[Page] [Page] AN HEROICK POEM TO THE KING, Upon the Arrival of the Morocco and Bantam EMBASSADORS, TO HIS MAJESTY OF GREAT BRITAIN, In the Year 1682.
Et penitus toto jam notos orbe Britannos.
LONDON, Printed for Francis Hicks, Bookseller in Cambridge. M DC LXXXII.
AN HEROICK POEM TO THE KING, Upon the Arrival of the Morocco and Bantam EMBASSADORS, TO HIS Majesty of Great Britain. In the Year 1682.
HAil, God-like Charles! the Genius of our Land,
Who, like the Cherub, o're our Eden stand,
The Gods best Gift, the Darling of the Fates,
The great Palladium of Three sinking States;
When War, that raging Dog-Star, long had kept
The Day, and, like some bloody Comet, swept
And travers'd all the Skies long spacious Stage,
And fainting Albion bent beneath its rage,
Like Health and Ease to sickly Mortals given.
Welcome as new-sprung Light, or dawning Day
To Gloomy Souls after a half years stay;
Like Men in Greenland, (when your Martyr'd Sire
Too good for Earth, to Heaven did retire;
When his declining Sun Blood-red went down)
A tedious live-long Night usurpt our Noon.
No pitying Ray was seen, no heavenly Spark,
But groaping on, we stumbled in the Dark:
Those petty Stars that shin'd with borrow'd light,
The Sun being gone, but shew'd that it was Night.
Disgrac'd and sullied was fair Albions Face,
Horrid Confusion crept o're every Grace,
And in each Feature proudly sat and Reign'd,
The Frightful Daemon stalk't thro' all the Land.
Bold Anarchy did over all controul,
Our giddy World stagger'd from Pole to Pole.
And in this lonesom Waste of Nature we,
Treading the Mazes of blind Destiny,
Had wander'd still; but Heaven meant us Rest,
And sending You, For Ever (said) be blest;
Your Genial Warmth, and all-enlivening Wings,
When once spread o're this rumpled Mass of things,
It's strange Prolifick Heat did soon dispence,
And from its Womb bid a new World commence.
And now a Glorious Orb of Light did rise
From out this Chaos; in the Eastern Skies
The scatter'd Seeds of Day with haste did run,
And fill'd their Ranks, to meet the New-born Sun.
Treason and Faction left their Station quite,
And all th' Infernal Goblins of the Night
As stragling Spirits at the sight of Day.
The Waters thus abated off the Ground
(That with loud Ruine did our World confound)
The Ark stood still, so long to Seas confin'd,
And to the Shore its Royal Charge resign'd.
Now Loyalty firm Land and Footing found,
And Io Carole thro' all the Isle did sound;
The Land loud Peals of Joy to th' Ocean sent,
The rageing Sea stood still, and wondred what it meant;
The Revelling Winds did straight give o're their play,
And gentle Breezes kiss'd the Watry way.
Thus, Sacred Sir, broke from that envious Cloud,
Whose sullen Veil your Glories once did shroud,
In a serene composed Skie you play,
And ride triumphantly the God of Day;
Thus having left your Sufferings far behind,
You live a lasting Blessing to Mankind.
See how the wondring World with eager pace
(Joy in their Eyes, Amazement in their Face)
Move forward, brought by mighty Charles his Name,
(The Worlds grand Talk, the Common Place of Fame)
The Swarthy Indian and the Tawny Moor
View Seas and Skies they never knew before:
With willing haste they leave their Heat and Fire,
And to this corner of the Worlds great House retire,
Where Winter rages, and the Nothern Bear,
And angry Clouds sit on the Brow of Air;
To bask 'em in Great Charles his Beams they run,
Not half so blest in their Meridian Sun.
The Moor, who long inclosed had been pent
Within parch't Africa's dull Continent,
And trembling always crept along the Shore,
Fir'd at the noise of the fam'd British Land,
His active Soul disdains the lazy Sand,
And lanching forth, he plows th' Atlantick Main,
Does boldly strive the Northern Pole to gain,
And reach those wondrous Magazins of Hail & Rain.
Our skill in Arms they long since understood,
'Twas writ in fatal Characters of Blood;
This Truth they learnt on Tangiers noble Plains,
Strow'd thick with Limbs, besmear'd with dismal stains.
Our thundring Cannons warlike voice they'd heard,
And much its sound, but more its breath they fear'd,
Whose poysonous Influence does as surely wound,
As that which in their Basilisk is found.
Now as in War themselves outdone they see,
They fain wou'd find it so in Courtesie,
Wou'd strait grow proud the Apostles they might be
Their Nation to convert to Manners and Civility.
Their Neighbour-Islands (long since out of date)
Purblind Antiquity call'd Fortunate;
But there the wanton Sun with too much Day
(Like your fond Mothers who their Babes o'relay)
Does reign, and all his boiling Globe display,
And kisses their Complexion quite away.
But here, they say's the place design'd by Fate,
The Seat of all that's Fortunate or Great.
Our beauteous Isle her Glories does display,
And seems to put the other Earth away.
So lay Peru, with all the Western World,
Before the greedy Spaniard dreamt of Gold
In rich Potozi's Mines.
The burden'd Corn hangs down its aged Head,
And Courts the Sickle; whilst abroad 'tis found
The Swain's own Corps does oft manure his Ground.
Consuming want, with all her tatter'd Train,
In other Lands, and new-found Worlds, does Reign.
Peace is our Portion; none dare Whisper Wars,
And Love usurps upon our home-bread Jarrs.
The British Oak bravely rides Admiral
Amidst the Floating Forest, every Sail
Pays Homage to this God o'th' Watry Main,
And all, like Pleasure-Boats, make up the Train.
When all the World beside blind Error led,
And pure Religion, frighted, from it fled,
Our Land leapt up, and like another Dele
The wandring Goddess took, and us'd her well.
Blest in all these, but doubly blest in thee
(Of all that's Good the true Epitome)
Great Charles, our Faith's Defender and our Laws,
From all-designing Rome's insatiate Jaws,
From the sly Monster of the Lemane Lake,
That at our Happiness such Thrusts does make.
Pity such Virtue shou'd Confinement see,
But Odour-like scatter its Fragrancy;
As if too much for us, just Heaven takes care
In the vast Blessing every Land shou'd share;
The World's too small; you have out-travell'd Fame,
And reach'd those Countries where she never came;
The Journey but half done, her Pinions flagg'd,
Thus after the Pellaean Youth she lagg'd;
VVhat tho' a hundred Tongues she can run o're,
Our mighty Monarch's spoken of in more.
In Africa our Language too is spoke;
Haughty Algire now humbly sues for Peace,
From Blood and War she begs a full Release.
But see how Asia comes, and does adore,
Emptying her Lap of Riches on our Shore;
So 'tis; the scattering light with them has been,
They in the East your Glorious Star have seen.
Thus with an easier Conquest you have gain'd
The Indies, than the Spaniard, or the feign'd
Great God of Wine; he went, and overcame;
You sit at home, and yet can do the same.
The Indians daily view the Rising Sun,
Exactly know where he his March begun;
But long had wish'd for that more curious Sight,
Where he Lights Mantle throws off every Night,
Where he is wont to set his wearied Steeds,
Whether on Land they feed, or graze in Heavenly Meads.
Much had they heard, and long had understood,
Of Phoebus plunging in the Western Flood;
But that was all—when now a Thought begun
To work, which was to travel with the Sun.
After a tedious March, they saw him stand
Over our Western Seas and British Land.
This, like the Eastern Magi, they conclude
To be the Glorious place of his Abode;
Their costly Presents here they straight unfold,
The Pearl, the Diamond, and Almighty Gold;
Before our Monarchs Feet are pour'd and hurl'd
The shining Entrails of the Eastern World.
And Groves of Ebony transplanted here do stand,
Th' exhausted Treasures both of Sea and Land.
Let Portugal o're Tagus Flood Command,
Their Country Rivers roll o're Richer Sands.
Thus Sheba's Queen, from the remotest Shore
Of all Arabia's blessed Land, through store
Of parched Sands, and lonesom Desarts past,
Till Zions glittering Towers she spy'd at last;
What tho' her Land a Bed of Spices were,
And fragrant Atoms floated in the Air?
What tho' Apollo's Bird here makes her Nest?
(Our Master by his Choice would have exprest,
That Learned Men like that shall ever live,
And in their Urns a Deathless name preserve)
A greater Miracle her Progress Crown'd,
When she Jessides God-like Son had found;
Thro' Salem's thronged Streets with gazing spent,
She pass'd along, and wondred as she went;
Streets pav'd with Men, and Windows stor'd with Eyes,
Their Meen, their Garb, their goodly Palaces
Did half confound her Sight; but this was nought,
Ye Gods! to what the Charming Stranger sought
In Solomon; her Sense with wondrous Art
All o're him run, yet seem'd to dwell on every part.
"Thrice happy, said the fairest Queen, and blest
"Are ye his Lords, who are his daily Guests,
"Who hear those Oracles and Charming Sounds,
"That with such pleasure strikes, and sweetness wounds;
"You who a Wise and Gracious Prince do know,
"The two best Gifts that Heaven can bestow.
So spake the Queen.
Above what e're Antiquity cou'd feign;
And if a Muse can ought of promise give,
Like him in after Ages you shall live.
Mean while the Dutchman, Mounsier, and the Dane
Stand off to view the Pompous, Gawdy Train;
In vain they Fret, in vain the Nations Rail,
To see the Indies down our River Sail.
Thus Rome of old with Foreign Nations swarm'd,
From every Land, from every Coast alarm'd,
At her Luxuriant growth; their Tribute here
At this great Shrine they paid with awful fear;
At Great Agustus Name the Parthian shook,
With Reverence bow'd, and his Steel Bow forsook;
None cou'd endure the Roman Eagles sight,
The Mede, the Scythian sneak't like Birds of Night.
Tho' to the World many pretenders were,
'Twas he alone both Woo'd and Wedded her.
FINIS.