The Restauration. OR, A POEM on the Return of the MOST MIGHTY and ever Glorious PRINCE, CHARLES the II. TO HIS Kingdoms.
By ARTHUR BRETT of Christs-Church Oxon.
—Deum Delphós (que) meos.
LONDON, Printed by J. H. for Samuel Thomson at the Bishops-head in St. Pauls Church-yard. 1660.
The Restauration. OR, A POEM on the Return of the Most Mighty and ever Glorious Prince, CHARLES the II. to his Kingdoms.
HOw shall I thy entrance sing?
Lord of Hearts, of Nations King,
Or thy Restauration bear?
Of Royal Father Royal Heir.
When I consider thy Return,
What Flames within my Breast do burn?
I know not how to vent my joy,
How to begin Vive le Roy,
Or enter upon my great Song,
The King has been away so long.
Thus after a dark dismal night,
We can't sustain Meridian-light;
The Dawn must gently intervene,
Lest Phoebus kill as soon as seen:
So Sorrow by degrees must wast,
Joy stifles, coming on too fast.
Shall I be silent then, and sit
And only hear other mens Wit?
No, I'le call my Thoughts together,
Summon all my Forces hither,
Rather than fail at such a time,
My Soul shall go into a Rime:
Who on so rich a Subject try,
Their as rich Vein of Poetry,
Though never so much care they take,
False-Latine-Heraldry will make;
Having no Gold on Gold to spread,
I shall not break Clarencieux Head:
While others serve the King in State,
And bring Red Wine in Yellow Plate;
I'le like that Honest Asian,
Present him Water in a Canne.
I will say somthing wrong or right,
Cast in my share, though but a Mite;
But as a Drop unto that Sea
Which now sustains his Majesty:
Those Craggy Mountains which surround
Our Pleasant, Fertile, English Ground
(A Finer Mantles Courser Border)
That stand to keep the Sea in order,
And now stretch out, stretch out their head
To catch their Soveraign's first Tread;
Those Cliffes Parnassus are to me,
Salt-water Hypocrene shall be.
Oh for the silver Quill of Quarles
To celebrate our Gracious CHARLES!
Oh for a Holy David's Lyre,
And new Te-Deum's in the Quire!
Oh for a Strain ascending quite
'Bove Denham, Cowley, or the Knight!
Oh for Muses Ninety Nine!
Oh for a Fancy as Divine
As Virgils, and as smooth and fit
As Ovids, when of Love he writ!
The Story I must now rehearse,
Deserves a more than common Verse;
Ʋxbridge, and the Isle of Wight
Could not settle all things right,
But Breda hath that Business done,
Perfecting what they but begun:
Strange News! a King and Kingdoms Three,
Send each their Letters and agree;
When heaven propitious appeares,
A Day do's more than month's or years;
Breda, that to her Tackling stuck,
She got a Name from being took;
But let's forget those warlick Feats,
Those Stratagems, those lawful Cheats;
Let those brave deeds of Dutch and Spanish,
French and Heroick English vanish;
Let Spinola's memorial cease;
She's now more famous for a Peace:
Our Sister Nation justly may
Her ancient Thistle throw away,
Those Armes became her exil'd Prince,
His Fortunes now are blossom'd since;
He hath (if that can be) his due,
Is King of Scots and Scotland too:
For this he scap't such snares, such plots,
Such sicknesses, such wounds, such shots,
As Chance on the Kings Son may bring
In a hot war against the King;
For this he often cros't the Sea
Safer than others do the Dee,
And on the main was reverenc't more
Than he was like to be a shore,
The Loyal waves did quiet stand,
There were too many Storms at land;
For this at W— fatal fight
Was wrought that Miracle his flight,
When that rich soile was o're and o're
Water'd with English-Scottish Gore,
That he must perish in the Woods,
Or fly o're troops, or swim through bloods.
It was for this, 'twas Heaven's intent
That he should meet this Parliament,
And so from nothing All commence,
And shew the world ther's Providence:
When Nature bid him first to be
So sweet, so full of Majesty,
That he did no Perfection lack
She put him in a comely black,
A comely, but a mournful Hue,
She had good reason so to do,
Presaging that her Brittish Sons
Would prove unruly, boisterous ones,
Would into strange confusion run,
Murder the Sire, banish the Son;
But Comedy's now on the Stage,
And Tragedy has ceas't to rage;
We're past the black part of the Scene,
And what remains will be serene:
Great CHARLES unto large Empire born,
Has had his Crown made all of Thorn;
Now hee'l have one of better Stuffe,
If Lumbard-street have Gold enough;
His Winter's gone, he has now his Spring,
The Honey after so much sting;
In Patience's and Vertue's Field
Has conquer'd Fate, and it doth yield:
That blazing Comet's direful beard,
Which made us at his birth afear'd,
Though it were long it had an end,
Could not eternal harms portend;
Now CHARLES the Martyr, CHARLES the First,
Whose Murder hath the Nation curst,
CHARLES of Blessed Memory,
Who liv'd a Pris'ner, died free,
Triumphant CHARLES looks from on high,
And sees his Blood has ceas't to cry;
Sees his own Prophesie fulfil'd,
That English hearts at last should yield,
That the remembrance of their Guilt
And of his Blood which they had spilt
Should melt their flints (for bloud is known
To mollifie the hardest stone:)
That they should their errour see,
And that his Royal Progeny
(Which has been Fortunes quilted Ball)
Should mount the higher by its Fall;
His Son should with more Glory rise,
Because he on a Scaffold dies;
So we behold (if Nature may
Allude to State) the following day
Its Raies with greater Lustre spread
When as the former sets in Red:
Now Circulation of blood
In a new sense will be made good;
The Head was made with shame to bleed,
Now let the Legs and Feet take heed;
Gods own Anointed is at hand
To judge the Sinners of the Land,
To curb those overdaring soules,
And use his words whose place he holds,
They that have oppos'd my Reign
Let 'um be brought out and slain;
Shall he not be their King? hee'l rise,
And be their Priest, and sacrifice
Those Buls unto his Fathers shade,
Which o're our necks such rule have had;
Oh no! I dream, Oh! I mistake,
He comes to build, not down to break;
Hee's merciful, he lov's to save;
How could he else all Vertues have?
The Royal Eagle will not prey;
He loses Subjects if he slay;
Dove-like he knows not how to kill,
But comes with Olive in his Bill:
Memory is an Art, but yet
There is a greater to forget;
He can forget his Fathers fall,
How they took Crown and Life and all;
How our late Sun his splendor lost,
And sat where he had shined most;
How he of men and Kings the best,
Had his East turned to his West;
'Tis his endeavour, 'tis his care,
Well to do, with ill to bear;
What has been done is gone and past,
And hee'l make up what Noll laid wast;
How he will with his people deal
He gives both under hand and seal,
When to the Parliament he sends,
Sweetly begins, and sweetly ends;
Never such words, I dare avow,
Were written in Court hand till now;
Hee'l be, hee'l be The Faiths Defender,
Yet such whose Consciences are tender,
Such as unsatisfied are,
As far as may a King, hee'l spare;
(That clause it will end all our strife,
That Line, it is a Line of Life;)
Not like base Tyrants, who disgrace
Royalty of the Royal race;
That keep mens bodies free and safe,
But they' [...]e oppress their nobler half;
This is to save the Case from hurt,
And leave the Jewel in the Dirt;
Our Sovereign's of another mind,
Is even to Dissenters kind.
He who in the world has been,
Who in his banishment has seen
Such Variety abroad,
So many a way, so many a Mode,
Find's 'tis impossible that we
Should here in all things all agree;
Unity men in vain design,
It is an Attribute Divine;
Bodies arn't made of the same clay,
Nor Souls of th' same celestial Ray,
What you may hate, I may think good,
As this mans poyson's that mans food;
The Church in this fine Sun-shine day
Will give her Children leave to Play,
So as it be not with edg'd tools,
And they not prove mad-men or fools:
While those who urge with too much heat
On others that which they think meet,
Their beam of truth must be the day,
And we must needs say as they say,
Do as they do, guess as they guess,
Those that will force our Consciences,
Seem not to know what Conscience is,
And of their Sovereign's temper miss:
But to be clement, to be mild,
That he has had up from a child;
And while infused gifts we scan,
We praise the Maker not the man;
As for's acquired ones, for those
Which only to himself he ow's,
Would you them know? perhaps you would,
And I would tell you if I could;
If I could paint a noble soul
As Xeuxis did his Lass of old,
Borrow a curious fancy hence,
Hence a style, a judgment thence,
Somthing of CHARLES then you should know
Which now lies hid, and will do so
Till he salute the Loyal rout,
And let it at his mouth run out:
Into affliction he was hurl'd
The great Free-school of all the world,
And yet (which seemeth strange and odd)
Hath thrived under too much rod,
For Losses, Crosses, Banishment,
Never were for Thalia's meant;
He has heard with's ears, seen with's eyes
Enough to make him richly wise;
H'as that Experience attain'd
Which by study can't be gain'd,
That which others learn by scraps,
Or read in books, or see in maps;
In times of war he dares to fight,
And in times of peace can write;
He to Minerva is so dear,
She has lent him both her Book & Spear;
Such is our Prince who doth return
The Phoenix of the Royal Urne:
With him returnes that beauteous Dame
We Ecclesia Anglicana name,
The Hierarchy is getting ground
(Its Platonick year's come round)
Or, if that that should be withstood,
Somthing that's better or as good;
David, if holy writ we mark,
Still brings back with him the Arke;
Miters attend the Diadem,
Half moons! 'tis that enlightens them;
Scepters and Crosiers joyn hand,
Together fall, together stand;
Oh Holy, Blessed Trinity
Will now no more be Heresie,
Nor Letany an impious thing
Although we pray in't for the King:
But Hammond, whither thou so fast?
Why this unseasonable hast?
Have the true Israelites indeed
Now they are setled no more need
For time to come, H. H. D. D.
Their fiery pillar-guide to see?
Could'st thou not stay one Fortnight more
And see us rightly God adore,
Till thou enthroned CHARLES hadst saw'n,
And grac't the Ermine with thy Lawn?
Must Moses now be layed by,
And just on Canaans Borders die?
Well, go and be the Messenger,
The tidings to the shades to bear,
Your News forget not as you make
Your passage through the Lethe Lake;
Since angry Fate will have you go,
Go (Reverend Sir) and tell below
(Which for to tell who'd not expire?)
The Royalists have their Desire;
The Royalists, not Cavaliers,
That word, that thing may breed new feares;
Tell him who so long dominee'd
And Trophies of our Slavery reer'd,
(If he hath got to th' blessed Coast,
And not his way t' Elysium lost,)
Tell him a CHARLES is up again,
And Cromwel's ordinary men;
Tell the brave English souls beneath,
The Sword is fast up in the sheath,
That all things are as quiet here,
As they can possibly be there,
That we did this for little gain,
There were no hundred thousands slain,
No, it was at an easier rate,
They'd no new guests sent 'um of late:
And you who teach our outward ears,
And glitter in your lesser sphears;
Let your light farther be extended,
Stars shine the more when Sol's descended;
When you've displanted all Deluders,
All Levitical Intruders,
All sapless trees, all withered rinds,
Without Divinity Divines,
When you the Angels of the flocks
Are grafted in your proper stocks,
The Candles in the Candlesticks,
Do not earth with heaven mix,
Don't too much worldly lustre get,
For fear of other snuffers yet;
There was got in your torch a thief,
But a traveller brought relief,
Came from Cole-stream to the Thames,
Sav'd Ephod, Bels, and Breast-plate Gems,
Now for the future have a care,
Dangers escap't make men beware;
Dark clouds besat your Firmament,
Mens love to you was cold, was spent,
For such darkness brighter shew,
For such coldness hotter grow,
And flourish for such calumny's,
By an Antiperistasis;
Your eyes, ye watchmen, they have wink't,
Your Vestal fire has been extinct,
Scorn all earthly fumes and vapours,
And from heaven light your tapers.
Now seeing what offends our sense
May please us in another tense;
Since 'tis a curious sight to look,
From th' mountains where w' have footing took
Down on the watry moving ones,
And lately conscious to our groans;
Since Land-scapp's may delight the eyes
Though representing gloomy skyes;
How willingly could I be bold
My King eclipsed to behold?
How could I be this Prince's Page!
To trace him in his pilgrimage;
To follow him through his distress,
Through his Paran-wilderness;
And at every miles end stop,
While grief a Chrystal bead may drop;
Come Berti-us, (and yet methinks
Why should I view it through the Chinks?
The Diamond now it self explay's,
And in the ring begins to blaze;
Why should I th' flying Meteor haunt?
Hee's since a Star, and culminant;
But I must go, I can't forbear,
Fancy transports me through the air,
Where I may see each Cittadel
Each town, each court where CHARLES did dwell;
I must be one if him it please,
Of wandring Jov's Satellites;)
Come, man of Geographicks, come,
Shew mee's Itinerarium;
Shew me the places where h'as been,
Or rather where he has not been seen,
Still tost and turn'd, still on the wing,
His type Aeneas answering:
First St Germans yields him rest,
Had you been there you would have guest
Windsor had chang'd her Thames for Sein,
Her houslesse Lord to entertain:
To Guernsey he and Jersey comes
Now made their Kings retiring rooms,
The Esquires of the two bigger Isles,
Though not concern'd yet in their broils;
But they who on the main did seize,
Could take th' Appendixes with ease;
'Twas but that argument to presse
From the greater to the lesse;
Therefore he into Holland struck,
The Orange must defend the Oake;
Then into Scotland he must fly
From the Low-lands to the High;
But that cold Country could afford
Only cold comfort to her Lord;
MONCK had not then inspir'd the Land,
Nor placed there his Loyal Band:
To France he sails, but must not fix,
The Lilly's too (strange flowers) had pricks;
The Paris folk are not so bold
As English Princes to behold,
Afraid of the Great STEWART's are,
They are the race of Lancaster:
To stately Colen next he goes,
To German friends from Gallick foes;
Colen then might justly glory,
Although her Legend were a story,
What e're the riming Frier sings,
When he was there, there were three Kings.
And the Pope doth improperly
To build his crest three stories high,
A Miter would do better there,
The triple Crown is CHARLES's wear.
But Rhenish could not chear his heart,
Only Canary plaies that part;
Only the Generous Castile
When others frown'd lent him a smile;
Own'd him as much now as before,
(Spaniards know Gold though in the ore)
Held with the Scepter 'gainst the sling,
And us'd Don CARLO like a King;
As we not many an age agone
Resetled Pedro in his Throne;
Even Kings by one another live,
Courtesies can receive and give:
The Golden Fleece did swet and toil
To bear him to his Native soil,
But then some ill might have come on't,
There might have been a Charles-pont;
Fortune did us that honour doom,
We should both call and fetch him home:
Come then, prepare, prepare for him,
Teach Wichwood Forest how to swim,
The main with cansass periwigg,
Navies of Bucentoro's rigg;
So we shall have a seemly fleet,
A King, a King, a King to meet;
Tritons dance, and Mare-maids sing,
Out of the sea some Venus spring,
And with Cupids trim the boat
In which Great CHARLES himself's afloat;
May we no storms, no tempests have,
No dancing of the air or wave,
No Lapp-land puffs, no Finland weather,
Sent by incarnate Furies hither,
Rather may milder blasts prevail,
And fill the proudly swelling sail,
May the breath of Hybla's flowers
The odours of Hymetta's bowers,
Molucca's, Araby's perfume
(Which else would uselesly consume)
Themselves into one brize compose,
And center in those linnen cloth's,
White peaceful colours, signs of love,
So they are used, so they'le prove
To him that to the King submits,
To th' unrepenting winding-sheets:
Ye now most glorious Eastern Seas
Foam up at once your Amber-grease,
Your Amber-grease in stead of Myrrh,
A present to this Royal Sir;
Ye Whales that lord it in the deep,
Come and do homage, come and creep
To him of whom you hold in fee
Your sovereignty of the sea;
But leave your Whalishness a while,
Calmly make towards a calm Isle,
Gently glide along and steady,
Your forelorn hope's been here already;
Ye Dolphins too may hither pack,
All with Arions on your back;
Only Sword-fishes keep away,
Come not into our peaceful Bay,
Come not you near those happy sands
Whereon our dearest Sovereign lands,
Those sands which on record will stand
As much as e're did Colchos strand;
When as the ages coming on
Shall study how these things were done,
And wonder at so rich a fraught,
As we do at the Argonaut:
Let us enjoy what they'le admire,
Let our affections take new fire,
Let us and's Majesty combine,
And for this breach the closer joyn;
Just as those bones which broke in twain
Grow stronger when they'r set again:
Let's get such skill how to obey
As he hath Scepters how to sway,
And till a Prince of Wales be born
Let Ich Di-en of all be worn:
And when as Grebner's Prophecy
Shall be a reall History,
When as the Martyr's Son and Heir
Shall sit in the Confessors chair,
When he in that rich Chappell shines
Which cost us all the Indian Mines,
When (Briton's) your wise Delegates
(The Third joyn'd with the Second States)
With Pearls and Purples him array,
Flowers not growing every May,
When he of whom we were bereft,
And had small Expectation left
To see these seas by him thus cross't,
But Hope had all her Anchors lost,
Whose reigning in his Fathers stead
Is like returning from the dead;
When he is Crown'd in all your sights,
And takes possession of his rights,
When this is done, and you look on,
Believe a Resurrection;
A time when time shall be no more,
When you must look o're your old score;
When that wide stretching Conscience
Which can with Royal blood dispence,
Which like a frozen serpent lies,
Heeding nor Kings nor Deity's,
At unseen fires shall melt and thaw,
And wake, and hisse, and sting and claw;
And that Adventurer shall be found
To have gone on the surest ground,
Who for to gain eternal bliss
Gives God his due, and Caesar his.
You also who of high things talk
While on the Royal Change you walk,
Asiatick, African,
Romanist or Muselman,
Of whatsoever Country, Sect,
Fashion, Trade, or Dialect,
Who saw where Caesar's Image stood,
Saw it deface't, saw it renew'd,
You told of that, go tell of this,
That England once more England is;
Possessed ones are turned civil,
A Monck has conjur'd down the Devil;
How well would he become the Burse
Seated upon a brazen horse?
Amidst those Kings that rul'd before,
Whose Successours he doth restore;
So of Great Warwick's mind is he,
Rather to make a King than be;
He, whom you all can't chuse but know,
He whom you heard of long ago,
When on the Seas he got renown,
And brought the blustring Hogens down,
And High and Mighty from 'um won
To give it unto CHARLES the Son;
He, Oh Egyptians, wh' undertook
To free us from our Mammaluke;
He, Germans who on us bestow'd
That which your country would have ow'd
To Famous Gustav's Sword and Shield,
Had he escaped Lutzen field;
He unto whom even your Grand-Fool
Ottomanist's, may go to School,
And if hee's wise example take
His Janizaries off to shake;
Ye Greeks whose wine we've often drunk
In a health to CHARLES and Monck,
Take notice we as well as you
Have our Demetrius Soter too;
Armenian, Persian, Tartar, Mede,
Think with what courage, with what speed
From North to South he Victor ran,
And you'le remember Tamerlane;
Your Patron, Monsier's, is a word,
Ours has a heart, a hand, a sword,
Your Dennis is no man knows vvhere,
Our George is here, is here I'le swear;
You Portugue's who knew of late
What 'tis to have such turns in State,
To fetch your Ostracized Lord
Home back again of your own accord,
Joyn souls with us, while we rehearse
To CHARLES a Hymne, to Monck a Verse:
Long live the Gen'ral, longer He
To whom the Gen'ral bow's his knee;
Let the King prosper in his reign,
Let CHARLES proceed a Charle maigne;
Let him excell Beau-Cleark in Art,
And be as stout as Lion's-heart;
As Wise as Richmond-Henry, who
Quell'd discords, and made one of two:
As Pious as young Edward was,
That Excommunicated Mass;
As Famous as Elizabeth,
Who out-fume'd Size-Cinq's blasting breath;
As Peacefull as James, and as Just;
Let him be trusted, let him trust;
Let no strange jealousies arise,
Clouds unbecoming Brittish skies!
Let Crosses still be voted down,
So as to have none in the Crown;
Let him his Fathers soul possesse,
In Parts be like him, not Successe;
If, if there be a King of Kings,
That knows all thoughts, all words, all things,
An Angell which his feet doth set
One on the dry, one on the wet,
Which doth salvation command
For th' King at Sea, and can on Land;
If we don't beat the air in vain,
But notice of our Vows is ta'ne;
If we can pierce th' All-hearing ears,
Which seemed stopt these 13 years;
If prayers can prevail with Fate,
Let him be CHARLES but Fortunate:
I must go on, Let him have health,
Let him never want for vvealth;
And be the man most fit to grow
His Saviour's Vice-roy here below:
If a Fifth Monarch there must be,
Let Englands Emperour be He.
FINIS.