Licensed.
Iune 27. 1688.
R. P.
A POEM Congratulatory ON THE BIRTH OF THE Young PRINCE, Most Humbly Dedicated to their August MAJESTIES KING IAMES, and QUEEN MARY.
Written by M r D' URFEY.
Quo nihil majus meliusve terris Fata donavere, bonique divi, nec dabunt, Quamvis redeant in Aurum Tempora priscum.
Horace Lib. 4. Ode 2.
LONDON,
Printed for Ioseph Knight and Francis Saunders, at the Blue Anchor, in the Lower Walk of the New Exchange, 1688▪
A POEM Congratulatory ON THE BIRTH OF THE Young PRINCE.
I.
AS in a sullen Clowdy backward Spring,
The Husbandman as Clowdy does appear;
Mourning to see his Plants no Blossoms bring,
To Crown the Beauty of the ripening Year.
II.
The Sun o' th' suddain dissipates his fears,
From whose kind heat each Plant a Soul obtains;
His griefs are turn'd to Joy, to Smiles his Tears,
Seeing (though late) the Off-spring of his Pains.
III.
So when your People, Sir, that wish'd your Fame,
And knew that Kings, though Sacred, Mortal are;
Doubted an Heir to your Immortal Name,
And Night might come without an Evening Star.
IV.
When Ominous Mistrust fill'd every Breast,
And Sadness there did like a Chaos show;
Th' Eternal dash'd the Darkness from the East,
And said, Let there be Light, and it was so.
V.
Then kindled Atoms form'd a Beam so bright,
The dazling Joy three Kingdoms did adorn;
All Nature seem'd to revel in delight,
That happy Minute when the
Prince was Born.
VI.
Each friendly Star shot his propitious Ray,
And blest the Morning of his Royal Birth,
Foretelling the Meridian of his Day
Would spread his Glory through the spacious Earth.
VII.
Amazing Pleasure the Beholders seis'd,
When Goddess Nature first expos'd a Boy;
The Gracious Mother in her Pangs was pleas'd:
But who can speak the Mighty Father's Joy?
VIII.
Such was their Joy who by the Rainbow knew
The sinful World should delug'd be no more;
Such hers, who at the Blessed Virgins view
Perceiv'd the Mighty Prophet that she bore.
IX.
Hail then, Great
Monarch, Parent of us all;
Glad Father of an Off-spring now more dear:
Permit me grov'ling at thy Feet to fall,
And shew my Hearts true Joy and Duty there.
X.
No hollow Sounds of Temporizing Love,
Nor byass'd Duty taints my Loyal Breast;
A solid Faith does my Allegiance move;
And what I now, I always have exprest.
XI.
Duty compell'd's an Artificial Cheat,
A Dull false Pebble clos'd in Metal base;
'Tis Inclination always best can set
A Gem so proper for a Monarch's Grace.
XII.
A Loyalty, that Care nor yet Distress,
Nor Friends Allurements, Threats of Foes, nor Fear,
Not proffer'd Wealth, Reproof, nor yet Disgrace
Can alter, is the Gem we ought to wear.
XIII.
Since Kings can do no wrong, what strange Decree
Is that, which can Allegiance backward draw?
Duty Chief Point should of Religion be,
And an Obedience Passive should be Law.
XIV.
The Curr that snarls at Edicts of his King,
Methinks should streight set up a
Monarch School;
And perfect in the knack of Governing,
Teach his Anointed Sovereign how to Rule.
XV.
Desire him to give up his Regal Power,
And veil his Judgment to
Plebeian Tricks;
Thus let the awful Lyon reign no more,
Because the Ass would vent his Politicks.
XVI.
Let such as he repine at that blest day,
That gave this best of Blessings to our view;
Whilst I in Hymns of Joy all Glory pay,
To Heaven first, and then, Great Sir, to You.
XVII.
Next, Hayl most bright, and most ador'd of
Queens,
To whom all Sects do publick praise allow;
Opinions most precise subdue their Spleens,
And
Ave Maries are most proper now.
XVIII.
To You by Heaven ordain'd the Sacred Mold,
That to Enrich us this bright Medal Coyn'd;
More dear than Diamond Rocks, or Worlds of Gold,
What thanks, ah! what Addresses shall we find!
XIX.
Like needy Bankrupts wasted is our Store,
Which wishes to supply can never serve:
All Pens too worthless are, all Words too poor,
T' express the mighty Praise that You deserve.
XX.
Well have your strict Religious Vows been paid
To Heaven, since your chief Suit is granted there;
Who would not be by your Example led,
If Gifts like This are the Effect of Prayer?
XXI.
And who the Crowded Paths of Court has trod,
That your untir'd Devotion has not seen?
Ador'd by Men, and so belov'd of God,
You more of Saint discover than of
Queen.
XXII.
With Pity stor'd and every Royal Grace,
So well You Your Majestick Part have plaid;
What were great Bounty in another place,
To you seems as a Debt but justly paid.
XXIII.
Uncommon Vertue gains uncommon Grace,
Well may the
Stoick grant her Life is pure,
Whose pious thoughts so firm in Heaven are plac'd,
No Worldly Pomp, or Grandeur can allure.
XXIV.
Who can too loud your Joy and Fortune sing,
A Joy that o're all other far prevails;
Since Bounteous Heaven has sent the only thing
You wanted upon Earth,
A Prince of Wales?
XXV.
A Rising Sun to influence this Isle,
Divinely form'd, all Heroe from the Womb;
Methinks I see the Royal Infant smile,
As if he knew his Glorious Fate to come.
XXVI.
A Fate that my Prophetick Soul Divines,
O're Foreign Nations shall extend its Power;
Whilst to Obedience Home-born Rage declines,
And English Rebels shall be found no more.
XXVII.
His very Name has proud Sedition hush'd,
And Babling Faction has no more to say;
His Infant Glory has their Envy crush'd,
Whilst press'd by Fear dissembled Love they pay.
XXVIII.
Upon his Foes th'Illustrious Babe does smile,
Though at his Feet pale Treachery bows down,
As if he knew and scorn'd each subtle wile
Design'd against him, or his Fathers Crown.
XXIX.
Alcides so in his large Cradle lay,
Strangling Rebellious Vipers with his hand;
By Envy sent t' oppose his future sway,
Who ere his Birth was modell'd for Command.
XXX.
To Natures Care belongs the Common Mould,
Slight second Causes form
Plebeian Earth;
But when a King is Cast, a Senate's call'd,
And Angels sit in Council at his Birth.
XXXI.
Wit, Valour, Beauty, Fortunate Success,
Each Heavenly Officer in order brings;
And by Command from the Eternal, Bless
This Mighty Off-spring of the best of Kings.
XXXII.
Thus though your Reign, Great Sir, in broils began,
Till
Phaeton came tumbling from the Sky;
Bringing the Stubborn Rabble Headlong down,
To Curse a Lunatick that soar'd too high;
XXXIII.
With real Joy may all your People see
What wondrous Blessings Heaven had in store,
That from Lifes greatest dangers set you free
Of stormy Sea, and the more stormy shore.
XXXIV.
And now to Close all Blessings up in one,
And give your Royal Heart true Cause of Bliss;
Great Providence presents you with a Son,
And to your Kingdoms boundless Happiness.
XXXV.
All Joy to
Caesar then, and to the Queen,
And to
Augusta
*, if true Joy she knows;
Though to her shame she has once Wav'ring been,
And to her Mighty Lord a Faithless Spowse.
XXXVI.
Pamper'd and Proud, of a true City Race,
Under Devotions Veil contriving ill;
Wrong is the Zeal Allegiance does not Grace,
And false the Church that teaches to Rebel.
XXXVII.
Our
Holy Matron ne're such Doctrine taught,
Her Principles of Faith all Loyal are;
Founded on Truth, and from Tradition wrought,
Clear as the Light, and shining as a Star.
XXXVIII.
Enthusiastick Schism the humour leads
Of such as can no Monarchy endure;
Effects of sickly Brains, and empty Heads,
And Treasonous Railing is, they think, a Cure.
XXXIX.
The Wise man speaks no ill, but hopes all right,
Nor looks too near the Sun left sight should fail;
So th' brave not Conquering his Foe in fight,
Allows it base behind his back to rail.
XL.
But Carping
Momus in each Age must be
A
Zany plac'd to make a Monarch sport;
The Fop and Parasite we often see,
Are two Essential Figures in a Court.
XLI.
Yet useful Law and Learning flourish there,
But above all the Souldier leads the Van;
Whilst humble Poetry brings up the Rear,
And ever to his grief is hindmost Man.
XLII.
Inspiring Poetry that decks the Mind
With Reasons richest Phrase to speak to Kings;
And as a Gift peculiar was design'd,
To treat of Mighty Heroes mighty things.
XLIII.
Wits truest Mirrour where it sees its Face,
Adorn'd with modest, as with Beauteous Charms;
And own'd by all th' Illustrious Roman Race,
Embellishment for Kings as well as Arms:
XLIV.
Now lonely walks with sad dejected look,
Whom Ignorance beholds with scornful Eyes;
As if it were a shame to know a Book,
And a disgraceful scandal to be Wise.
XLV.
But you, Great Sir, the English Muses King,
Cheer their Cold hopes with Beams of Royal Grace;
Else perish'd were the Fam'd
Castalian Spring,
And wholly Ruin'd Great
Apollo's Race.
XLVI.
A common genius common Souls Inspires,
Coyn'd off in hast, each to his post is hurl'd;
Poets have part of that Coelestial Fire,
That makes a King contemn the sordid World.
XLVII.
With Wealth and Arms your Empire, Sir, is blest;
With Noble Arts I hope will flourish too:
The English Imitate old Romans best,
And we the Fam'd
Augustus find in You.
XLVIII.
And may this Royal Babe, Your Kingdoms Joy,
The Richest Gem, that does Your Crown Adorn,
His Youth by Grace and Vertue dignify,
That all may Bless the Minute He was Born.
XLIX.
May his Great Valour o're the World be known,
Whilst blest Success each Glorious Act Proclaims;
May History be fill'd with his Renown,
L.
And may Your Sacred Self live long and Reign,
With Your Bright
Consort sharing lasting Joy;
May Heaven inform the Genial Bed again,
And soon produce a second Royal Boy.
LI.
May Golden Peace with Pleasure guild Your Days,
From Rebels free, and Treasons Hellish Arts;
Health, Fame and Unity, Your Grandeur raise,
Kings then Reign best, that govern Subjects Hearts.
FINIS.