A Pindarique ODE, ON THE BIRTH Of the YOUNG PRINCE OF WALES.
By CALEB CALLE, Gent.
Licensed July 9th. 1688.
R. P.
LONDON, Printed for Randal Taylor near Stationers-Hall. 1688.
A PINDARIQUE ODE, On the BIRTH of the Young PRINCE.
I.
'TIS come, the Mighty Blessing's come,
Heav'n heard the Prayers of our
Isle:
And now both Heav'n and Earth-together Smile,
And sent the beneficial Blessing home.
Some
Angel with Triumphant Wings,
To the whole Nation Joyful
Requiems sings,
And to far distant Shores the Message brings.
Happy those Lands whose Sacred Monarchs are
The Favourites of Heav'ns peculiar Care:
All things on Earth do to their Scepters bow,
And
Gods above smile on their
Wills below!
Some mighty business must (say they) be done,
We must our Choicest Moulds prepare
To cast some
Demi-God, some wondrous Son
To be (almost like
Jove) three Kingdoms Heir.
A Princely
HERO must be Born
The Ancient
Brittish Line t' adorn,
To prop and spread the
Royal Name;
In Lands remote, t' advance its Fame
As far as
Ganges is beyond the
Thame.
May peaceful thoughts Lodge in the Mothers Breast,
Thoughts Still, and Calm, as an
Helcyons Nest,
And when her Eyes her Princely Babe shall View,
May all surprizing Joys ensue;
Joys more than humane, and for ever New.
II.
May all th' auspicious marks of Gallantry
Imprinted on his Royal Outside be;
Then, let a beautiful, and comely Grace,
Shine through each Feature of his Face,
To manifest he's more than humane Race:
A sweet, yet a Majestick
Mien,
That, as a Prince, his Subjects should outshine;
So should his make, and shape be all Divine:
Minevva too, shall showre down
Her Blessing on his budding Crown,
To his sweet Looks she shall impart
A Valiant and
Heroick Heart,
That at the Face of Danger scorns to start:
Renown'd and famous shall he be,
For Arts of Arms, and Chivalry:
His Fathers Banners he shall soon advance,
With thundering musick and a martial Dance,
Fearing no frowns, nor need the help of chance.
III.
He like another
Hercules with ease
To death, shall all unnatural Serpents squeeze;
In vain they hiss, in vain they Roar;
Their Venom they shall shed no more;
His Conquering Arm shall soon subdue
Teckelite Turks, and homebred Jews,
Such as our Great forefathers never knew.
In his victorious Ensigns shall he wear
The
Cross, the Sacred Badge of
Christendome,
The
Cross, that all our Battles past hath won,
The Earnest of our Victories to
come.
Worse Dragons shall that
Mystick Trophee quell,
Than by
St. George e're fell,
Passions, and Lusts, and Sparks of Hell,
That 'gainst the
Nobler Part Rebel.
His Glory like the unweary'd Sun;
From
Pole to
Pole shall Run:
And Tributary Kings shall Come,
With Gold, and Incense, and
Arabian Gum,
And to his Royal Scepter bow,
And dazl'd with his Glory, Vow;
They n'ere beheld a Prince so rare,
So like the
Second James for War,
For Wisdom
James the
First, the
Second Solomon.
IV.
Who then can say that Wonders are no more,
And Miracles long since giv'n o're;
What Chains of Wonders have we seen,
What Miracles have lately been
On that for ever Lamentable Day
When at the stake three helpless Kingdoms lay,
When the whole
Isle with storms was tost,
When it the
best of
Kings, and
Fathers lost,
What Plagues, what Desolation did ensue,
What dire confusions did we view!
Triumphant
Babel then bore sway,
Men knew not how, nor whom to obey.
How did the trembling Nation Lye,
In a Convulsive Agony,
Quite senceless, and about to expire?
And it had dy'd, had not the Royal Line
Been kept alive by Power Divine,
And
Phaenix-Charles and
James Rofe from their Fathers Pyre.
V.
VVhen Sons of
Belial do combine
In some tremendous black design,
Deeper than Hell, and think to overthrow
Kings, and Kingdoms at a blow;
Heaven then prepares a Countermine:
A sure, tho' unexpected providence
Hovering waits for their Defence,
The happy Monument
Newmarket stands,
A
Sacred, and
Prophetick Flame!
Traytors had
Royal Blood prepar'd,
But Heav'n the
Royal Victim spar'd;
Mercy their Curst Design o'recame,
Heav'n spar'd the
Isaac and prepar'd a
Ram.
The guiltless Town in ashes lies
And falls the unthought on Sacrifice;
VI.
So Heav'n the same Face of Mercy wore.
When on the treacherous
Leman-Our,
Th' unhappy
Glocester struck,
Long did she with the waves contend,
But they prov'd
Victors in the end:
The Mariners distracted Cries
Rend the Melancholly Skies:
In hast their trembling knees they bend,
And hearty, tho confused Prayers send
For some
Angelick friend
The
Royal Cargo to defend,
Heav'n heard,
And tho' each Object horror shew'd,
Great James with a Coelestial Guard,
Bold and undaunted stood
And brav'd the fury of the flood:
Troops of
Hero's by his side,
Like lesser Stars dropt down and dy'd,
Whiles he a Tear or two let fall
To mourn, and to
Inrich their
Funeral.
VII.
Return my Muse, and once more strike thy Lyre,
Kindle a soft, and peaceful fire,
Let Plots and dangers for a while retire:
Welcome Illustrious Infant; now we View
The Joy of Men, and Angels too;
Welcome as is to Misers wealth,
Or to despairing Sinners health,
As Life to men rais'd from the Dead,
As Heav'n to a Soul just fled.
How much admir'd shall
Albion be,
When other Nations shall her blessing see!
What props are to the Royal Cedar rear'd,
To render it at once belov'd and fear'd!
No more shall sactious discords sway,
Nor Point to Anarchy th'unhappy way;
Peace shall her beauteous face put on,
And Unity once more ascend the Throne;
Since all are blessings in such a Prince as he,
May all in an united Love agree;
Oh may the happy Reformation come,
That those that would exclude the Father, now may love the Son.
FINIS.