TO THE DUKE ON HIS RETURN.
COME then at last, while anxious Nations weep,
Three Kingdoms stak't! too pretious for the deep.
Too pretious sure, for when the Trump of fame
Did with a direfull sound your Wrack proclaim,
Your danger and your doubtfull safety shown,
It dampt the Genius, and it Shook the Throne.
Your Helm may now the Sea-born Goddess take,
And soft
Favonius safe your passage make.
Strong, and auspicious, bee the Stars that reign,
The day you launch, and
Nereus sweep the Main.
Neptune aloft, scowr all the Storms before,
And following
Tritons, wind you to the Shore;
While on the Beach, like Billows of the Land,
In bending Crowds the Loyal English stand:
Come then, thô late, your right receive at last;
Which Heaven preserv'd, in spite of Fortunes blast,
Accept those hearts, that Offer on the Strand;
The better half of this divided Land.
Venting their honest Souls in tears of Joy,
They rave, and beg you wou'd their lives employ,
Shouting your sacred name, they drive the air,
And fill your Canvas Wings with gales of prayer.
Come then I hear three Nations shout agen,
And, next our
Charles, in every bosome reign;
Heaven's darling Charge, the care of regal stars,
Pledge of our Peace, and Triumph of our Wars.
Bring the bright pregnant Blessing of the Throne.
And if in Poets charms be force or skill,
We charge you, O ye Waves, and Winds be still,
Soft as a sailing Goddess bring her home,
With the expected Prince that loads her Womb;
Joy of this Age and Heir of that to come.
Next her the Virgin Princess shines from far,
Aurora that, and this the Morning Star.
Hail then, all hail, They land in
Charle's Armes,
While his large Breast, the Nation's Angel warms.
Tears from his Cheeks with manly mildness roul,
Then dearly grasps the treasure of his Soul:
Hangs on his Neck, and feeds upon his form,
Calls him his Calm, after a tedious Storm.
O Brother! He cou'd say no more, and then,
With heaving Passion clasp'd him close again.
How oft he cry'd have I thy absence mourn'd,
But 'tis enough Thou art at last return'd:
Said I return'd! O never more to part,
Nor draw the vital warmth from
Charles his heart.
Once more, O Heav'n, I shall his Vertue prove,
His Council, Conduct, and unshaken Love.
My People too at last their Errour see,
And make their Sovereign blest in loving Thee.
Not but there is a stiff-neck'd-harden'd Crew
That give not
Caesar, no nor God his due.
Reprobate Traytors, Tyrants of their Own,
Yet Grudge to see their Monarch in his Throne.
Their stubborn Souls with brass Rebellion barr'd,
Desert the Laws, and Crimes with Treason guard.
Whom I—but there he stop'd, and cry'd 'tis past,
Pity's no more, this warning be their last;
Then sighing said, my Soul's dear purchas'd rest,
Welcome, Oh welcome, to my longing Brest:
Why should I waste a tear while thou art by,
To all extreams of Friendship let us fly,
Disdain the factious Crowd that wou'd rebell
And mourn the Men that durst in death excell,
Their Fates were Glorious since for thee they fell.
And as a Prince has right his Arms to weil'd,
When stubborn Rebels force him to the Field:
So for the Loyal, who their Lives lay down,
He dares to Hazard both his Life and Crown.
FINIS.
Printed for I. Tonson, at the Iudge's Head in Chancery-lane. 1682.