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1661
IN 1 that wild Deluge where the world was drownd, | |
| When life and sin one common Tombe had found, | |
| The first small prospect of a rising hill | |
| With various notes of Joy the Ark did fill: | |
| Yet when that flood in its own depths was drown’d, | 5 |
| It left behind it false and slipp’ry ground, | |
| And the more solemn pomp was still deferr’d | |
| Till new-born Nature in fresh looks appear’d; | |
| Thus (Royall Sir,) to see you landed here | |
| Was cause enough of triumph for a year: | 10 |
| Nor would your care those glorious joyes repeat | |
| Till they at once might be secure and great: | |
| Till your kind beams by their continu’d stay | |
| Had warm’d the ground and call’d the Damps away. | |
| Such vapours, while your pow’rful Influence dries, | 15 |
| Then soonest vanish when they highest rise. | |
| Had greater hast these sacred rights prepar’d, | |
| Some guilty Moneths had in your Triumphs shar’d: | |
| But this untainted year is all your own, | |
| Your glory’s may without our crimes be shown. | 20 |
| We had not yet exhausted all our store, | |
| When you refresh’d our joyes by adding more: | |
| As Heav’n, of old, dispenc’d Cœlestial dew, | |
| You gave us Manna and still give us new. | |
| Now our sad ruines are remov’d from sight, | 25 |
| The Season too comes fraught with new delight; | |
| Time seems not now beneath his years to stoop, | |
| Nor doe his wings with sickly feathers droop: | |
| Soft western winds waft o’re the gaudy spring, | |
| And open’d Scenes of flow’rs and blossoms bring | 30 |
| To grace this happy day, while you appear | |
| Not King of us alone but of the year. | |
| All eyes you draw, and with the eyes the heart, | |
| Of your own pomp your self the greatest part: | |
| Loud shouts the Nations happiness proclaim, | 35 |
| And Heav’n this day is feasted with your Name. | |
| Your Cavalcade the fair Spectators view, | |
| From their high standings, yet look up to you. | |
| From your brave train each singles out a Prey | |
| And longs to date a Conquest from your day. | 40 |
| Now charg’d with blessings while you seek repose, | |
| Officious slumbers haste your eyes to close; | |
| And glorious dreams stand ready to restore | |
| The pleasing shapes of all you saw before. | |
| Next to the sacred Temple you are led, | 45 |
| Where waits a Crown for your more sacred Head: | |
| How justly from the Church that Crown is due, | |
| Preserv’d from ruine and restor’d by you! | |
| The gratefull quire their harmony employ | |
| Not to make greater, but more solemn joy. | 50 |
| Wrapt soft and warm your Name is sent on high, | |
| As flames do on the wings of Incense fly: | |
| Musique herself is lost, in vain she brings | |
| Her choisest notes to praise the best of Kings: | |
| Her melting strains in you a tombe have found | 55 |
| And lye like Bees in their own sweetnesse drowned. | |
| He that brought peace and discord could attone, | |
| His Name is Musick of itself alone. | |
| Now while the sacred oyl anoints your head, | |
| And fragrant scents, begun from you, are spread | 60 |
| Through the large Dome, the peoples joyful Sound | |
| Sent back, is still preserv’d in hallow’d ground: | |
| Which in one blessing mixt descends on you, | |
| As heightned spirits fall in richer dew. | |
| Not that our wishes do increase your store, | 65 |
| Full of your self, you can admit no more: | |
| We add not to your glory, but employ | |
| Our time like Angels in expressing Joy | |
| Nor is it duty or our hopes alone | |
| Create that joy, but full fruition: | 70 |
| We know those blessings which we must possesse | |
| And judge of future by past happinesse, | |
| No promise can oblige a Prince so much | |
| Still to be good, as long to have been such. | |
| A noble Emulation heats your breast, | 75 |
| And your own fame now robbs you of your rest: | |
| Good actions still must be maintain’d with good, | |
| As bodies nourish’d with resembling food. | |
| You have already quench’d sedition’s brand; | |
| And zeal (which burnt it) only warms the Land. | 80 |
| The jealous Sects, that dare not trust their cause | |
| So farre from their own will as to the Laws, | |
| You for their Umpire and their Synod take, | |
| And their appeal alone to Cæsar make. | |
| Kind Heav’n so rare a temper did provide | 85 |
| That guilt repenting might in it confide | |
| Among our crimes oblivion may be set, | |
| But ’tis our Kings perfection to forget. | |
| Virtues unknown to these rough Northern climes | |
| From milder heav’ns you bring, without their crimes. | 90 |
| Your calmnesse does no after Storms provide | |
| Nor seeming patience mortal anger hide. | |
| When Empire first from families did spring, | |
| Then every Father govern’d as a King; | |
| But you that are a Soveraign Prince, allay | 95 |
| Imperial pow’r with your paternal sway. | |
| From those great cares when ease your soul unbends, | |
| Your Pleasures are design’d to noble ends: | |
| Born to command the Mistress of the Seas, | |
| Your Thoughts themselves in that blue Empire please. | 100 |
| Hither in Summer ev’nings you repair | |
| To take the fraischeur of the purer air: | |
| Undaunted here you ride when Winter raves, | |
| With Cæsars heart that rose above the waves. | |
| More I could sing, but fear my Numbers stays; | 105 |
| No Loyal Subject dares that courage praise. | |
| In stately Frigats most delight you find, | |
| Where well-drawn Battels fire your martial mind. | |
| What to your cares we owe is learnt from hence, | |
| When ev’n your pleasures serve for our defence. | 110 |
| Beyond your Court flows in the admitted tide, | |
| Where in new depths the wond’ring fishes glide: | |
| Here in a Royal bed the waters sleep, | |
| When tir’d at Sea within this bay they creep. | |
| Here the mistrustfull foul no harm suspects, | 115 |
| So safe are all things which our King protects. | |
| From your lov’d Thames a blessing yet is due, | |
| Second alone to that it brought in you; | |
| A Queen, from 2 whose chast womb, ordain’d by Fate, | |
| The souls of Kings unborn for bodies wait. | 120 |
| It was your Love before made discord cease; | |
| Your 3 love is destined to your Countries peace. | |
| Both Indies (Rivalls in your bed) provide | |
| With Gold or Jewels to adorn your bride. | |
| This to a mighty King presents rich ore | 125 |
| While that with Incense does a God implore. | |
| Two Kingdoms wait your Doom; and, as you choose, | |
| This must receive a Crown or that must loose. | |
| Thus from your Royal Oke, like Jove’s of old, | |
| Are Answers sought, and Destinies fore-told: | 130 |
| Propitious Oracles are beg’d with Vows | |
| And Crowns that grow upon the sacred boughs. | |
| Your Subjects, while you weigh the Nations 4 fate, | |
| Suspend to both their doubtfull love or hate: | |
| Choose only, (Sir,) that so they may possesse | 135 |
| With their own peace their Childrens happinesse. | |
