To Their Sacred MAJESTIES The King and Queen, On Their Joynt CORONATIONS, &c.
I.
WHile, That
First-matter (whatsoe'er it was)
That
Fluid Infinite,
Lay, yet inseparate,
Nought cou'd be said to Be, but a void Mass,
Or indigested Lump, without a Soul:
Only, a dull, dead, heavy Night,
Or a worse Darkness sate
Sate Brooding on the Whole:
But when the Mighty
Fiat past,
Th' unwieldy
Chaos broke;
Each 'tangled Element was wing'd with Hast,
Fought out its way, and to its Centre took;
The Sun appear'd; The Earth, Shot-forth,
An
Vniversal Monarch bore the Sway;
Glory on High, and Peace on Earth,
Was the great Song; until her Gyant-brood,
Disturb'd That Heav'nly Lay;
And, Topsy-turvy'ing ev'ry thing, Embrew'd,
Their harmless Mother, with Seditious Blood.
II.
Such was our Case at home: This,
England's, Shee,
(To pass the rest) that from an
Heptarchy,
Weather'd so many Centuries;
Nor knew more Lords than One,
Yet spread her Branches to the Ocean;
How was She Rackt, with Fears, and Jealousies?
Her Beauty, and her Bands, how gone?
Her Order Lost; Her Seamless Coate,
Torn into Raggs: What can't a Faction Vote!
[Page 4] One might have Sought, and sought (too true)
Her, in her self, yet mist her too,
She was so smear'd with blood:
While all along, The stupid Croud,
Snarle at the Stone, but kiss the Hand, that threw:
'Til moyl'd, and tir'd they stood; and then,
Consid'ring What they'd done;
Soon as the Scales fell from their Eyes,
Came up to the lost Paths agen,
Ador'd the Majesty th'ad slain;
Mark'd out some Heads for Sacrifice,
And with united Ecchoes, Rent the Skies.
III.
And now, your Royal Brother once restor'd,
Who was not
Instrumental in't?
One mought have found, Ten honest Men,
Before one factious Lord:
Where was That He, that did not give the Hint?
Treason! and Traitor! Bless us! What
Means the harsh Phrase, to Men regenerate?
So Smooth, and Slick, was ev'ry Face agen:
The People Shout! The Houses vie
Who shall Do most: All all's the Cry!
Yet He, Out-did 'em: 'twas but Ask, and Have;
So glad He was, not to Destroy, but Save.
Thus Basking in his Beams they lay,
Till Fat, and Wanton with their Ease,
They must Rise-up to Play;
Their Nourishment, turn'd to Disease;
They lift the Heel, Snuff up the Wind, and Bray:
And as we see a Swelling Sea,
Keep Rowling, thô the Storm be spent;
Having no more to Wish to Be,
They must be now, Secure, or Insolent:
Your Happy Brother Found, and Broke the Clew;
To keep it Such, was left (Great SIR) to You.
IV.
You, You in whom, Your Royal Ancestours
Thô Dead, yet Speak, and Live anew;
Their mighty Deeds, break-forth in You,
And their forgotten Urnes, beare Flowers.
[Page 5] Nor do You raise the Dead, alone,
But in the Living,
Emulation;
So that Who'd Speak it right, must Call
You,
Coeur de Lyon, An Original,
At least, th' united Excellence of All,
Did not the
Royal Harrys claime a Share;
(The Seventh of
England, and the Fourth of
France)
They ne'er said
Go, but
Let us on;
So
Caesar, past the
Rubicon:
Full well They knew, Subjects delight,
To have a King, Will
See 'em fight:
Nor Rashly yet: Nature's advance,
Is not by Leaps, but Steps: And such too, are,
Yours; (Royal SIR') Their Crowns, and Vertues Heir.
But I'm too blame—Who beats on Ages past,
Hunts a foil'd Chase: Be what they will,
You have Perform'd so much, this
Last,
The
Next, must set You' for Example still.
V.
Which of 'em All, more Glorious Hazards ran?
With greater Conduct, or with less Concern?
Such, That the Best, might from You Learn,
To be A
Gen'ral, or A
Private Man.
Flanders did Feel, and
France Confess,
Your Early Arms, when from Your blooming Youth,
Turein made Judgment of Your future Growth:
Thus
Hercules,
Gave the Essay,
What He wou'd prove another day:
And beardless
Alexander, put to rout
The World, ere
Caesar thought, of setting-out.
Nor has the Omen fail'd (Great SIR) in You:
You return'd safe, and Fraught with Laurels too:
They Like the Soil; Root, and become,
A Safe-guard, to Your Oake at home,
Let her between 'em grow,
And with her humble Sprigs, adorn Your Brow,
For, that she spreds anew, is all
Your Own;
[Page 6] Fortune, has nothing in it;
She,
Finds only Matter, to us;
We,
We give it Form, and
Her, her Deity.
VI.
Nor has the thrice-asserted
British Main,
Less own'd You, when as oft in-vain,
The
Dutch disputed the Dominion,
Your Arms o'rer-ul'd the
Plea;
They Dread your Flag, and at Your Thunder, Flee:
Fain wou'd The Watry God have sav'd his own;
And in disorder—Thus—Wee'll meet alone:
He Watcht his time, and had it; Threw a Shelf,
And sunk Your Ship; But, seeing You afloat,
He now, fear'd for himself,
And in confusion, fled Your single Boat.
What shall I add? The Lyon of the North,
Had half brok-loose agen;
But at Your very setting-forth,
He Trembled; and on sight, came-in;
Came-in, and Couch'd; Rouze him, Who e'er he be,
H'as led the Peaceful way, to t'other Three:
Nor was it strange; Falcons Pursue
The rankest Wing; The same did You;
Whose generous Sword, did never vie
A Triumph, but a Victory;
Nor made more use of That, than to forgive;
You Quell'd the Stubborn, bad the Humble, Live.
And now, Possess us All: Thô yet,
Do what we can, we must be still Ingrate.
VII.
But, I'm deceiv'd, or We're already such;
'Twas
Rome's, and
Athens Best Mens Fate,
To have deserv'd too much:
Your Royal Father's, only fault:
And if to have pursu'd the noblest ends;
Firm to
Your Word, and Constant to
Your Friends;
T'ave minded
Other's safety, not
Your Own,
Nor to be Dazled with A Crown,
[Page 7] Be, to be Crim'nal (SIR) You're Guilty too:
Or, if repeated Injuries, may bear
The name of Gratitude, You, had Your Share;
But Your Stanch Vertue, brought You through.
Thus, as one Good, begets another Good,
Your Resolution, gave You Fortitude,
And made You More than Conqueror:
You gave the Torrent way; Withdrew,
And (
Parthian-like) by wheeling, You subdue:
At least, so Broke the Faction, Ev'ry one
Has washt his Hands of
Your Exclusion:
We'are All one Mothers Sons; All joyn,
In this Great Days Solemnities:
Not that a Coronation adds more
To You, (in all respects, Full-King before;)
Than to th' Intrinsick value of Your Coyn,
The Stamp, which carries, only This,
That it declares,
What, and
Whose Image 'tis.
VIII.
But stay—What's here!—Another
Star at Noon!
One?—'tis A
Constellation!
You, no less Gratious, than Royal Queen!
The Abstract of whatever Good has been,
Nor That, by Art, but Inclination:
In whom, no single This, or That,
But Ev'ry Grace, and Virtue meet;
So fully too, that we may guess,
What the First Woman in Perfection, was:
To these, That Beauty, That variety,
Multitude, Mixture, Correspondency,
That Free, yet Awful Majesty;
You might be taken for A
Kind, alone;
And wou'd, but that You 'owe's
A Son;
You've One, We wait, Another
James the Great;
And
Modena, fam'd for Heroick Men,
Assures us, You'll not miss the Strein:
Let him (if possible) be Greater yet:
Let him—I go too far—The Rest, I'll guess;
But had gone further, were my Rev'rence less.
IX.
How Happy are Ye then, most Royal Pair,
You, in A
Queen; She, in Her
Partener;
And All Good
Subjects, in their Humble share!
Let Others Now, Plot; Let'em Raise
Their Old, or New
Utopias;
Let'em
Cajole, Coax, Fucus, Cant,
Their
Beldam Pus, The Covenant:
Let'em swear On, and Off; nay, till it be,
That Others, Yawn for company:
Let'em Doubt, Whisper, Murmur; Form,
Those hollow Blasts, into a Storm:
Your Vertue is impenetrable Mail;
And Great is Truth, and will prevail;
When They, like Arrows, Shot against a Wall;
Or Ruines, Break themselves, on What, they fall.
Thus Seated, on That Rock of Truth,
While Clouds, and Storms, gather Below,
'Tis All Serene, Above: Loose Winds, may blow;
Impostumated Billows, rise;
And Hurricanes, threaten the Skies;
But in Despight, of their spent Froth,
Your Station is secure: You bear aloof,
And wrapt in Your own Laurel, Thunder proof.
X.
Hark! Hark (Most Mighty SIR') The Gen'ral Shout,
Shews, the Heart's willing, And the Toung, speaks out!
All honest Men wou'd have You so,
Safe in Your Self, and in Your Subjects too;
Dreaded Abroad; at Home, lov'd, and rever'd;
Without a Noisy, Resty Herd,
But such, as Represent, not Personate;
Such, as Design You, Truly Great;
And studying to Salve, not Move Debate,
Shall still Assert You (What You are)
The single Arbiter, of Peace, and War:
And make Your Foes Confess,
Thô the Sun Warms
At Liberty, Contract it once, it Burns.
FINIS.