LOGOMACHIA: A Harmony in Discord, SHEWING The mutual submission of the Episcopal party in the City, and the Independent Souldiery, To CHARLES, by the Grace of God, King of England, Scotland, France & Ireland, Defender of the FAITH.
City.
WHere am I now! upon some unseen wing,
Hither I have been brought; the presence of a King
Ere long will grace my bulwarks, and adorn
My brow with lustre, like the gray-ey'd morn.
Though wayward fortune had malign'd my State,
And crost my Noble Actions out of date,
Yet I am metropolitan, and my Name
Shall live, and stand equivalent with fame.
Rouze up yee slumbring Lions, hollow
My war-like hearts, go, and your General follow;
You whose undaunted valour has been crown'd
With Noble Victories the world around,
Come forth, and with your fiers chase away
The night, and meet the Chariot of the day.
Sould.
Presumptuous wretch! to call mee from my bed,
And with vain thoughts perplex my troubled head;
A dullness shuts mine eyes, I fain would rest
A while secure; how happy, Oh how blest,
Are those that sleep eternally! and hee
That lives and dieth in obscurity!
Bear mee thou gentle Earth, for ever I
Would press thy flowry green; alass to dye,
Is less than to bee born; life is a bubble,
A minutes joy, and full of pleasing trouble;
Let mee alone; ah mee, that I could take
So kinde a sleep, that I might never wake.
City.
What pale-fac'd discontent doth seize thee now?
Or why does anger furrow up thy brow?
Or is't despair, opinion, timorous fear
Makes thee look through the glasses of a tear?
Whose valour and brave fortitude aspires
Above the Earth in circles of blew fires.
The King grants mercy, wilt thou now refuse
T'imbrace it, and his Royal Love abuse?
The branded slave, that tuggs the weary Oar,
Having the Sabbath of a welcome shore
Procured for him by his Gracious King,
To free him from his slavery, and bring
Him home again, but hee in love with pains,
Huggs his tormentors, and does kiss his chains,
Let him work on, till for his dull delay,
With torturing whips hee weeps himself away.
How was this poor and pining City pained
With burdens, when the many rabble reigned?
When they had grasped in their greasy hands
The Kings, Lords, Bishops, Deans, and Chapters Lands,
And the Rates of all Commodities did rise
By Taxes, Sesments, Customes, and Excise,
With wars, imprisonments, turmoils, vexations,
Changing, and clashing, death and sequestrations.
The Right of Government most did suppose
Lay first in one mans head, then th'others nose;
Mean while the people flock'd in numerous swarms
Of double tongues, false hearts, divided arms,
And a distracted brain, a poisonous breath
Of envy, and a life-expecting death,
Or death in midst of life. Oh were not wee,
The only Monuments of misery?
But now wee are approach'd to that wee call
The good, if there bee earthly good at all;
All earthly happiness those people gain
'Bove others, where a prudent Prince doth reign.
Kings are not dismal Comets, but as fair
As
Phoebus, burnish'd with his morning hair,
That from his flaming chariot sends his beams,
To wake dull mortals from their drowzy dreams,
Though oft, his glorious face, when they grow proud,
He hides, and leaves them mantled in a cloud.
Sould.
Dishevill'd hair I'le tear thee from my Crown,
Poor tangled Ornament; mans Renown
Is but a dream; be gone, I'le fill thy room
With dust, and break thee like a Spiders loom.
It is his Right, but wherein now do yee
Make famous his immortal memory?
What singular service now? that Heaven may deign,
To gloryfie him with a happy Reign,
On Earth? that his Illustrious Majesty
No more, may not in black oblivion lye?
Will drinking, swearing, singing roundelaies,
With Bonfires, May-polls, Garlands, Fidlers, Plaies,
Deriding, scoffing, persecuting too
Those that are good, are these the things will do
The King such honour? what, is this the thing
Required as solemnity for a King?
Will lust and rapine, madness, folly, pride,
In them who all true piety deride?
Whose poisonous breath, while they prophanely call
To Heaven, would kill a Spider to the wall,
And hurt the wholesome Air; is this the thing
Required as Solemnity for a King?
No, come Great
Charls and welcome, let thine eyes
A little check these numerous fooleries,
Rule us aright, and thou shalt prove that wee,
Though scorn'd, the best of all thy Subjects bee,
Kings are Earth's Gods, sometimes their law their will,
They can incourage virtue, punish ill;
Thy lips are lips of knowledge, in thine eye
Is both Humility and Majesty;
The boisterous wind, that in its fury raves
Aloft, to beat the ebbing flowing waves,
Lockt up in
Eolus Gaol, sends gentle Gales
Of perfum'd Air, to court the pregnant Sails,
That the recoyling Seas as still may lye
As Virgins, while our Soveraign passes by.
The Sun invest with Majesty will flee
The concave of the spangled Canopy,
Leaving the Southern Chambers, as he rides
Through
Gemini, his flaming Chariot guides,
From bright
Aurora, hee will lash away
His horse, to view the triumphs of the day.
Where when thou art inthron'd, if any woo
For Justice, then remember Mercy too;
So shall loud Acclamations lift thy Name
'Bove the resounding trump of flying Fame;
So shalt thou flourish in th'inlarged store,
Of wealth and peace, thy temples arched ore
In a victorious Orb, which when lai'd down,
Because 'tis but a transitory Crown,
Thou shalt bee crown'd above in streets of gold,
Where thou thy Royal Father shalt behold,
In everlasting glory uncontroull'd.
London, Printed for Peter Dring, at the Sun in the Poultry.