Anglia Rediviva: A POEM ON HIS MAJESTIES Most joyfull Reception INTO ENGLAND.
LONDON, Printed by R. Hodgkinsonne for Charles Adams, and are to be sold at the signe of the Talbot in Fleetstreet, 1660.
Anglia Rediviva, A Poem on his MAIESTEIS most joyfull Reception into England.
ALL, that despairing, and despair'd of men,
When suddenly restor'd to Health again,
Feel at the welcome change; All, that we know
Of overwhelming Ravishments, that grow
In the swift passing through the high extremes
Of cold despair, into the quickning beams
Of full enjoyment, scarce makes up the summe
Of
England's joy to see her Prince at home.
As, of the Heav'nly Bodies we inferre
Their magnitude from their Eclipse; And here
Below we by the shadows measure heights;
So must we calculate the ruinous streights,
We were reduc'd unto, before we guesse
At th' Elevation of our Happinesse.
Torn by the fury of Phanatick winds
Up by the roots, poor
Britainy now finds
Her self turn'd Floating Island: But her shore
No sooner kis't his Royall feet, and wore
Their fair impression, when her wav'ring cea'st,
And she became firme land again; so blest
Upon that sacred touch, that she grew sound
All on the sudden, closing every wound,
That bled so long: This healing touch reviv'd
Her drooping state, and promis'd a long-liv'd
Felicity, which nothing els could bring,
For her Kings-Evill was to want her King.
And all her children (Monsters she not ownes,
Though such there be, that with unnaturall frowns,
Or false smiles greet the Triumph of this Day)
With full consent of Hearts and tongues do pay
Their Pray'rs, and Loyall duty on their knee.
First unto God, then to his Majesty.
Heark, how the mouthes of Canons learn to speak
Love and Allegiance; Better so to break
The willing aire with loud and loyall sounds,
Then be the Instruments of death, and wounds.
To make our joyes appear, we Bonfires light,
As Emblemes of our Love; A flame more bright,
That burns, yet lessens not within our heart.
Bells ring, to shew the Church must have a part
In this Dayes Jubile; and that we owne,
As a main point of our Religion,
Our duty to the King. No Sex, nor Age,
But throngs to act their Parts, as on a Stage,
Of Homage to their Prince: They rend the skies
With such a volley of loud shouts, and cries,
As if they meant the Inhabitants above
Should Hearers be, and witnesse of their love.
But let the pressing Multitude give roome;
Behold, the noble Generall is come
With low obeisance Majestie to greet,
And lay himself down at the Royall feet.
This, this is he, whom kinder stars have sent
Of all our joyes to be the Instrument;
He, whom the Heav'ns reserv'd for such a season
To rescue
England, and disarme black Treason.
O, may that horrid Monster ne're be found
To raise his head again on English ground;
Down in his native Dungeon let him rore
For e're, and wallow in his own foul gore.
Long live our
George, that hath this Dragon slain,
To crush the breed, should any yet remain.
What this Knight was that after-times may see,
I'le draw his Picture for Posterity,
He is all Inside; Nothing of bark, or shell:
Made up of solid greatnesse; scorns t' excell
In a gay formall outside: One, that can
Seem little, and be great within. A Man
Only by his high actions understood,
Born for his Country, and his Soveraigns good.
He doth the work, whilest others say fine things;
And all our Hopes to an enjoyment brings:
Cares not with gilded promises to please,
But silently contrives our happinesse.
Some hope, some fear, some censure, and some raile,
He minds them not, but still drives home the Naile.
Not the mistrust of unbelieving friends,
Nor force of open foes obstruct the ends
Nobly prefixt unto his gen'rous mind;
He cuts his way through all, makes every wind
Serve his well laid Designe, untill he bring
To this distracted Realm Peace, and the King.
Him the succeeding Ages will admire
More then the present can: Great heights require
Some distance to be sully seen: When we
Lye blended in forgotten Dust, shall hee
Stand a fair Precedent of Loyalty.
From this lov'd subject I must part: My eye
Calls me away, struck with a glorious train
Of Nobles, hasting to revive again
Their tarnish't Lustre at the brighter Ray
Of Majesty: see, how they humbly lay
Themselves before him, so to rise the higher;
They were of smoak, they're now pillars of fire.
You, that are stars of the first Magnitude,
Have dearly learn't to understand your good:
Nor raise, nor cherish by your influence
Vapours (though on a sanctifi'd pretence)
That reek from corrupt, ill-affected minds;
Rais'd up, they soon convert to blustring winds,
Into black clouds condense, and last of all
On your own heads in stormes, and thunder fall.
All your tanscending lustre of the Crown
You hold, as Planets theirs doe of the Sunne.
Well may you shine in fair Conjunction,
But are eclips 't in Opposition.
Next comes the House of Commons, th' other Leg,
On which the Nation stands: These doe not beg
(Like those, who last sat there) their Soveraign
To part with, but to take his Rights again.
Nor, like those State-Phanaticks, will they mould
New Governments, but rest upon the old;
And in an equall temper keep alive
Our Liberty, and his Prerogative.
All terms and Articles are banish't hence:
They're for our Enemies, but not our Prince.
I know you are too generous to bring
Into the Nation, a fetter'd King,
And so to change by a false curtesie
His Banishment into Captivity.
Have not our Laws already mark't the Bounds
Twixt Him, and us? O, do not lay the grounds
Of fresh debate, least you unravell all,
And we to our late Anarchy doe fall.
But what fresh joy is this, that now appears
So bright, so loud unto my eyes and eares?
O 'tis the famous City come to see
With open hands, large heart, and bended knee
Their long-mist Soveraign; whom to restore
Their's none have acted, none have suffer'd more.
You, (when the raging sword had quite hewn down
Both Law, and Law-givers; laid flat the Crown,
And brought the sacred Head — Here I must leave,
Or the sad memory will quite bereave
This day of all his joy) t'was you, that dar'd
Stand in the breach; unarm'd, and unprepar'd,
Meeting the violence of an armed force,
An English heart to you was foot and horse:
Your stout opposing brought them to that sense,
That they were starv'd into Obedience.
If naked loyalty our ruine stop,
What may we not from your Militia hope?
Still may your Arms the Person guard, your Purse
The Royall splendor feed; You can't disburse
On higher interest, nor make a venter
In which more Glory, and more Profit center.
So Earth lends Heav'n some vapours, which again
Are gratefully return'd in fruitfull rain.
The World knows not a Monarch, like our own,
So season'd, so prepared for a Throne:
Nature hath done her best, Fortune her worst,
And both to fit him for us. They are curst
Beyond all punishment of Law, that dare
Advance a sullen Thought against the Pray'r
Pour'd forth by the whole Nation this Day,
That long may He Command, and we Obey.
And now (Most Glorious Prince) in name of all,
That Throng to Solemnize this Festivall,
Give your poor Subject leave humbly t' impart
The fervent motions of his Loyall heart.
More flourishing than
May I wish your Raign
(The Moneth, that gave you first, and now again
Restores you to us); And that Heaven a Bride
As fruitfull too may suddenly provide.
That you Out-live the Oldest, and out doe
The best of former Kings; That you may know
No sorrows, but what are already past,
To give your present Joy the higher Taste.
FINIS.