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Albion's Congratulatory

or, A Poem, Upon the High and Mighty Prince James Duke of Albany and York, His Return into Scotland. Presented to His Royal Highness, By. M. L. [i.e. Michael Livingstone]
 
 

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ALBION'S Congratulatory;

OR A POEM Upon the High and Mighty Prince, James Duke of ALBANY and YORK, His Return to Scotland.

What means my silenc'd Muse to bend her browes,
To look so sharp on't, flighter thus, and rowse;
Like hooded Hawks, which, when asquint they spie
Some transient Fowle, encline anone to flie:
Can masked eyes objected pleasure reap,
Or news make brats, so long Entombed, leap:
Strange! have the tidings of the DUKE'S return
Pow'r to awake her from the silent urn?
'Twere just to sight an energie t'impute,
Equal with Orpheus, or Amphions lute;
But from's supposed advent Vertue flows,
To's homeward thoughts her Resurrection ows.
'Tis like th'impatient Muse her self beguiles,
Like weari'd Travellers, who reckon miles,
By some long-fetched paces, and when gone
Scarce half the way, conclude their journey done.
Ev'n so my tongue-ti'd Muse may judge night past,
'Cause found the sad Eclipse too long to last;

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And, by the tedious absence of her Sun,
Compute the night-glass of her silence run;
Longing for's morning beauty out to peep,
And interrupt this Pythagorick sleep:
Or could my Muse such bruit, mistaken, broach?
When only influenc'd by his approach;
No, no, Verse challengeth a Divine spell,
He's on the Rod, why did I add, farewell.
For so the DUKE plight, when he took his leave
Of ALBION Pale, nor did he us deceive,
Like that feign'd Lover, who his test'ment brake,
And Phillis made despair of's coming back.
The DUKE'S Arrival hath compleatly pleas'd
My frisking Muse; like Prisoners releas'd
By free Remission, from some obscure Cave
After Doom giv'n; or, like a Galley-slave
Got loose, erewhile, through grating bondage, sad,
Now steals away, above all measure glad.
In Sorrow's ashes so fresh Gladness breeds,
To hard beginnings better luck succeeds.
My pliant Muse, with ALBANY farewell'd,
With him call'd Home, sweates, with his welcome swell'd,
And now indulg'd to publish this new birth,
Travels with Raptures of exulting mirth;
That as Grief lately did me much annoy,
I now dread harm from extasies of Joy.
Were not his cheerful looks and rosi'd breath,
An Antidote against all kinds of death:
Yet death is appetible after sight
Of Choicest object, killing by delight;
Then let my Pregnant Muse yield up the Ghost,
Since view'd her Countrie's happiness ingrost
In's presence; Euclees-like, who, when h' had brought
The news to Athens, that their Host had fought,
And did at Marathon victorious reigne,
From bursting Joy a word could hardly straine,
But χαιρετε and χαιρομεν; or thus,
Exult ye Citizens, 'tis well with us.
Now I'l license My Muse, her joys to vent,
Mirth's unconfin'd, when all the SCOTS consent:

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Let these be repute Rebels to their KING,
Who won't concurr to laugh, play, dance, and sing.
Our Sun's return'd, let's, with the Marigold,
While it its Leaves, our warmed hearts unfold;
An Heretick let him be alwayes held,
On whose heart's not ingraven, and not spell'd
In's looks, a Cath'lick joy, and solemn jig,
For his most glad return; and let each Whig
Renounce his steps precise, and squint aspect,
The sullen humour of a rigid Sect;
Divest him of his counterfeit attire,
And bear a part joynt with the Loyal Quire:
He's sure absurdly stupid, grosly wood,
Insensible of this great Common-good.
All dormant Jovial Mirth let's now excite,
Of publick Jubilee let's hatch the sp'rite;
All prodigally wasted smiles redeem,
That all but one Democritus may seem,
At others peevish jealousie to laugh,
Who to be spruce and jolly think't unsafe.
Who don't descrie a most enforcing ground
The Globe Terrestrial with loud shouts to round;
While th' motion of the Spheares it chaunts again,
The œcumenick joy to entertain.
Nor can the Voice our Gladness circumscribe,
On well-tun'd Instruments let ev'ry Tribe,
The notes advance, the vocal Systeme aid;
So shall our Plaudits both be Sung and Plaid.
And while we pipe, shall there be none to dance,
As long's we learn to Capriol from France.
Nor can the foot this Melody withstand,
But must proportion't to a Saraband.
The consort by those can't be understood
Insensible of this great Common-good.
Let Nature celebrate a Marriage-day,
Each Tree bedecked with the Verdant Bay,
Each purling brook with trickling joys abound,
Th' ALBANIAN praise let all the Hills resound;
Let th' Earth be candi'd with a downy Robe,
And glide in squared measures round her Globe;

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Let the day's Monarch shew a Glorious look,
And ev'ry Bird portend good to the DUKE;
Let Honour'd ALBION with fresh pleasures bloom,
And ev'ry thing applaud the blest Bridegroom.
With Lyrick Odes let all the Ecchos ring,
And only shril Epithalamiums sing:
Let ev'ry Swain in floods of Nectars swim,
And all the Nymphs sing Serenades to him.
On genial Hearts let all solemnly feast,
Invite each merry front to be their Guest,
Purveigh glad Company, and Royal fare,
A Bounteous Welcome to the Royal Heir:
But let all Disaffected starve for food,
Insensible of this great Common-good.
Some sportive Games let's also institute,
From thence our Joy to date, and years compute,
Thereby our active cunning to improve,
In honour of th' Olympick second Jove.
Then here all manly exercises haunt,
The Scots again of their Achilles vaunt.
Now let the fields be cur'd of their Disease,
Let Clubs be pliant, each rest be a tease
Unto the leaping Ball, and both accord
T' obey his nod, and pleasure to afford.
The coursing Horses, now be wing'd and flie,
And kindly on their noble Patron neigh;
In speed to strive fleet Pegasus to won,
While here a nobler Perseus looketh on.
Let the swift Footman run it in a trice,
More for to bribe the sport, then gain the prize;
And if he chance his faint heels to benight,
On JAMES's quick eye reflect, and spurr his flight.
Let not Mars clients now at ruffles fret,
But on his Countenance their courage whet:
So did th' hearts of the jaded Souldiers, brook
A fresh recruit, from glad Clearchus look.
Nor need the brisk Comedians cups of Sack,
Being no more thund'ring Tragedies to act;
But let them trick a Comick Argument
Fit for the season, which may represent

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Th' ALBANIA, or Scots festival day,
While their own melting Joy sets off the play
Let Vertue, Love, and Honour, all exhort
The Beauteous Madams, to frequent the Court,
Where the sole Pattern Nature seems to show
Of all the gifts she did, or will bestow
On their enam'ring Sex, that others may
Her only honour, and due homage pay:
Here of their Joy, these both may let Her taste,
And with well ord'red Steps, Her Welcome cast.
Now let our Heroes others far excell,
While ther's a MOUNT to scale, a ROSE to smell,
Here let them sympathize with well-tun'd feet,
With Courteous Welcome this fam'd Hero greet.
Let all the Poets on his Welcome dwell,
Till they have drained the Castalian well;
With sprightly verse, and lofty numbers reel,
And only joyful Enthusiasms feel.
Lo my glad Muse, from swooning fits reviv'd,
Throngs in among the crew; since now retriv'd
Her great Mecænas and immortal Theame,
From which nought can be squeez'd, but flow'ry Cream;
And when the oyl is spent, the vessels fill'd,
The more sh'extracts, more rests to be distill'd.
So if in Divine Mysteries you dive,
You'l at the less intelligence arrive.
Then if I sound this deep with shallow Rhime,
It speaks me Loyal tho I find not Him.
The paper hit, the Archer well acquites
Himself, tho he the narrow prick ne'r splites;
The man's thought honest, who, his name to score
Unable, yields up to his creditor
His person; and the other should exact
No more, then what the debitor can stack.
What Pen dare on his lavish Fame encroach,
And give him all his due without reproach,
Unless he turn self-Lover, and admire
His own works, wherewith others feed the fire.
Who can his Laureat conquests Eccho forth,
Or raise fit Trophies to Achilles worth?

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As when the Sun hath lodg'd in all the signs,
Run through the Zodiack, he afresh begins,
To trace his steps again, and never stayes
To bound his Journey, nor contract his rayes.
Ev'n so He doth his Vertues still improve,
These are the Spheare wherein the Poet's move,
And when they have each sacred Vertue touch'd,
Soaring on th' wings of Poesie well couch'd,
To pay another visit still they'r faine,
As if some thing unblazon'd did remain.
Hither let all the Universe resort,
And view the Man that makes a glorious Court,
Whose happy presence Courtly strife excludes,
Makes all preferr the Court to solitudes.
Whom all admire, and strive to imitate
In watchful Industry, and sober state.
In whose accomplish'd features all detect
Grave Majesty, and a benign Aspect:
Whose Converse stands not only to b'admir'd,
But as the certain rule of ours desir'd.
By whose Divine Idea we may draw
All Worth; and from Example, more then Law,
Mature and savoury Instructions glean,
And square our Actions by the Golden meane.
Heroick Courage, and feats Martial seem
T'have sown their Sp'rits in him, to reap esteem;
Nay to have been a doubtful started plea,
Design'd for him to vindicate at Sea,
To carve out for himself Supreame Command,
And Lord it over both the Sea and Land;
As if Obeysance did pursue his Word,
And Victory were ti'd unto his Sword.
The Graces, and the Vertues here unpatch'd
Raign, and dart pow'rful Influence, while well-match'd
With Royal Honour, which might henceforth hush
The huffs of Malice, and make Errour blush.
Hath Honour and our Good (could we it scent)
Again us ALBANIE's wish'd presence lent;
Let's not so curious be, so bold's to pry
Into the Myst'ries of State-Policy.

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Who can arraign, or but in question bring.
Th'indiff'rent Actions of an awful King.
Let no rude currish Clown, out of despight,
Presume to snarle at Person, fame, or right.
Nor Faction his designs misrepresent,
Or frame against him a Rump-Parliament;
To forge new Grievances, his meaning wrest,
By noising still the Gangrene of the Beast.
Why do ye dang'rous Innovations dread?
Have ye not his own Manifesto read;
Wherein it pleas'd him to protest, and swear
By th' Honour of a Prince, which is most dear;
Nay by his Faith the Faithful did assure,
Th' establish'd Hierarchy to secure,
The ancient Priviledges to defend
From Forreign inrod, or Domestick Fiend:
Only at the same liberty he aimes,
Which ev'ry Sect, for Conscience-sake, still claimes;
This, Impudence could not have e'r refus'd,
Else from Confession such might be accus'd.
No petty Clerk denies to Pagan Kings
A just Authority in Civil things;
And the Kings pow'r, in Sacred things, springs not
From Christian, but from Sov'raign right is got.
The English Presbyterians, on this point,
Assert, that Heathen Kings, whom Gods anoint,
A Christian Church can well protect, and may
Order the same in a Politick way.
Who e'r did censure th' Heathen Emperour,
Who unbaptiz'd, did exercise his pow'r
In Church-affairs, nay was by all approv'd,
Who the calm Discipline of Christian's lov'd.
But here ye can't intend such just complaint
'Gainst both a Christian Prince, and better Saint,
Then those, whose Strictness paint them more upright,
And still pretend unto a greater light.
But might the Gods with outward forms dispense,
Or him perswade Protestant to commence,
Nor would he thereby from the Truth estrange,
But, for the same, with Peace and Love exchange;
'Twould both all mouths with publick shoutings fill,
And the rash tumults of the People still.

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But if he shall proceed in the same road,
Which many of his great Ancestor's trod;
The Royal Spring, let none be so mal'pert,
Out of its proper Channel to divert;
Nor the Succession Regal circumvent,
But settle in its Legal Right Descent.
Did not the sacred Pow'rs offended raze
The Pictish Natione, 'cause they did displace
The Righteous Heir, subverting the true Base.
The English would not any She admit,
When nam'd, on the Imperial Throne to sit,
In prejudice of Her, tho Papist known,
Yet true Successour of the Royal CROWN.
If the two Master-Bees of the same hive,
For th'empire of the waxen Kingdom strive,
Lo, when from Battel both Kings are recall'd,
The nobler Chieftain-Bee is straight install'd,
And in the empty Palace Reigns alone,
While th' other's thrust out, as a low inglorious drone.
Should we our selves as firmly Loyal vent,
And when it comes to pass the test, relent.
When Gracious CHARLES his true Successour notes,
Shall we make use of Cautions, or of Votes:
Lo when, to JAMES, our duty thus we mince,
We so empair Allegiance to our Prince;
For whatsoever way the matters go,
Both are Co-partners of the well, or woe.
Have we recov'red now our Tutelar,
Our stoln Palladium; then let's all beware,
That we, by honi'd Baits, be not ensnar'd,
But strictly round him with a frequent Guard.
From privat rap within our breasts to hide,
And by our Union Shoulder off the tide,
'Twixt him and open danger t'interpose
Our ready and hard Bodies, freely chose
In our own flesh the impious Sword to sheath,
And in a just Cause seek a glorious Death.
When ev'ry man had chosen his own Doom,
To hope abroad, and to dispair at home,
Your tedious Absence long had fed our Grief,
No eye to pity, nor hope of relief;

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Then you the fit hour for a visit catch'd,
And for our succour your own rayes dispatch'd;
Which in our dark Horizon straight are seen,
And heale the wound they gave, while yet but green.
Then sure your Advent, ROYAL SIR, inserts
A welcome Epoch in all Loyal hearts.
Who cannot chuse, but emulously strive,
Which should the best, and most kind Welcome give;
You, when at Home, with duteous Thanks, to load,
Who honour'd us, with perfect Love, Abroad;
Us highly to our Sov'raign Lord extoll'd,
'Mongst his most Faithful Subjects us enroll'd:
Shall we these signal Favours now forget?
Our lips seale, and neglect to pay our debt.
Tho lawless Boors should insolently prat,
And still exclaim against they know not what;
Tho some of higher rank should now give o'r
And pay not Suite and Presence, as before;
Yet let not this, GREAT SIR, discourage you,
Nor from thence judge the Loyal to be few:
For These all things dislike, and have a trick
T' oppose the Pow'rs, and spurne against the prick.
In their own dye the Latter soon appear,
To change their minds, as th' Air-fed beast, by fear,
His colour alters; to be Fortunes Apes,
And with the times to vary in all shapes.
So the most precious Sun's regarded less
By those, to whom he daily makes address;
But where he enters Stranger, his arise
Gets a kind Welcome from all glaring eyes.
To you, GREAT SIR, we offer up the Key
Of our close bow'rs, may't please you to survey
Our breasts; and of a Scots heart take a view,
As small as any English, and as true.
Here your dear Memory shall be inshrin'd,
And deep impression bear upon our mind;
Here, what transported Tongues cannot express,
'Tis legible, and in a better dress
Then my obedient Muse can ere digest:
But to the Chanc'lour I referr the rest.
FINIS.