Carolina :: :: University of Virginia Library

Though these Thoughts gain not Charls his sight,
To give him his, gives me my right.
And yet now to approach so near,
May rather dazzle me, than clear.
Since Mercury is scarcely known
(Though Prince of Wit) when near the Sun.
Loyalties due, although not heard;
And, Vertue-like, brings its reward.

From Mount Parnassus, my desire
To Sion sometimes does aspire.
I thought it but a fitting state,
That Muses on the Graces wait.
From hence let not the Reader fear
I am a rhyming Presbyter.
As tho my Muse (when but a Child)
Did go to School to Robin Wild.
Or that my Pegasus would stoop
To ride in

A Rhymeing Presbyterian.

Captain Wither's Troop.

But stay, amongst the Rhyming croud
I 'spy some Wits whom Fame makes proud.

A Trumpeter to Rebellion, in his Nec habeo, nec cæreo, nee curo; a Book of his in Rhyme. Vid. his famous Panegyric.

Whose Lawrel-wreaths on Cromwell seen
(Though he be wither'd) are yet green.
That Leprous Syrian they admit
To wash i'th' Jordan of their Wit.

Not for to cure him, but to please;
They made him proud of his Disease.
Though some of these i'th' Front appear;
I'll Muster too; if but i'th' Rear.
And though their Cannons loudly roar,
Some sound comes from my Pistol-bore.

The Restauration and Welcome. 1660. An Historical Poem upon the Return of King Charles the Second.

[[1.]]

Great Britain's Soyl, like Ægypt's, fertile turn'd
By overflowing of its Natives blood:
Thus did the Compost of the Houses burn'd
Fatten the ground where Priam's City stood.

Her Bosom scarce was more bedew'd with rain,
Than with those precious dropsher Children bled;
And manur'd with the heaps of Bodies slain;
She grew so rank, that only Weeds she bred;

Such Weeds as suck'd the heart-blood of the Land,
Smother'd each fruitful Plant and pleasant Flower.
So did the thin bad Ears of Pharoh stand,
And all the full and hopeful ones devour.

Nor could the Shrubs think much at such a blow,
Or know how to divert the fatal stroak;
When those curs'd Rebels that brought them so low,
Cut down, alas! Great Britains Royal Oak.

A Crime that blasts our former Lawrels won,
Sullies those Trophies that our Syres did yield:
Saint Georges bloody Cross we cannot own,
Since now 'tis lost within a bloody Field.

What hope of future Glory, or of Fame?
For with the Sun the wasting light must go;
And we have lost, to our eternal shame,
Not only Honour, but the Fountain too.

Success mean time did the bold Rebels crown;
Success! too oft the thieves, and Murd'rers boast:
Prosperity brings seldom true renown;
Since oft' they merit least, who thrive the most.

If Wrongs may be esteem'd by their Success;
Let us praise Cæsar, who inslaved Rome,
And think that richer Crowns their heads must bless,
Who caus'd, than those that suffer'd Martyrdom.

Worth, when opprest, finds all its Solace here;
This quickens Hope (that Shield against distrust)
Without whose arguments, weak thoughts may fear
There is no resurrection from the dust.

Faith (that great Optick) whose quick piercing force
Fixes the wand'ring glances of our eyes,
And guides (like Gallilæo's Glass) their course,
To make Discoveries above the Skies;

By whose clear evidences we possess
Heaven in reversion, and dispairing scorn;
By whose Philosophy we surely guess
The Sun, tho set at night, will rise i'th' Morn:

'Twas this kept us alive; for hopes that are
Founded on reason, credit may obtain:
Since to our Charls Heav'n did such blessings share,
We could not think that he was born in vain.

We might as well conclude the glorious Sun
Had, to no other end, his light bestow'd;
Then idly round about the World to run,
And that his quickning Beams but vainly glow'd.

Altho he from his Kingdoms were exil'd;
Forein experience did increase his store:
Thus in afflicting Job was Hell beguil'd;
Since he at last was richer than before.

Nor did it show as Heaven took not his part,
Because his fortune before theirs did fall;
Since he who shar'd in the Almighty's heart,
Was persecuted by a wicked Saul.

Most men did fear our happy dayes were done,
Since Charls (our joy) was clouded from our sight;
The World's end thus is guess'd because the

Since Ptolomy took its height 1400 years ago, its height is declin'd 30 minutes.

Sun
Grows lower than it wonted, and less bright.

But thanks to Heav'n we happily mistook,
And now rejoyce in our deluded Eyes:
The blessing came when we least for't did look:
The Sun thus lowest seems just at its rise.

2.

Man's life's a Sea; when fortunate, it's smooth,
But when afflicted, then the Waves are rough:
Twixt Storms and Billows toss'd he scornd 'em both,
Like a stout Friggat that is Weather-proof.

Afflictions, on right objects well apply'd,
Bring Crowns; as showers make our Roses grow:
And like to Gold within a Fornace try'd,
His splendor's greater and his vertue too.

Phœbus ecclips'd attracts the greater gaze,
As tho oblig'd more to his loss of light:
Scorch'd with the fury of the Dog-star's blaze,
The ground's requited by the dewy Night.

Heroick Charls his crosses then esteem'd
As his Refiners, Lees purge richest Wines:
Amidst his troubles he most glorious seem'd:
Incompast thus with Clouds bright Phœbus shines.

Inured to Affliction (Vertue's School)
For future Empire he was made more fit,
Our Prince here followd his great Master's rule;
Upon whose brows Thorns before Gold did fit.

Nor can it as a banishment be said;
He only travel'd to increase his store:
Flowr's so transplanted from their Native bed,
Their beauty, sweetness, goodness is the more.

Further that Rivers run they more improve:
'Tis said that things far fetcht our Ladies please,
Nothing but worthless weeds do float above,
We dive for Pearls into the deepest Seas.

3.

England still senseless of that happy state,
Which by a Prince so hopeful she might gain,
O're-aw'd by fear, or overswayd by Fate,
Like stubborn Atheists, will her crimes maintain.

Scar'd by our Crimes, and blinded by our sins,
We like those salvage Indians appear;
Adore the Fiend, insnared by his Gynns,
And pay him homage out of slavish fear.

Thus have I sometimes certain flowers seen,
Whose leaves were shut to th' Sun, but ope to th' Shade:
As more obliged to that killing Skreen,
Than to those beams, from whence they Being had.

Rebellious Scotland first did ope her Eyes;
Scotland! the source of Treason, and our Woes:
From Charls the Second she expects a prize
As great as she in Charls the First did lose.

In Selling him the price of blood she had,
And now she sells to Second Charls his Crown.
Too wily Scot

By tying him to hard and base Conditions, as to take the Covenant.

this bargain is as bad,
Since now for that he must himself lay down.

Too high a price for all the Crowns on Earth,
Though all constellate in one Diadem;
His Vertues well consider'd, and his Birth,
They cannot him deserve, though he may them.

But let not here Posterity mistake;
Boast of her Heroes Scotland justly dares;
Condemn not all the Twelve for Judas sake,
Heav'n has its falling, well as fixed stars.

Amongst which glorious Sparks in his high Sphere,
Shines great Montross, the glory of his Age;
Who brave, did like the Roman Curtius dare,
Perisht his Country's Judgments to asswage.

His pious valour lasting glory got,
When he alone, to aid his King durst come:
Thus Decius did himself to death devote,
And battled thousands to preserve his Rome.

Heroic Soul! until all time be gon,
His fame shall largely spread; until he come
With his first Master to the justest Throne;
And there receive their Crowns of Martyrdome.

Though not with such Poetic fury fir'd,
His vast heroic actions to reherse;
Yet with a rhyming guess I am inspir'd;
And Prophecies themselves were spoke in verse.

Fulfill'd truly and justly.

He who contriv'd thy death, (although Argyle
That bloody Fox) before one year he see,
Shall, like to Haman, both in fate and guile,
Perish upon that Cross he rear'd for thee.

4.

See now what Vertue in a King can doe!
His great example has made Scotland good.
To cure her Leprosie she now will go
To bathe in Jordans of her Natives blood.

His goodness and his Royal parts have won
More than whole Armies ever did before;
All Scotland now does to his standard run,
To help his other Kingdoms to restore.

To England (his choice Vineyard) he is gone:
Where though his faithful Servants murder'd were;
He thought they would not to such madness run,
Or durst attempt to violate the Heir.

But she, besotted with her slavish state,
This blessed opportunity did shun;
Stood idly, careless of a better fate,
And though, in darkness, would not meet the Sun.

Thus did she slight her glory, and her pride,
And to that Idol-Cromwel still incline:
So Christ was by the Gadarenes deny'd,
Who valu'd him far lesser than their Swine.

Though their vast odds, and usual success,
Sufficient were to cool a Cæsar's blood

At the Battel of Worcester.

So undauntedly he charg'd that all confess
Nothing but Englands Sins his Arms withstood.

Oh! that I had now an heroick Vein,
His brave heroic Actions to relate:
Although his Army lay about him slain,
His Vertue yet did triumph o're his Fate.

Horatius thus withstood Porsenna's Host;
Such was his valour, such his love to Rome;
And leaping into Tyber, well might boast
To make Retreats so was to overcome.

Through Troops of foes he undiscover'd rides,
Till unto blessed Boscabel he got:
To little Zoar, with his heavenly Guides,
From blinded Sodom so escaped Lot.

To him, as to God's Israel, was allow'd
A sure defence against th' Ægyptian spight;
He march'd behind the Bulwark of a cloud,
A Blind to those it was, to these a Light.

Not their proclaim'd Rewards nor curious Spyes,
Nor Cromwell's luck in Plots, this prize could win:
As he had been a second Paradice,
His careful Guardian was a Cherubin.

Blest Charles then to an Oak his safety owes;
The Royal-Oak! which now in Songs shall live,
Until it reach to Heaven with its boughs;
Boughs! that for Loyalty shall Garlands give.

Let celebrated Wits, with Lawrels crown'd,
And wreaths of Bayes,; boast their triumphant brows;
I will esteem my self far more renown'd
In being honour'd with these Oaken Boughs.

The Genii of the Druids hover'd here,
Who under Oaks did Britains glories sing;
Which since in Charles compleated did appear,
They gladly came now to protect their King.

Thus God for him did Miracles create,
And Moses-like with signal blessings grac'd:
To pass the British Seas, was then a fate
Not less, than when he through the Red-Sea pass'd.

5.

Thus he (at once both ours, and Heaven's care)
For landing-place his Normandy did chuse;
Whose glad Inhabitants, with earnest prayers,
Begg'd for that blessing which we did refuse.

In Paris now receiv'd with jealous eye;
Nor can we justly tax that Prince's fear:
Since in his Chronicles He may espy
What bus'ness our fifth Henry once had there.

Those Titles that his Birth, and Merits claim'd,
More than the League with Oliver did work;
And that French King might be as little sham'd
To slight a Christian Prince, as court the

Not seldome used by that Crown.

Turk.

But Charles, disdaining a Discharge to hear,
Left that inconstant Prince with fitting scorn;
A base indignity! which France may fear,
And Frenchmen rue that are as yet unborn.

Yet, in return for this poor short retreat,
Brave York fights for 'em, that he may requite;
Whose Valour did the Crown more surely set
Upon that Head usurps his Brothers right.

By whose brave Actions, France with terrour sees
What he can do, when he an Army brings;
For if his fortune with his worth agrees,
Upon his Sword depends the fate of Kings.

In Holland now great Charls keeps his small Court,
Where he their native bruitishness converts;
To whom great Foreign Statists make resort,
T'adore, and wonder at his mighty Parts.

Oblige him, Holland, with thine utmost fate,
His wants do now, as thine did once invite;
Our blood and treasure did advance thy State;
Serve him, and thou wilt fully us requite.

And now the great

King of Spain.

Iberian Monarch wooes
His prescence: Joseph thus his Keepers blest.
A Treasure! which, when known well, he will chuse
Before the precious wonders of his East.

Here was he fixt; and patiently did wait,
Until the Stars each accident did fit;
Till Heavens prefixed time had ripen'd fate;
That we the fruit of all our Prayers might get.

6.

The Tempest, which for sixteen years had rag'd,
Could not continue long it blew so fast,
As men in mortal Agonies ingag'd,
Their breathings are most violent at last.

With loud commands the dreadful Prince o'th Air
Summons his blust'ring ministers to blow;
The trembling Trees so palsi'd are with fear,
Their Leaves not only fall but Bodies too.

And 'tis but fitting State such ways to try;
Their Roots disclose the Center where they fell:
When bloody Tyrants, and Usurpers die,
All passages are ope that lead to Hell.

Some Nat'ralists, who deeply'r search than forms,
And into th' hidden Wombe of Causes pry,
Presume those violent Autumnal storms,
Proclame aloud the Tyrant now must die.

They say that Fiends did ply the Bellowes so,
And over-heat the Fornace so beneath;
The intense Air broke through, and made ours blow,
And raging flames did make the Ocean seeth.

But 'tis below the candor of a Muse
To strike the dead; 'tis left to abler pow'rs;
Nor is such weakness proper for the use;
Alecto's lashes pierce more deep than ours.

Cromwel (that bloody Rebell) being dead,
Our hopes, like Sol in Winter, late did rise;
Which in few minutes after hides its head,
Or wears a mask of Clouds before its Eyes.

For lo! our Cup of wrath again is fill'd!
One of his Sons the Tyrant does succeed:
Although the old pestiferous Serpent's kill'd,
We still are plagu'd with the invenom'd breed.

What hopes although a gangren'd member be
Cut off, whilst it does to another spread?
Hercules found the Hydra would not dye,
Untill he had cut off the seventh head:

Monck our Alcides was, the brave Saint George;
Who to set England free, the Dragon slew;
Destin'd by Heaven to that mighty Charge,
And found their Mazes, having got the Clue.

Before he proffer'd us his helping hand,
Those Blood-hounds which the Nimrod-Cromwel bred
Thought to have made their Prey of all the Land,
And on our very Carkasses have fed.

Then they that damn'd old Junto did recall,
That murder'd King, and Kingdom too inslav'd;
Those Calves of Bethel, at whose feet now fall,
None but those few, who first the Idols made.

Such sudden Changes in so short time shown,
Buoy'd up our faith, and made our hopes increase,
Since Agues when they shift, will soon be gone;
And change of pain seems like a kind of ease.

Some small efforts were try'd to set us free:
As weak Physicians on Recruiters dare
Bestow their skill; but when the bold Disease
Faces about, they leave off with despair.

No George but Monck is destin'd for the deed,
Whose great experience does to him reveal
When to cut off, to purge, and when to bleed;
And now he sees the Wound is fit to heal.

England his Patient is: and like a try'd
And carefull Doctor, he his skill did show;
He felt her Pulse, and every grievance 'spy'd;
And found no Remedy, but Charls, would do.

Warwick's great Nevil Albemarl out-sounds;
Monck is a make King too! whose glorious fame
Shall flourish whilst the Sun with light abounds,
Or golden stars shine in their azure frame.

7.

But stay, my Muse, though in his clouded state
Thy Wings unsing'd in his faint beams could play:
Dar'st thou, with Semele, incite thy fate,
And now in his Meridian glory play?

With thy weak Pinions thou canst not soar high,
This weighty Subject such a burden brings;
But must, like to the cumber'd Estrich, fly;
Whose Bulk is furnish'd with unequal Wings.

This is to spend above our slender rate;
The charge will our abilities outvye:
The Eccho tho Heavens Thunder can repeat;
And smallest Brooks reflect the spatious Sky.

Since all are joy'd, all should their joys declare:
Low notes do Musick, well as high compound;
An Oaten Reed may yield as true a share
Of Love and Welcom as a Trumpets sound.

The Nightingals (those airy Poets) who
Make Helicon of every purling spring,
Their choicest Songs not only will bestow,
But feather'd Rhymers welcome in the Spring,

Tho great Wits rob us, and the Springs have drain'd,
(Bethesda to the poor man was deny'd)
Something of use ev'n may from Mud be gain'd,
As by the Holland industry is try'd.

The Heart's not best declar'd by finest words;
Silence ev'n sometimes great Rejoycements show;
And humble Turf, when kindled well, affords
As much true heat, as Chips of Cedar do.

Go forward then, and hope to gain excuse;
Rags will be hid in such a multitude:
Heav'n, that bestows on all its fruitful dews,
Will not refuse the meanest gratitude.

8.

Behold! when all our hopes were almost fled,
Heav'n did inlighten us him to invite:
From Faintings men start up as from the dead;
'Tis darkest just before the break of light.

Nor does it shew as we did quite despair,
Because our sickly faiths such wav'rings have:
Flames are most tremulous, that highest are;
And we least hope for what we most do crave.

After such storms our Rainbow now appears,
That voucher of our safety is in sight;
And glorious Charls to joys converts our fears:
Phœbus gilds o're the Clouds thus with his light.

He is arrived now to Scheveling Strand,
Which gives just cause to boast her of that bliss;
And is the happiest part of all that Land;
Since honour'd his last Foot-steps there to kiss.

Holland that formerly her Kings did hate,
Is so with his heroick vertues ta'n?
Our hot inquires after him they rate
Worse than the Inquisition once from Spain,

Had he an equal him their King they'd get;
But since that quite Impossible is known;

Another Prophecy fulfill'd.

Orange (his Princely Nephew) they will set
In's Father's honours, to confirm their own.

Where, with more reason, can their hopes be plac'd,
Then on a branch of that renowned Tree;
Under whose spreading boughs, they safely grac'd,
From nothing, sprung to this sublimity?

9.

Great Prince, please to regard your Britain's call;
Let Holland make you no more ling'ring stand;
A little longer stay will murder all,
And you be King of a dis-peopled Land.

Behold your Neptune, with his Trident there,
Uncrisps the Billows, smoothing them like Glass;
And shews now his Allegiance in his care
That undisturb'd you on your way may pass.

The simp'ring waves their Viceroy's call obey,
And do for you (the Ocean's Monarch) wait;
With ready Shoulders see they humbly stay;
And if they swell, 'tis pride for such a fraight.

The

A Man of War made and so called by Oliver.

Naseby (once a Dipper) now begins
To hate that Title with repentant shame,
And hopes to wash of her Orig'nal Sins,
Being baptiz'd now into Charls his Name.

As the Demoniacs newly Converts turn'd,
Some signal blessing did on them attend:
So she no sooner with his Name adorn'd,
But the good Spirit did expell the Fiend.

Great Britain, like Tobias Bride, possest,
Needs here an Angel the same cure to do;
Of which no fear, when she with him is blest,
Since Charls her Husband is, and Angel too.

The Frigat now the foamy billows plows,
Whose burden is beyond the reach of fear;
And steered safely by our Pray'rs and Vows,
Does both our Cæsar, and his fortunes bear.

But here, my Muse, let's leave him for a while,
Him, whom the Sea-Gods chearfully attend,
And all the Deities that guard this Isle;
Blest Charls! whom now both God and Man befriend.

10.

Chuse now a place, where thou mai'st sit and see;
Where his blest motion may be fitly'st shown:
Let Dover Pier then thy Parnassus be,
And Britains Straits thy better Helicon.

From Sea-ward now turn thine unwilling eye,
A little casting it upon the Strand;
There hasty crouds thou quickly wilt espy,
Whose thronging numbers far exceed the Sand.

Look! how like Images they stand unmov'd;
Their greedy eyes to Sea-ward fixed set:
Thus seem'd the Statue, by Pigmaleon lov'd,
When the cold Marble first begun to heat.

To th' neighb'ring Coasts whole Brittany does flock,
Clings to the Cliffs, her only joy to see:
Andromeda was chain'd thus to a Rock,
And Perseus hasten'd thus to set her free.

No sayl appears yet to her greedy eyes,
But she tormented is with sharp delayes:
Her large Shores eccho round about with cryes
That all her Herrings are turn'd Remoraes;

Those living Anchors, scarce twelve inches long,
That mighty ships arrest when under sayl:
Thus a small Pibble being rightly flung,
Did over great Golia's strength prevail.

Britain, that does the pangs of longing feel,
This sluggish motion of the Fleet compares
To that slow Beast Pigritia in Brasile,
That scarcely crawls a League in seven years.

Nearer their end that nat'ral motions be,
Philosophers maintain they swifter go;
This motion, like the blessing, then we see
Cannot be natural, because so slow.

Would now that

Ericus.

Swedish King were Pilot here,
Whose Cap could point the Winds which way to blow:
Nor does this Wish extravagant appear,
Since

Five petty Kings rowed his Barge over the Dee.

Edgar (Charle's great Syre) had Kings to row.

The pious breathings from the crouded shore
(A brisk West-wind) keep what they pray for, back:
Thus o'r kind throngings that would breath restore
To fainting Persons, that intention slack.

The Proverb's crost: the Eastern Winds are best:
Since now they waft great Charles here to his own:
And vye their blessings with those from the West,
By which the Locusts were from Egypt blown.

Our Mariners need not to Lapland send,
To buy false Winds, or charm the boistrous Sea:
Since that great Pilot does our Charls befriend,
Whom both the Ocean, and the Winds obey.

No raging tempest can disturb the Sea,
Whilst he (our greater Neptune) is upon't
Charls easily'r may the British Ocean sway,
Than Xerxes try to fetter Hellespont.

Methinks the Ship, designed for this fraight,
Should need no Sayles, nor Rudder her to guide:
But Dolphins should out of Allegiance wait,
Upon whose skally backs the ship might ride.

Thus the tam'd Argo that did sail to Greece,
Her willing Oars were seen alone to row:
The royal Charles brings home a richer Fleece,
And

Our Admiral,

Mountague can more than Jason do.

Not Indian ships were ever richer fraught,
Nor did deserve more welcome to the Port:
Although the treasures of the East they brought,
And had the plunder of the Moguls Court.

Who can the worth of Charles, York, Glouc'ster say?
Orprize their Values to a just degree?
Those Triumvirs! fit all the World to sway,
As equal Consorts to the fatal three.

As they the Names, so they the Vertues bear
Of Syre, and Grandsires, Princes all renown'd
For brighest Stars, each in his proper Sphere;
And each with Mercy, Wisdom, Valour, crown'd.

To all of them thou ow'st thy several Vows.
But here, my Muse, thy scarcity is shown;
Thy Laurel is so thinly stor'd with Boughs,
Th'art forc'd to twist three Garlands into one.

But if incouragement refresh the root,
And fortune take from me her wonted frowns;
My groveling Laurels to the Skies may shoot,
And I, instead of Garlands, offer Crowns.

11.

Come to those straits from whence he once did go,
The motion does a blessed Circle frame:
A nobler Ring! his property to show,
Than that wherewith

They yearly espouse the Sea by casting in a Ring.

Venetians court the Dame.

But listen now to that rejoycing noise;
Those piercing shouts that ev'n to Heav'n advance;
Whose rattling sounds makes Brittany rejoyce,
And ecchos terrour to ingrateful France.

If shouts of Peace can make their Lillies pale,
At shouts of Battle they will ghastly shew;
And if our Squibs and Crackers make 'em quail,
What will the Thunder of our Cannons do?

Hark! hark! a shout far louder than the first!
Behold! the swelling Top-sail now appears!
All now (like Clouds of Summer thunder burst)
Melt into showers of their joyful tears.

When on this hand I see the Navy there,
And England's Coasts exalted too on that:
The Royal Charles may with the Ark compare,
And Albion's Cliffs with those of Arrarat.

Toss'd by a Deluge, caus'd by our late crimes,
He safely now approaches Albion's shore,
(Like Noah) to make happy future times,
And the destruction of our World restore.

Before his landing though, his Dove's sent out;
That

His Act of Oblivion.

Messenger of mercy, and of peace.
Him right Heir to his Father who can doubt,
Since so much like him in such acts as these?

Grant, mighty Monarch, Britain's humble pray'r!
Let not thy Clemency prove too unkind;
But let some Justice, with thy Mercy, share;
Lest after ages no distinction find.

If thine impartial eye vouchsafe to look,
'Twill find that some did worse, tho none did well:
Heaven's self that on great Sinners pitty took,
Yet the rebellious Angels sent to Hell.

Altho there have whole Seas of blood been spilt,
And thousands sacrific'd on Charles his Tomb;
'Tis not enough to expiate the guilt,
Nor wash away one letter from our doom.

Some of the Tribe of Corah still we see,
Such as 'gainst Gods anointed did conspire;
All of 'em, like the common Enemy,
Are to be scourged hence with sword and fire.

We justly then may hope for better times,
When those are gone, by whom we were beguil'd:
When Achan was condemn'd for his base crimes,
Success again upon the Hebrews smil'd.

Your Mercy (th' only Balm our wounds to cure,)
Should be like that within

Related by G. Sandys, in his Travels.

Grand-Cairo found;
Which Stories say will not the Turks indure,
And only prosper in the Christian-ground.

12.

And now He's landed; Welcome glorious King!
'Tis fit we branches of fresh Lawrels spread;
And all our Poets their choice Bays should bring;
To strew the Paths wherein thy footsteps tread.

Prostrate, my branch, and Muse, I here lay down;
Where if she chance thy Royal foot to meet,
She may prove Laureat, and receive a Crown,
Nobler than those, that Popes give with their feet.

On what more glorious Subject can we write?
Or what Theme can more choice of Fancy give,
Than his great Name? which brings a sure delight,
For 'tis by it, we and our Verse must live.

'Tis strange that Verse should be to Charles obligd;
When Kings were formerly oblig'd to it;
Because his Merits do all Verse exceed,
And theirs could not attain to what Verse writ.

His Worth is so apparent, Claim so just,
His Restoration is rejoyc'd by all:
Thus there was not one Hebrew did disgust
The pleasant Manna that from Heav'n did fall.

To London now he marches, and is there
Expected, with such longing hopes and joys,
As men condemn'd their welcome pardons hear,
Or he feels comfort that despairing lies.

Couragious York, wise Glouc'ster on each side;
Valour and Wisdom on our Monarch wait:
He in the fortune of great Rome may pride,
When Fabius and Marcellus serv'd her State.

Thus on the Body both our Arms attend,
Which for the common good they're bound to do:
And whilst our Moses, and his Arms defend
His England, there's no fear of any Foe.

Black-heath presents it self now to our Eyes,
Where thronging Troops seem like a moving Wood;
Whose silken Colours whistle out their joys,
As each its loyal Motto would make good.

The Horses neigh as he to them were known:
Bucephalus thus Alexander knew.
By their loud neighing at our rising Sun,
They (like the Persian Steeds) their Monarch shew.

13.

Blest England! since thou now canst make it known,
What, to thine honour, has of thee been said;
How foreign Conquest thou ne'r nobly won,
But when some King of thine thy Armies led.

Thus of thy Cor-de-Lyon thou may'st boast,
Who in one Week did sawcy Cyprus win;
Whose Sword and courage (more than the French host)
Dazled the eyes of furious Saladin.

Thus thy first Edward (whose fame still must live)
When he to captive Palestine did go,
His very looks did Ptolomais relieve;
Let any judge then what his Sword did do.

Thus thy third Edward fought at Cressy-field;
Where he beat one King, and two others slew;
Thus that young Mars (his glorious Edward) quell'd
The furious French and haughty Spaniard too.

Fifth Henry (Europe's wonder and thy pride)
Fought thus at Agen-Court, and conquer'd France.
Thus thine eighth Henry did his Ensigns guide,
And in Tournay, and Turwin them advance.

But let none think this a diversion here:
To him (the Sea) run all those higher floods,
All their deserts ally'd to him appear,
And his th' Elixir of their royal bloods.

14.

But stay, my Muse, to shorten now the way,
Whilst he to his Metropolis does ride;
Here let us celebrate the Month of May,
May! the Spring's glory, and the whole years pride.

I praise it not, because the swelling Vine
Shews then its Rubies, or the Rose-tree buds,
Or Lovers, stirr'd by Nature's chief design,
Walk amorous mazes in the pleasant Woods;

Because the Blossoms smile, or Black-bird sings,
Because the Earth is carpeted with green,
Or that the fairy Nymphs now dance their Rings,
As Crowns design'd for Flora, by their Queen:

A far more glorious Cause creates my Song,
Since in this Month great Charles saw his first Morn;
To which a second blessing does belong;
Since now for us this second time he's born.

The same procedure has eternal bliss,
Which the great Word to all has spoken plain,
For, the first birth brings no true happiness,
Nor comes it, unless man be born again.

Nor was't enough, that the reviving Spring,
Or pleasant Flow'rs, his Ushers did appear;
More state was fitting for so great a King,
Which made Heav'n send that

A Star appeard at his Birth

shining Harbinger.

Charles has one Star now more than in his Wayn:
To point our Saviour out one did appear;
Both Heaven and Earth by his blest Birth did gain;
We got a King, the Heav'ns did get a Star.

Blest Prince! whom Heav'n providing for, did place
A Star: thus Land-marks serve the Port to show
To Sea-men, toss'd upon tempestuous Seas:
So this directs him where at last to go.

15.

London is ghess'd now by those Clouds of Smoak,
Whose thick curl'd Volumes seem to reach the Skies:
Thus Priests of old did for great blessings look,
When Altars smoak'd the most with Sacrifice.

It is not Fire, nor Vapours, that compound
Those Clouds, well nigh in Heav'n already blest:
No they are pray'rs and pious breathings found,
That rise from Altars of each loyal breast.

They're vanisht now: and now the Skies are clear;
And other Objects meet our wandring Eyes:
Loud shouts, and Bells first having thinn'd the air,
Temples and Palaces begin to rise.

Paul's first (that mighty Fabrick) does appear,
And to the Skies its lofty top display:
Which (Babel-like) our Ancestors did rear,
To reach to Heav'n, though in a better way.

What, was its height before by Lightning fir'd?
Those active Meteors (jealous) did chastize
Th' usurping Steeple; that it thus aspir'd,
To mount its daring head in higher Skies.

First Charles design'd to rescue it, and thence
Its fixed glory never could revolt;
Since his great Piety would surer fence,
Than any Lawrels, 'gainst a Thunder-bolt:

But our great Crimes, like to the Jewish Sins,
Did both the Temple, and our selves destroy:
Though Charles (like Prince Zerubbabel) begins
(Now he's return'd) to recreate our joy.

To him she bows her venerable head;
Which (after his) she hopes will be new crown'd;
Thus, when the Patriarchs had hap'ly sped,
To God they quickly did an Altar found.

The Tower (by heroick Cæsar built,
Upon whose Battlements those Streamers play)
Pleads how the Tides have washt away its guilt,
Which lately came from the repentant Sea.

The stately Bridge, opprest beneath its weight,
Yet gladly bears great Charles, and all his Train;
Under whose Arches, Tides returning wait;
Proud to be seen beneath him once again.

Backwards the Waves with smiling Eddies roul,
'Till they again their Viceroy Neptune meet;
Who charges all his Subjects 'twixt each Pole,
To smooth their Passes for our Royal Fleet.

Go on, my Muse, thou must not leave him here;
Into the Town thou must on him attend:
If thou wilt not the Citie's joy declare,
Henceforth the Drawers will not be thy friend.

All hearts together at this instant meet;
And all his welcome in one shout combine;
The Crouds are weav'd together in one Street,
And all their Eyes are thridded on one line.

The little Pupil of the Eye contains
At once the spatious object of the Skies;
Yet such a Miracle in Charles now reigns,
He's big enough himself to fill all Eyes.

The Walls, instead of Bricks, of Heads are made,
So closely joyn'd, and orderly they stand:
And for more Ornament, it may be said,
Each wears a Turky Carpet for a Band.

With Pray'rs, and loyal Vows the Town's made sweet,
Houses are Wall'd with Men, Roofs tyl'd with Boys;
The Chanels washt with Wine; Streets pav'd with feet;
And all the Windows glazed are with Eyes;

16.

Come now show service, Muse, as well as love;
When both Necessity and I do call;
Let thy soil'd Lawrels then a Beesom prove,
And sweep the way before him to White-hall.

White-hall! late soyl'd with dirt, with Thistles grown;
As commonly is seen, where Swine resort:
But here a Miracle will soon be shown,
Hee'l make it both a Garden and a Court.

For whereso'ere he sets his Royal Foot,
Soon will the Red, and White-Rose there be shown;
Since our great Charles is their undoubted Root;
For him both York and Lancaster do own.

Though now, my Muse, th' hast brought him to the Port;
Thou may'st not enter; for the Courtiers say
Thy Poverty will not beseem a Court;
Although thy Love and true Allegiance may.

Thou canst not then, what there was done, relate;
That is impossible for thee to show:
But tho these Wishes cannot gain the Fate
To come to him, may they to Heaven go.