A POEM UPON HIS SACRED MAJESTIES DISTRESSES, AND LATE HAPPY RESTAƲRATION.
LONDON, Printed for R. Marriot, and are to be sold at his shop in St. Dunstans Church-yard Fleetstreet 1660
UPON HIS SACRED MAJESTIES DISTRESSES, AND LATE Happy Restauration.
CEase, Phancie, cease, thus to disturb my Muse
With strange
Chymera's, not for any use
But barren subjects, or some aiery theam,
The issue of A
Nonens, or a Dream,
Which scrued up to the most tow ring strain.
Its former
nothing strait resumes again:
My Muse denies to bate one scruples right,
Back forty foot, for thou 'rt a grain too light.
Armes, and the Prince, I sing, whose generous vain,
Pregnant with sacred purple, knows no stain
But that he's
Albions Prince, which may put on
A title more significant,
Rubicon.
Nor can the factious Rhetorick of the Times
Nose forth a
Canting glosse, t' excuse the Crimes,
The horrid treason of a vip'rous Brood
That slue their Countries Father, who then stood
The Pilot of their Faith; but since he fell
Their Faith was shipwreckt, and they sunk to Hell.
Just so a sturdie Oake, which climb'd so high,
Its
vertex seem'd to gore the
azure skie,
Through the complaint of an ambitious Brier,
Humbl'd upon the Earth, doth there expire:
But blustring
Boreas through distended Cheeks
Empties his Belching lungs, the bramble seeks
For shelter, as before, but cannot find
Its spatious Friend to fan away the wind.
What
Phlegra's this, whose
Typhon scales the skies?
Will not such crimes awake heaven's Deities
Hath
Ganimedes (Nectar not profuse)
Sophisticated
Jove with
Lethe's juice?
Sure jealous
Vulcan, searching for his Dame,
Doth difappoint the Gods, and lets his flame
Faint for a new supplie.
But, harke what sound!
What horrid object's this! see how the Ground
Blusheth with scarlet, whilst the thundering Gun
Disputes the Businesse, and th' affrighted Sun
Sweats to drive up his steeds: But,
Muse, declare
What high-sould
Prince is that, who, thus, doth dare
Doe wonders at each motion: have ye heard
Niles Deep-base
Cataracts? or the crackling beard
Of domineering flames? heard ye the winds
Break from
Eolian Caves, whilst
Boreas finds
Resistance from the foaming brine? his steel
So stormes at every passe, till his foes reel:
Since wonders are so cheap, that every blow
Must be so prodigall, Let Heaven bestow
One on my trembling
Muse, that she may see
Her Prince's miracles in a
simile.
—Have ye 'ere seen
A roaring Lion, big with rage, whose spleen
Durst venture on the Gods, when his proud foe
On solitarie
Cliffs, presumes his Bow
With his dividing steel, sufficient force
To beard his highnesse with, whose voice is hoarce
Already with his boyling rage, whose eyes
Shootforth contracted flame, his shag doth rise,
His tallons all unsheath, whilst a deep groan
(Like
Gorgons head,) would fright hisfoe to stone;
But yet the generous Archer speeds amain
His well-taught shasts, though still they light in vain
[Page 3]Upon his Royall fur: The Rampant King
Unites his furie 'cause he faild a spring,
With open mouth receives the bolder Dart,
First spits it forth, and then his generous heart
Kindles a double flame; his spirits rise,
Dart naught but vengeance from his blazing eyes,
Seizeth his foe, and then his rending paw
Teares up his bosome, for his grinding jaw
To craunch his vanquisht heart: So, just so
Our Royall Lion doth entreat his foe,
With equall courage and with equall flame,
But with unequall stars, which seems to shame
And make
Olympus blush: But
Atlas frownd,
Swore
Heaven should sink for him to th'
Stygian sound,
If its more favouring aspect did not look
Upon the just designs; then
Phebus took
The deep-divining rowles of
Fate, and read
As great deliverance on my
Soveraign's head,
As ever cop'd with danger: thus appeas'd,
Thick-shouldred
Atlas was again well pleas'd:
Had you been there you might have heard a shout,
A suddain tempest, loud enough to rout
Joves thunder to a whisper; Th' army flyes,
And
Save-the-King runs Clambering up the skies:
But he, brave soul, rather then think of
save,
Incircled by the dead, doth court his grave;
Yet is preserv'd, and gone,
Jove best knows how,
But, by
Joves favour, I'l goe beat the
bough.
A stately Pallace 'tis, 'tis large and tall,
My Leidge hath turn'd his
White to a
Green hall!
His father
purpl'd it! the Phancie's rare,
Since
Purple, White and
Green his Colours are.
But lo the Crescent-crowned Queen of Night
Spangles the double
Poles with borrowed light,
And decks with wanton rayes her gamesome hair,
Whilst shooting stars run trick about the Aire;
[Page 4]And wonder much to see the sisters loome
Spin a long thread within the structing womb
Of a comsumptive Oake, which had not teem'd
An hundred years before: but yet it seem'd
Latona must be fetcht, though't be in vain,
For now my King's secured by a
Lane:
A raritie indeed, since when, I'm sure
The
via Regia nere was thought secure.
—But heark, the Capering brine
Doth call my Muse, to frisk a nimble twine
With it, for joy my
Soveraign doth daine
T' accept the service of the prouder maine,
Whilst
Zephir' whispers-forth a softer gail,
Whose wanton sporting swells the pregnant sail;
The furrow break in silver foam all o're,
And straight, the stout Keel plows the
Norman shore;
Which Ecchoeth welcome, and, repleat with joy,
Doth storm
Olympus with a
viv' le Roy:
But fortune still, as various as before,
ventures to dally with his stars once more;
And, as an
Ignis Fatuus doth climbe
Sometimes aloft, then courts its mother-slime:
So she unconstant paces foots amaine,
First wantons with her flattery, then disdain;
And 'cause the
French, of all men, sympathize
Her most transcendent rare varieties,
She makes them be the racket that must toss
My
Soveraign (like a ball,) into a
loss,
Or band' him to an
hazard, whilst his foes
Are courted for a league, A rebell
nose
Makes them forget their honour, and their blood,
For fear it should take snuffe; thus, in the bud
My Princes hopes are nipt, whilst Fiends, not men;
First entertain, then turn him out agen.
So have I often seen a greedy
Cur
To cramb his spacious gut make a great stir,
[Page 5]With eager haste swallow the pleasing bit,
And then at length his paunch disgorged it.
But now the storm is past, the Day is fair,
French complements evaporate to aire,
While th'
Austrian Prince exceedeth
France as far
As substance doth a shadow,
Sol a star,
Yet still there doth some chequer'd clouds appear,
Like beautie-spots, within his
hemisphear;
But are dispersed; and a
Monck, whose hood
Vaild his defigne, prevents a purple stood;
And by a
Labyrinth of windings, brings
Phanatick
Custos up to rellish Kings:
But now the stars with better aspects crown'd
Distill rich influence, and forget they fround,
The whilst our Prince doth gradually scale
Up Fortunes wheel by steps, that doe not fail.
So have I seen
Apollo's radient eye,
Peeping through
sable Curtains of the skie;
First powder it with
Argent, Or it next,
And after comment largely on the text.
But then arose a grand dispute, what Fee
The Senat held by; some would have it be
Fee-simple, but the greater vogue prevail,
And all conclude at last it was
Fee-tail.
At whose decease no issue did succeed,
So the
Reversion, as is due, must need
Fall to my Soveraign.
But, methinks, I hear
That
Charlemaine moves in his proper
sphear;
Whose harmonie exceeds
Apollo's lire,
Or
Orpheus crystall
sphears, though all conspire
To ravish with these sceents.
Plato's true,
Th' old Realme of
England is become a new;
[...]
[...]
[Page 6]'Tis its
Platonick year, then let my soul
Extract the spirits of joy, and crown my bowle
Brimfull with wishes, whilst the Sun keeps time,
And ecchoing shouts do foot the measured time.
Melpomene no more, come, come, and twine
About our,
Olive merriest of the nine,
And, when thy jolly store is emptied, then
Its
quintescence extract, and that agen.
Europa's Bull went wading by degrees,
First dipt his golden hoofes, anon his knees;
So hath our
Soveraign done, yet still we see
He is to us, as
Jove to
Semele.
Thus have we seen a swelling Cloud arise,
Whose spacious bulk did Lord it o're the skies,
And golden
Phebus did a Prisoner doom
To the black conclave of it's sooty womb,
But thanks to
Heaven, a more refulgent beam
Turn'd the Usurper to it's former steam.
And since our glittering
Sun; with rayes full grown,
On high
Olympus top hath fixt his Throne,
If any ambitious
meteors shall appear,
Let them prove
falling-stars in's
hemisphear.