On the most triumphant ceremony of His Most Sacred Maiesties coronation, Charles II

On the most triumphant ceremony of His Most Sacred Maiesties coronation, Charles II

Table of contents

On the most TRIUMPHANT CEREMONY Of his Most Sacred Maiesties Coronation, CHARLES II.

[Page]

On the most TRIUMPHANT CEREMONY Of his Most Sacred Maiesties Coronation, CHARLES II.

AS once, in fair Minerva's sheild,, the name

Inserted, kept, loosn'd, dissolv'd the Frame.

So under yours (Dread Sir) I stand, or fall,

Courting your favour, or my Funerall:

Crept near your Crown, t'avoide the Readers curse,

Like beggers change, wrapt in a golden purse:

And this I dar'd; since he who deepest dives,

May curse his Grammer, for superlatives:

Great as our souls, not as your merits were,

Were our first joyes, when first you did appear;

And like the first dayes Sun, began your course

With a bright World, and Chaos's divorce.

Each then wisht quils from Noahs dove to shew

Our blood-dround World, her Olive branch a new:

(For Harvey's circulation had been true,

And men had Islands been, and flouted too;)

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Each wisht his Muse, like Joves great sacred brain,

Teeming Minerva's, then in every vein.

The state (new Christ'ned Kingdome, when your oars

Landed you,) counted Indies on her shoars:

Or else (for t'was so chang'd) could it have swom,

Sure the Land travell'd, and you staid at home.

Justly nick nam'd by all, a Popish age,

That sent our Kings themselves in Pilgrimage.

And if that Infant Mirth, whose crutch and chair

Scarce stood a high-lone, between hope and fear

Ventur'd so far, that scarcely wak't, they run,

And Persians like ador'd their rising Sun;

Where shall our souls find vent? or where shall wee

Be Metamorphos'd to an extasie?

Whose hanging sleeves of Mirth, are lately growne

Such robes, wee scarce believe, they are our owne.

Were but the great Aegyptian Queen alive

Who vow'd (that should the Emperour survive)

A rigid rape upon her tender heir,

To solemnize her Love, as conquerour

Her passions here, surely would not demurre,

But very joy, would turn her murderer.

Hoop, hoop the Kingdome, or I fear t'will burst:

All Worlds strein court'sie, which shall see him first.

The hungry Cities maw, (whose throat is ramm'd

As Crassus's with gold,) now so well cramm'd,

Surely will fatten, and may learn from hence

Among their pounds, to pay their Caesar's pence.

I wonder not, in stead of painted glasse,

Each window now presents a painted face.

For such the glory was, nature sent all

To make this City, seem but one Guilt-Hall:

[Page] Or else (there were so many) wee might think,

'Twas Noahs Ark, and all the World were in [...],

The streets were pav'd with fire, when MONCK came in,

But when you're Crown'd, (Dread Sir) with armed men.

Your Subjects were a worthy sight, but you

As to be seen, were to be rev'renc'd too:

And one might learn, by ev'ry weeping stone

(As Hercules by 's Pillers:) you were gone.

Here jealous Iuno might have kept her cowe,

Had shee had half those eyes that wait on you:

Or should your grace demande our sight as spies,

Instead of Ermine you might wear our eyes:

Each street so fill'd, that like the Trojan Horse,

It swallow'd men, but yet without a curse.

The embroid'red gentry, well present the show,

At each ones back, of Pater-noster-rowe.

(Nay I may well allowe that for theire back,

For each steeds tail outvyes a pedlers pack.

About their hats, the pratling wind presumes

To act a part, and whistles in their plumes:

Their Horses (natures pride,) so stately grown,

They walk, yet scorne the ground, they walk upon:

Prance at the switches Musick, and can show

Men may sit still, and yet be dancing too:

On either side, the streets were so well lin'd,

With valiant foot, that sure the World combin'd

To save you harmlesse, and had set them there,

In your defence, full of Religious fear.

Some valiant that they 'de change, had all their breaths

Hippolitus his lifes, for Martyres deaths:

Some young sprung warriours, yet strut up, and down,

Like new shell'd lapwings with a feather'd Crown.

[Page] All serve, as their conditions owe, to honour you,

Paying (great Sir) your homage, not your due.

A Princes Crown sits Regent over wit,

Nor Lines, nor Language can Decipher it.

But this is such a Text, it seems to dround,

Like the Samaritan in Oyl, that wound

That plung'd in blood, and makes us reenjoy

A stately Rome, from ruinated Troy:

Here's Hercules, and Hydra, t'other neck,

Did treason dare, once more to blaze in Smeck.

Which providence prevent, but if my bounds

Be to pledge destinyes in blood, and wounds,

Might I but dare to kisse my Sov'raignes cup,

Should death fill brimmers, I would drink 'um up.

THO. HENSHAW. Fellow of A. S. C.

Information about this book

Title statement

On the most triumphant ceremony of His Most Sacred Maiesties coronation, Charles II

Henshaw, Thomas, 1618-1700.

Edition statement

1661

Publication

Publisher

Text Creation Partnership,

Place of publication

Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) :

Date

2009-10 (EEBO-TCP Phase 1).

ID [DLPS]

A43355

ID [STC]

Wing H1482A

ID [STC]

ESTC R40969

ID [EEBO-CITATION]

19539433

ID [OCLC]

ocm 19539433

ID [VID]

109079

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Series

Early English books online.

Notes

(EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A43355)

Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 109079)

Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1641-1700 ; 1689:19)

Source

— On the most triumphant ceremony of His Most Sacred Maiesties coronation, Charles II, Henshaw, Thomas, 1618-1700..

Extent

4 p.

s.n.,. [London :: 1661]. (In verse.) (Caption title.) (Signed at end: Tho. Henshaw.) (Place and date of publication suggested by Wing.) (Reproduction of original in the University of Illinois (Urbana-Champaign Campus). Library.)

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