ENGLANDS JOY, Expressed in an ἘΠΙΝΊΚΙΟΝ, To the most Renowned Man of Honor, and Temporal Redeemer of the PRINCE, PEERS, and PEOPLE of this Land, HIS EXCELLENCY The Lord General Monck.

SO then Victorious General George, go on,
To perfect thy
A R [...]yal Present.
[...].
Thus that great
Nevil Earl of Warwick
Make-King Warwick, thou'lt out-do,
And all the Worthies of past Ages too:
As He's Proclaim'd, so Crown, and set Charls right,
Then let
The De­vil and old Oliver.
old Nick and Nol do their worst spight.
So Kings may reign, by
Jus Postli­minii in the Civil Law.
Postliminial Rights,
And Suns come out o'th Sea, make new
Those Knights usually made at Coronati­ons.
Bath Knights,
Which must dispel all Mists; all Mischiefs yield
To Royal Vertue, Patience wins the Field:
Field without Sweat or Blood; the Cause so just,
It need not stir one Graine of English dust.
Which were the Beasts thou conquer'dst, tame, would be
Thought but an easie humane Victory.
But they were savage, hungry, fierce, and fell
As Lybian Lyons, or those Beasts that dwell
In Indian Dens, my Men worse than Divels,
What Hand but Sacred could er'e cure such
The Kings Evil cured by his touch.
Evils?
And only with a touch, by which we see,
Thou canst outdoe
Veni, vi­di vici.
Cesarean Chevalry.
Indeed we were afraid, Good people all
Expected more a Royal Funeral,
Than such a Coronation,
Rather his head to be cut off then an­nointed.
and to feel
The dismal dint of Parricidal steel,
Rather than Unction on his Sacred Head:
But He's deliver'd, and w'are brought to Bed.
So now He's ours again, Great George, and who
But thee, shall we sing Jo. Paeans to?
To thee Great Soul of Honor, who wer't borne
To be Restorer of thy Prince forlorne.
The Great Redeemer of thy Countreys Laws,
And brave Assertor of the true Old Cause.
Kings are the true Suns, and all Usur­pers but Meteors or falling Stars.
Thou'st given our Sun to England, without Wars,
O'rthrown Phanatick Meteors falling Stars.
Those proud usurping Phaetons, that durst
Sit in the Chair of Fire, till it burst,
And sing'd all Earth and Sea it touch'd upon.
Leaving us dark,
The Pro­tectorians.
in conflagration.
Prodigious things were done, but all in vain,
They mounted Cromwels Cart, thou Charls his Wain.
But yet th' Herculean Labors found no end,
New work was cut out for thee,
The Fagg end of the late Long Parliament
by the Fiend.
More Monsters still arise, a Rebel Rump,
So often stript and whipt, and dock't toth' Stump,
Must needs start up again, O cursed
Flemish for Tayle.
Stert,
How could'st thou still hold up so malapert?
After so many Regicidal Acts,
O'rwhelming all, with bloody
The over­flowing of Nile.
Cataracts,
To play Rex yet upon our heads, and be
Our Commonwealth, nay common Misery?
Others have oft attempted to defeat,
This many headed Hydra,
So Hercu­les was cal­led for his destroying of noxious Monsters.
but the cheat
O'th' Good old Cause, reviv'd it's heads, and we
Could hope no * [...] but thee.
So Dragon like, it dealth about it's blows,
None could withstand its Fury, no not those
That were immur'd, and fenc'd with Iron chaines,
Posts,
The City Gates, Posts, Portculli­ces, were beat down by the Rumps or­der.
and Portcullices: The City Veines
Were bloodless grown, to see their Ports beat down,
And Tayles with many Heads usurp a Crown.
But th'hast delivered them and us, who'rt borne
To be Redeemer of thy Country torne,
By such inhumane Miscreants; Thy hand
H [...]s from that creeping vermin cleer'd the Land.
Thou canst as easily kill such Snakes as
Hercules.
He,
That in his Cradle, strangled two or three.
None but our
St. George in Story killed the Dragon.
George, could kill this Dragon dead,
And make Romance for History be read.
Against thy mighty Arm, what force prevails,
Who kill'st all monstrous Heads, as well as Tayls?
Proceed and Prosper so great George, and where
Thou pleasest for to make thy Hemisphere,
Thou'rt still our Constellation, leade us forth,
And th'inspired Needle's not more true to th'North,
Nor Rivers to the Sea, than we will be,
To our Dread Soveraign Lord, King Charls, and thee.
Nor shall we fear success in Peace, or War,
Whilst He is thine, and thou, our Northern Star.
J. H.

LONDON, Printed for M. B. 1660.

This keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above is co-owned by the institutions providing financial support to the Text Creation Partnership. This Phase I text is available for reuse, according to the terms of Creative Commons 0 1.0 Universal. The text can be copied, modified, distributed and performed, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission.