'd almost with continual tears for you;
Those brinie founts was their Castalian dew:
None touch'd the Lyre but sad Melpomene,
The rest sat sighing to her harmonie:
But now Apollo and the sacred nine,
To sing Your Panegyrick all combine.
XXIV
The sacred Church, her head restored, lives,And shews her splendor, which Your presence gives:
Her miter'd Troops in purity shine bright,
Cloath'd with the badge of innocencie, white:
The sacred Muses to the Church are joyn'd,
Urania's lyre stirs up the holy mind:
With rapting joy and praise they make a Quire,
Whilst God and You become their Theme and Fire.
XXV
I now draw near Your Throne, the Guards pass'd throughWho meaner stars have all their light from You:
At your approach their lustre turns to Night,
And vanisheth before your greater light:
Three Kingdoms Glory in You center'd shines,
In You, great Sir, meet all their splendid lines:
So glorious shews the Monarch of the skies:
So Jove among the lesser Deities.
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XXVI
What eye not fill'd with humble rev'rence dareBehold the Gods own Image, and their care?
Can envious hell create so bad a wight,
Who can hatch Treason after such a sight?
That awful Majestie which Crowns your brow,
Makes your foes tremble; is your Life-guard now:
The sacred Arms of Majesty can move,
At once your foes to fear, your friends to love.
XXVII
And now I see the Crown upon your head,Which for your merit's but a slender meed;
Your right long since, in spight of all your foes,
Triumphant now the crowned Cedar grows:
Th'admiring world, now you ascend the Throne,
Beholds our Nations glory greater grown:
For now's return'd the golden age again,
Which all Behold in your most happy Raign.
FINIS.
| Heroick Stanzas On his Maiesties Coronation | |