CAROLI [...].
I Come, but come with trembling, lest I prove
Th' unequall Greece of Semele and Iove.
As She was too obscure, and He too bright,
My Theam's too heavy, and my Pen too light.
And whilst, like Midas, I presume to sit
In wise Apollo's Chair, without HIS wit,
Is it not just t'expect, that He, who dares
Higher then Midas, should wear longer Eares?
May I not fear Patroclus Fate, and feel
The dangerous honour of Achilles Steel?
Just like that busie Elf, whose vent'rous Pride
Found none but Titan Titan's Coach could guide?
Him, whom the greatest Libertie of Prose
Wants room to hold? And whose unweildy Name,
Is big enough to fill the Trump of Fame?
An Individuall species? like the Sun,
At once a Multitude, and yet but One?
One of such vast Importance, that He fell
The Festivall of Heav'n, and England's Hell?
One, who for Eminence was these two things,
The last of Christians, and the first of Kings?
And One that dy'd the whole world's Funeral?
For Charles being thus dismounted, and the Swain
High shoo'd Bootes leapt into the Wain,
Is not old Beldame Nature truly said
T'advance her Heeles, and stand upon her Head?
Does not the Iudge, and Law too for a need,
The Stirrop hold, whilst Treason mounts the Steed▪
Is not Gods Word, and's Providence besides
Us'd as a Laquy, whilst th' white Devil rides!
Sure all things thus into Confusion hurld
Make, though an universe, yet not a World.
And so our Soveraign's, like our Saviours Passion,
Becomes a kind of Doomsday to the Nation.
If Deadmen did not walk, 'twould be admir'd
(The Breath of all our Nostrils thus expir'd)
What 't is that gives us motion. And can I,
Who want my self, write Him an Elegie?
Though Virgil turnd Evangelist, and wrote,
Not from his Tripod, but Gods Altar taught;
Though all the Poets of the Age should sit
In Inquest of Invention, and club wit,
To make words Epigrams; should they combine
To crowd whole stock of Fancie in each line;
Sell the Fee-simple to advance one summe,
(As Eglis spake but once, and then liv'd dumb)
'I were all as inarticulate, and weak,
As when those men make signes, that cannot speak.
But where the Theme confounds us, * 'tis a sort
[Page 3]Of glorious Merit, proudly to fall short.
Despair sometimes gives courage; any one
May lisp him out, who can be spoke by none;
None but a King; No King, unlesse He be
As Wise, as Iust, as Good, as Great as He.
When Late Posterity shall run t'advise
With Times impartial Register, how Wise
This Great-one was, they'l find it there inroll'd
That He was ne'r in's Nonage. but born old.
View him whilst Prince of Wales, and it appears
His wisdome did so antedate his years,
Th [...]t He was Ful i'th' Bud, and's Soul divine,
Nestor, might be Great-Grandfather to thine.
View him agen, where he so ripe was grown,
As not to rise, but drop into a Throne.
How did those rayes of Majestie, which were
Scatter'd in other Kings, concenter here?
As if h'ad got King Sapors sphere, and prov'd
How each Intelligence his Orbe had mov'd▪
Wise Charles, like them, sate steering at two Helmes,
King of himself, but Father of his Realms:
And just as if old Trismegistus Cup
Had by his thirsty Soul been all drunk up,
His understanding did begirt this All,
As t' were Ecliptick or Meridionall.
[...]uppose a Dyet of all Christian Kings
And Bishops too, conven'd to weigh the things
Of Church and State: Nay adde Inferiour men,
Those of the Sword, the pensil, and the pen.
Must have been Vmpire Oecumenicall.
He liv'd a Perpendicular; The Thread
His Wisdome was; Humility the Lead,
By which he measur'd Men and Things; took aim
At actions crooked, and at actions plain.
He and all from him into Cubes did fall,
And yet as perfect as the Circle, all,
'Twas He took Natures Bredth, & Depth, and Hight,
Knew the just difference 'twixt Wrong, and Right.
He saw the points of things, could justly hit,
What must be done, what may; what's just, what sit.
As if, like Moses he had had resort
Unto Gods Councell, ere he was of's Court.
Hence his Religion was his choice, not Fate,
Rul'd by Gods Word, not Interest of State.
Others may thank their stars. He his inquest,
Who, sounding all sides, anchor'd in the best.
His Crown contain'd a Miter; He did twist
Moses and Aaron, King and Casuist.
When the Mahumetan or Pope shall look
On his Soul's best Interpreter, his Book;
His Book, his Life, his Death, will henceforth be
The Church of England's best Apologie.
Thus Dove and Serpent kiss'd, as if they meant
To render him as wise, so innocent.
His own good Genius knew not, whether were
His Heart more single, or his Head more clear.
Virtue was his Prerogative; and thus
Charles rul'd the King, before the King rul'd Vs.
[Page 5]He knew that to command, his onely way
Was first to teach his Passions to obey.
And his incessant waiting on God's Throne
Gave him such meek reflections on his own,
That, being forc [...] to censure, he exprest
A Iudges Office with a Mothers breast.
And when some sturdie violence began
T'unsheath his sword, unwilling to be drawn
He but destroy'd (and so soft mercy can)
The malefactor, to preserve the Man.
Even Hell's blind Iourney-men, those Sons of Night
Who look on scarlet murder, and think't white,
Unwillingly confess'd, The onely thing
Which made him guiltie was, That He was King.
He was Incarnate Iustice, and 'tis said
Astraea liv'd in him, yet dy'd a Maid.
We want an Emblem for him: Phoebus must
Stand still in Libra, to speak Charles the Iust.
And yet though he were such, that nothing lesse
Then Virtue's mean stretcht to a just Excesse
Flew from his Soul; He, like the Sun, was known
To see all excellence, except his own.
His Modesty was such, that All which He
'Ere spake or thought of's self, was Calumny;
But yet so mixt with state, that one might see
It made him not lesse Kingly, but more free.
He was not like those Princes, who t'expresse
A learned surfeit, a sublime excesse,
Send to dispeople all the Sea of Fish,
Depopulate the Aire to make one dish,
[Page 6](Such skilfull luxuries, as onely serve
To make their minds more plentifully sterve)
Whatever Dainties fill'd his Board by chance,
His Virtue did so limit him, his Court
Implied his Cloyster; and his very sport
Was Self-deniall. Nay, though he were seen
So roab'd in purple, and so matcht t' a Queen,
As made him glitter like a Noon day Sun,
Yet still his Soul wore sackcloth, and liv'd Nun.
Might live more strict, but not more innocent.
So wise, so just, so good, so great and all,
What is't could set him higher, but his fal?
When he caught up by a Celestial Train
Began his second, and more solid Raign.
How to that Haven did this Pilot steer
Twixt th' Independent, and the Presbyter,
Plac'd in the confines of two shipwracks? thus
The Greeks are seated 'twixt the Turks and Vs.
Whom did Byzantium fre [...], Rome would condemn;
And freed from Rome, they are enslaved by them.
So plac'd betwixt a Precipice and Wolf,
There the Aegaean, here the Venice-gulf,
What with the rising and the setting Sun,
By these th'are hated, and by those undon.
Solicites her consent, she yields to neither.
Nay thus our Saviour, to enhance his grief,
Was hung betwixt a Murderer, and a Thief.
Now Charles as King, and as a good King too
Being Christs adopted self, was both to do
And suffer like him; both to live and die
So much more humble, as he was more high
Then his own Subjects. He was thus to tread
In the same footsteps, and submit his Head
To the same thorns: when spit upon, and beat,
To make his Conscience serve for his retreat,
And overcome by suffering: To take up
His Saviours Crosse, and pledge him in his Cup.
Since then our Soveraign, by just account,
Liv'd o're our Saviours Sermon in the Mount,
And did all Christian Precepts so reduce,
That's Life the Doctrine was, his Death the Use;
Posterity will say, he should have dy'd
No other Death, then by being Crucified.
And their renownedst Epocha will be
Great Charles his Death, next Christ's Nativity.
Thus Treason's grown most Orthodox; who since
They said they'd [make him the most glorious Prince
In all the Christian World] 'tis plain, this way
They onely promis'd, what they meant to pay.
For now (besides that beatifick Vision
Where all desire is lost into fruition)
The stones, they hurled at him, with intent
To crush his fame, have prov'd his monument.
A fit Mausóle, were to want a Grave;
His Scaffold, like mount Tabor, will in story
Become the proudest Theater of Glory,
Next to the blessed Crosse: and thus 'tis sense,
T'affirm him murder'd in his own Defence.
For though all Hells Artillery and skill
Combin'd together to besiege his Will;
And when their malice could not bring't about
To hurt God's Image, they raz'd Adam's out,
(Like men repuls'd, whose Choler think's it witty
To burn the Suburbs, when they can't the City)
Howe're they storm'd his walls, and draind his blood,
Which moted round his Soul; yet still he stood
Defender of the Faith, (and that which He
Found sweeter then revenge) his Charity.
This then the utmost was their rage could do,
[It shew'd him King of his afflictions too.]
Vntempted Virtue is but coldly good,
(As she's scarce chaste, that's so but in cold blood)
To scorn base Quarter is the best escape,
(As Lucrece dy'd the chaster for her rape)
These two did Charles his Virtue most befriend,
His glorious hardships first, and then his end.
Death we forgive thee, and thy Bourreaux too,
Since what did seem thy rape, proves but his due.
For how could he be said to fall too soon,
Whose green was mellow, & whose dawn was noon?
Since Charles was onely by thy curteous knife
Redeemd from this great injury of life
[Page 9]To one so lasting, that 'tis truly said
Not He, but his mortality is dead—
To weep his Death's the treason of our eyes;
Our Sun did onely set, that he might rise.
But we do mock, not cheat our grief, and sit
Onely at best t' upbraid our selves in wit,
And want him learnedly: such colours doe
Disguise disasters, not delude them too.
For though, I must confesse, a Poet can
Fancy things better then another man,
He can but fancy'um; and all his pains
Is but to fill his belly with his brains.
He may both Petrify'd and famisht sit,
That wears his thoughts, and onely dine's on wit.
Were I a Polypus, and could go on
To be those very things I think upon,
I would not then complain: but since I know
To call things thus, is not to make them so,
Great Charles is slain: and say we what we will,
Yet we shall find, judgements are judgements still.
For though 'tis true, that his now-immense Soul
Doth hold commensuration with each Pole;
Though he doth shine a Star more fixt and bright
Then where the yeare makes but one day and night;
And, least he fill the Zodiack, doth appear
Not in the Eighth, but Empyraean Sphere;
Yet we his Rise may our Descension call,
As Libra's mounting is poore Aries fall.
He was the onely Moses that could stand
And what can we expect, our Lot being gon,
But that a Hell from Heav'n should tumble down
On our more sinfull Sodom? unlesse we
Are damn'd yet worse, to an impunity.)
Kings are Gods once remov'd. It hence appears
No Court but Heav'ns can trie them by their Peer.
So that for▪ Charles the Good to have been try'd
And cast by mortall Votes, was Deicide.
No Sinne, except the first, hath ever past
So black as this; no Iudgement, but the last.
How does our Del [...]s, vvhich so lately stood
Unmov'd, lie floating in her Pilots blood?
And can vve hope to Anchor, vvho discern
Nought but the tempest ruling at the stern;
Whil'st Pluto's Rival, vvith his Saints by's side,
Dravvn by the Spirit of avarice and pride,
Being fairly placed in the Chair of scorn
Sits brewing Tears for Infants yet unborn?
Vast stocks of misery, vvhich his Guardian-rage
Does husband for them till they come to age?
When future times shall look vvhat Plagues befe
Aegypt and Us, by'vvay of Parallel,
They'l find at once presented to their view
The Frogs and Lice, and Independents too.
Onely this signal difference vvill be knovvn
Tvvixt those Aegyptian judgements and our own,
Those vvere Gods Armies; but th' effect doth tell
That these our Vermin are the Host of Hell.
Pausanias and Herostratus vvill look
The Spanish Fleet, and Powder-plot vvill lack
Their usuall mentions in our Almanack.
Will scarce be legible i'th' leaves of fame,
When Cromwel shall be read. Nature vvas ne're
So blessedly reform'd, since Lucifer.
O for a Ieremy to lamemt our woe!
From vvhom such tragick Rhetorick might flovv,
As vvould become our misery, and dresse
Our sorrows vvith a dreadfull gaudinesse!
For next those hovering judgements, vvhich the fall
Of One so great, so good, makes Verticall.
(And rushing dovvn, may onely be vvithstood
If Charles his praiers crie louder than his blood)
I say next that, It is our second Crosse
We can't grieve worthy of so great a Losse.
To vveep upon this subject, and weep sense,
Requires vve should be born ten Ages hence.
The greater are the hights an Artist's hand
Designes to take, the farther he must stand.
And as vvhen Sol's in's Zenith, He imply's
His dazling glory best, that shuts his eyes,
So, vvhere the Theme's ineffable, the vvay
THE END.