To the KING: A Congratulatory POEM.
Virg. Aen. l. 6.
—Tu maximus Ille es,
Ʋnus qui nobis cunctando Restituis Rem.
Printed at London, and Re-printed at Edinburgh, by the Heir of Andrew Anderson, Printer to His most Sacred Majesty, 1685.
[...]
TO THE KING: A Congratulatory POEM.
DREAD Sir, since it has pleas'd the Pow'rs above,
To take the other Object of our Love;
Forgive me, if the mighty Happiness,
We now enjoy, but know not to express,
Transports a Muse from mourning
CHARLES his Fate,
Your Reign in Numbers to Congratulate.
With Tears of Gratitude, that DUTY paid,
Accept what our Just GRIEF till now delay'd.
Great King, the Greatest
Britain ever knew,
Since
Caesar not to conquer came, but view;
In whom at once indisputably shine.
All Vertues, that can make a Man Divine.
From one unworthy a more near Access,
Receive this Humble, Innocent Address.
Not such as every little, trembling Slave,
To the Usurper in your Absence gave;
False Fires, like Meteors, kindled to deceive,
Behind them stink, and Darkness, only Leave.
But from an Heart that flows with Loyal Blood,
Deriv'd from Ancestors, not Great, but Good;
By Inclination, more than Duty bound,
Almighty Love, which ever has been found
A stronger Tye, the Subjects Faith to awe,
Than all the well-wrought Fetters of the Law.
Great Sir, the Glories of your Future Reign,
Rise to my sight like some Vast, Boundless Plain,
In which the diff'rent Objects we descry;
At once attract, amaze, and please the Eye.
At the entrance where we take our View, with Fear
We find a mighty Precipice appear;
Dreadfully steep, Horrid to look upon,
Like the rough Dangers that did wait your Throne.
But unconcern'd on the calm Top you sate,
Plac'd by the Gods, above the Reach of Fate.
As you deserv'd, were always Heaven's Care,
Nor in the midst of Ruine did despair.
You gave all Proofs of being truly Wise,
Fac'd ev'ry Danger, Fortune did despise;
Bore all her Changes with an equal Mind,
And made her impotent, as well as Blind.
Hard by a Noble, useful River flows,
Enriching all the Country as it goes,
And in its Tardy, but Majestick Course,
Shews us your Naval Victories, and Force.
Sherness, and
Tilbury, the Banks secure,
From the False
Dutch no more Affronts endure;
Against invading Foes a sure Defence,
And fit to curb Domestique Insolence.
Not far from thence to massie Chains fast ty'd,
Your strong built Ships, in proper Stations ride;
All fram'd of
English Oke, for service made,
The Nations Bulwarks, Guardians of our Trade.
The Ancient Admirals in Battle torn,
Have valiant
Monck, and Fiercer
Rupert born,
Both Sons of
Mars, but both behind in Fame
To you, Great Sir, your
Britain's first, Best Name:
[...]hose well-weigh'd Courage, and experienc'd Zeal,
[Page] To their own Cost the neighb'ring States can tell.
Just to your Friends, too gentle to your Foes,
Your long unbroken Course of Victory shows,
What Miseries fancy Common-wealths attend,
When God-like Patient Monarchs they offend.
But to resume our well forsaken Theme,
And tell what more adorns the Silver stream;
Your spacious Yards, and Docks for Building made,
And crowded Stores are next to be survey'd.
Here monstrous Cables are in Circles roll'd,
Your Floating Castles strong enough to hold;
Fastned to Anchors of Prodigious size,
They mock the Anger of the Seas, and Skies.
Your Brawny Cyclops these on Anvils frame,
Repeated strokes the stubborn Metal tame.
Some heave the mighty Bellows, others wet
The Coals, exciting an Intenser Heat.
Some with huge Tongs turn the yet unform'd Mass,
Into vast Molds, some lead the Ductile Brass.
All with united Force at once conspire
To shew the strange effects of Skill, and Fire.
Chain-shot, and Thund'ring Cannon they prepare,
Where the Bold Artist to Perfection brings
Those modern, murd'ring Instruments of War,
The last, but not worst Arguments of Kings.
What next the wondring Eye with Pleasure meets,
Are the Materials of succeeding Fleets.
Of useful Timber, a stupendious Pile,
Planted to Beautifie, and Guard your Isle.
Those Rebels, who your Father's Reign annoy'd,
Short fruits of Prosp'rous Villany enjoy'd
The Woods that should Defend them, they destroy'd.
[Page] You, Sir, your Country's Father, with just Care,
Know when to use your Stores, and when to spare.
Forrests of Northern Fir, and Brittish Oke,
Obey your Orders, and the Builders stroke.
They but perform the Low, Mechanick Part,
You are the Genius, Sir, the Soul, the Heart,
The labour theirs, yours the Design, and Art.
For since th' Almighty Architect inspir'd
Noah to build the Ship, to which retir'd
The Remnant of the delug'd World,
No Rev'rend History a Prince can tell,
Who Fleets e're us'd, or understood so well.
In vain your Neighbour on the other side,
With fruitless labour, and deluded Pride,
Into Good Harbours would his Rocks improve,
And from Chok'd Ports returning Sands remove,
'Tis easier far for him to exercise
His little frauds upon the Continent,
To set up Chambers of Dependencies,
Where unjust Sentences his Bounds augment.
Great
JAMES! to whom by Arms, and Title too,
The Empire of the Liquid World is due:
Can when he pleases his own Ocean free
From the Incroachments of the
Dieu Donnée.
To
Brest and
Rochfort can his Fleets confine,
Or intercept the Squadrons e'ne they joyn.
By threatning War, can check his vast Design,
And call his Armies from the
Po, and
Rhine.
Can useless make his present Naval Power,
And, as Bright
Gloriana heretofore;
Command the Haughty Prince to Build no more.
You to your
Rome a true
Augustus are,
Like him, you close the Iron Doors of War.
[Page] The Sov'raign Arbiter of
Europe stand,
Poising the Scales in your Impartial Hand.
Th'
Italian, German, Spaniard, and the
Gaul,
When you prescribe, their ancient
Feuds let fall.
If Northern Kings fall out, your word alone
Sends gladsome Peace to chear the frozen Zone.
Thus Foreign Nations, by your Prudence thrive,
Nor less advantage does your own receive.
Where e're they spread themselves i' th' East, or West,
With your propitious influence they are Blest.
Not
Greece, nor
Rome such Colonies could boast,
So firmly settled, and so seldom Lost.
Then for their safety you such Laws provide.
As none but your own
Britains know beside.
No sordid ends of Avarice you pursue,
But where your prosp'rous Arms your Pow'r extend,
You propagate the Faith which you defend,
Calm the Old World, and Civilize the New.
Pardon me, Sir, that I so long forbear
One signal Instance of your Gen'rous Care:
That as in Fruitful Regions some you plant,
You rescue others from Distress, and want.
So equal Thanks, to the kind Gods are due,
Who first create, and then preserve us too.
Long time in vain the Valiant English lay
Expos'd to Faithless
Moors, an easie Prey.
Lost to their Countrey, they in Desarts spent
Their useless lives, till Loyal
Dartmouth sent
By your Advice, the Shatter'd Reliques bore
From
Africk's scorch'd, inhospitable Shore.
An Action in each Circumstance as Great,
As the
Athenian Gen'rals fam'd Retreat.
No less true Courage, no less Conduct shown,
In our Illustrious English
Xenophon.
To those abroad who serve you if so kind,
At Home what Hourly Blessings may we find,
From the Just Temper of your God-like Mind?
Not Parents of their Children, Lovers of
The first Dear Object of their youthful Flame,
Half so Indulgent, half so Tender prove,
As you of each Mans Fortune, Life, and Fame.
The Young, and Bold, who are for Action fit,
To the pursuit of Honour you excite;
The few who Merit, seldom miss Reward,
The many wretched are not Hope debar'd.
What Soldier will decline the Camp, or Field?
For whose Emerit Age you
Chelsey build,
Where you the Wrecks of Humane Life repair,
And pay with Glorious Ease the Toils of War.
But, Sir, we must not here your Vertues bound,
All Arts have you their firm Protector found,
All useful Knowledge to such height refin'd,
We lagging leave the tir'd Old Schools behind;
And Future Times to Ours this Blessing owe,
They need but practise, what from us they know.
Witness the place, within whose Famous Walls,
To conqu'ring truth, old error prostrate falls.
Where, led by you, the Hero's of the age,
With Dint of Reason, Ignorance ingage.
Sagacious
Henshow, Hoskins, Noble
Boyle,
And
Wren the
Archimedes of our Isle.
With
Sylva's Author, who the British Oke
Has taught to plant, since
Charles there Refuge took
A sacred Tree.
The Learned here on Trust no Notions take,
But deep researches into Nature make.
Pursue her close in all her winding ways,
[Page] On sound Experiments their Systems raise.
Reveal her Treasures freely to the wise,
And veil her Secrets from prophaner eyes.
In Gratitude, what Altars should we rear?
What Vows, what Victims to those Altars bear?
Old
Rome for much less Benefits than these,
Call'd, whilst alive, her
Caesars Deities;
And were we not convinc'd, a Pow'r to own,
To those Illustrious Heathens then unknown,
We with more Reason might our
JAMES adore,
Than they, their most deserving Emperor.
Joy of our hearts, sole pleasure of our eyes,
With whose auspicious Reign, our Spirits rise.
By long experience dear to us before,
Now Dearer for a thousand Reasons more.
Welcome, as Light to those in Dungeons pent,
As pardon to despairing wretches sent,
As Home to Men
[...] from Banishment.
But your one Life, we of the Gods implore,
In granting that, they all things else restore.
The many Peopled VVorld one God obeys.
The Scepter of the Air one Eagle sways.
One Gen'rous Lyon ranges through the VVood.
One mighty VVhale is Monarch of the Flood.
Our
JAMES the Great, Patron of Arms, and Arts,
Commands the Brittish Seas, and Shores, and Hearts.
FINIS.