Vtinam Viveres!

LONDON, Printed for Benj. Tooke at the Ship in S. Pauls Churchyard, 1683.


MAn surely is not what he seems to be;
Surely our selves we over-rate,
Forgetting that like other Creatures, we
Must bend our heads to Fate.
Lord of the whole Creation, Man,
(How big the Title shews!)
Trifles away a few uncertain Years,
Cheated with Hopes, and rackt with Fears,
Through all Lifes little Span,
Then down to silence, and to darkness goes:
And when we Die, the Croud that trembling stood
E're while struck with the terrour of a Nod,
Shake off their wonted Reverence with their Chains,
And at their pleasure use our poor Remains.
Ah mighty Prince!
Whom lavish Nature, and industrious Art
Had fitted for immortal Fame,
Their utmost Bounty could no more impart;
How comes it that Thy venerable Name
Should be submitted to my Theme?
Unkindly baulkt by the prime skilful men,
Abandon'd to be sully'd by so mean a Pen!
Tell me, ye skilful men, if you have read
In all the fair Memorials of the Dead,
A Name so formidably Great,
So full of Wonders, and unenvi'd Love,
In which all Vertues, and all Graces strove,
So terrible, and yet so sweet;
Shew me a Star in Honours Firmament,
(Of the first magnitude let it be)
That from the darkness of this World made free,
A brighter lustre to this World has lent.
Ye men of reading, shew me one,
That shines with such a beam as His.
Rupert's a Constellation,
Outvies Arcturus, and the Pleïades.
And if the Iulian Star of old out-shone
The lesser Fires, as much as them the Moon,
Posterity perhaps will wonder why
An Heroe more divine than He
Should leave (after his Apotheosis)
No Gleam of light in all the Galaxie
Bright as the Sun in the full blaze of Noon.
How shall my trembling Muse Thy Praise reherse!
Thy Praise too lofty ev'n for Pindar's Verse!
Whence shall she take her daring flight,
That she may soar aloft
In numbers masculine and soft,
In numbers adaequate
To thy Renowns Coelestial height!
If from thy noble Pedigree,
The Royal Bloud that sparkled in thy Veins
A low Plebeian Eulogy disdains,
And he blasphemes that meanly writes of Thee.
If from thy Martial Deeds she boldly rise,
And sing thy valiant Infancy,
[Page 3]Rebellious Britain after felt full well,
Thou from thy Cradle wert a Miracle.
Swadled in Armour, Drums appeas'd thy Cries,
And the shrill Trumpet sung thy Lullabies.
The Babe Alcides thus, gave early proof
In the first dawning of his Youth,
When with his tender hand the Snakes he slew,
What Monsters in his riper Years he would subdue.
Great Prince, in whom Mars and Minerva join'd
Their last efforts to frame a mighty Mind,
A Pattern for Brave men to come, design'd:
How did the Rebel-Troops before thee fly!
How of thy Genius stand in aw!
When from the sulphurous Cloud
Thou in Thunder gav'st aloud
Thy dreadful Law
To the presumptuous Enemy.
In vain their traiterous Ensigns they displaid,
In vain they fought, in vain they pray'd,
At thy victorious Arms dismaid.
Till Providence for Causes yet unknown,
Causes mysterious and deep,
Conniv'd a while, as if asleep,
And seem'd its dear Anointed to disown;
The prosperous Villany triumph'd o're the Crown,
And hurl'd the best of Monarchs from his Throne.
O tell it not in Gath, nor Ascalon!
The best of Monarchs fell by impious Power,
Th' unspotted Victim for the guilty bled.
He bow'd, he fell, there where he bow'd he fell down dead;
Blest Martyr baptiz'd in his sacred gore.
Nor could those tempests in the giddy State,
O mighty Prince, thy Loyalty abate.
Though put to flight, thou fought'st the Parthian way,
[Page 4]And still the same appear'dst to be
Among the Beasts, and scaly Fry,
A Behemoth on Land, and a Leviathan at Sea;
Still, wert thou Brave, still wert thou Good,
Still firm to thy Allegiance stood
Amidst the foamings of the popular floud:
(Cato with such a constancy of mind,
Espous'd that Cause which all his Gods declin'd.)
Till gentler Stars amaz'd to see
Thy matchless and undaunted Bravery,
Blusht and brought back the murthered Father's Son,
Lest thou shouldst plant him in th' Imperial Throne,
Thou with thy single hand alone.
He that forgets the Glories of that Day,
When CHARLES the Merciful return'd,
Ne'r felt the transports of glad Sion's Joy,
When she had long in dust and ashes mourn'd:
He never understood with what surprize
She open'd her astonish'd eyes
To see the goodly Fabrick of the second Temple rise.
When CHARLES the Merciful his Entrance made
The Day was all around serene,
Not one ill-boding Cloud was seen
To cast a gloomy shade
On the triumphal Cavalcade.
In that, his first, and happy Scene,
The Pow'rs above foretold his Halcyon Reign,
In which, like them, He evermore should prove
The kindest methods of Almighty Love:
And when black Crimes His Justice should constrain,
His pious Brest should share the Criminals pain:
Fierce as the Lion can he be, and gentle as the Dove.
Here stop my Muse, — the rest let Angels sing,
Some of those Angels, who with constant care
To His Pavilion, near attendants are,
[Page 5]A Life-guard giv'n him by th' Omnipotent King,
Th' Omnipotent King, whose Character He bears,
Whose Diadems on Earth he wears;
And may he wear it long, for many, many years.
And now (illustrious Ghost!) what shall we say?
What Tribute to thy precious memory pay?
Thy Death confounds, and strikes all Sorrows dumb.
Kingdoms and Empires make their moan,
Rescu'd by thee from Desolation;
In Pilgrimage hereafter shall they come,
And make their Offerings before thy Tomb,
Great Prince, so fear'd abroad, and so ador'd at home.
Iove's Bird that durst of late confront the Sun,
And in the wanton German Banners plaid,
Now hangs her Wing, and droops her Head,
Now recollects the Battels thou hast won,
And calls too late to thee for aid.
All Christendom deplores the loss,
Whilst bloudy Mahomet like a Whirl-wind flies,
And insolently braves the ill-befriended Cross.
Europe in bloud, and in confusion lies.
Thou in an easie good old age,
Remov'd from this tumultuous Stage,
Sleep'st unconcern'd at all its Rage,
Secure of Fame, and from Detraction free:
He that to greater happiness would attain,
Or towards Heav'n would swifter fly,
Must be much more than mortal man,
And never condescend to Die.

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