CAROLI Τȣ Μακαριτȣ ΠΑΛΙΓΓΕΝΕΣΙΑ.
LONDON, Printed for Rich: Royston at the Angel in Ivie lane, M.DC.XL.IX.
CAROLI Τȣ Μακαριτȣ Παλιγϝενεσια.
I Come, but come with trembling, lest I prove
Th'unequall Greete of Semele and Jove.
As She was too obscure, and He too bright,
My Theame's too heavy, and my Pen too light.
And whilst, like Midas, I presume to sit
In wise Apollo's Chaire, without HIS wit,
Is it not just t'expect, that He, who dares
Higher then Midas, should wear longer Eares?
May I not feare Patroclus Fate, and feele
The dangerous honour of Achilles steele?
Just like that busie Elfe, whose vent'rous Pride
Found none but Titan Titan's Coach could guide?
Why; Hee'l not stand in Verse. Can I enclose
Him, whom the greatest Liberty of Prose
Wants roome 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?
One so diffusive, that he liv'd to all,
And One that dy'd the whole world's Funerall?
For Charles being thus dismounted, and the Swaine
High shoo'd Bóótes leapt into the Waine,
Is not old Beldame Nature truly said
T'advance her Heeles, and stand upon her Head?
Does not the Judge, 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 Laquay, whilst th' white Devill rides?
Sure all things thus into Confusion hurld
Make, though an Universe, yet not a World.
And so our Soveraigne's, like our Saviour's Passion,
Becomes a kind of Doomesday to the Nation.
If Dead men did not walke, 'twould be admir'd
(The Breath of all our Nostrills thus expir'd)
What 't is that gives us Motion. And can I,
Who want my selfe, write Him an Elegie?
Though Virgil turn'd Evangelist, and wrote,
Not from his Tripod, but God's 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)
'T were all as inarticulate, and weake,
As when those men make signes, that cannot speak.
But where the Theme confounds us, * 'tis a sort
Of glorious Merit, Proudly to fall short.
Despaire sometimes gives courage; any one
May lispe him out, who can be spoke by none;
None but a King; No King, unlesse He be
As Wise, as Just, as Good, as Great as He.
When Late Posterity shall run t'advise
With Time's impartiall Register, how Wise
This Great-one was, they'l find it there inroll'd
That He was ne'r in's Nonage, but borne old.
View him whilst Prince of Wales, and it appeares
His Wisdome did so antedate his yeares,
That He was Ful i'th 'Bud, and's Soule 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 Majesty, 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 Realmes:
And just as if old Trismegistus Cup
Had by his Thirsty Soule been all drunk up,
His understanding did begirt this All,
As t'were Ecliptick, or Meridionall.
Suppose 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 Pensill, and the Pen,
From th' Scepter to the Sheep-hook, Charles in all
Must have been Umpire Oecumenicall.
He liv'd a Perpendicular; The Thread
His Wisdome was; Humility the Lead,
By which he measur'd Men and Things; took aime
At actions crooked, and at actions plaine.
He and all from him into Cubes did fall,
And yet as perfect as the Circle, all.
'Twas He took Nature's Bredth, & Depth, & 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 fit.
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 looke
On his Soule's best Interpreter, his Booke;
His Booke, 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 owne good Genius knew not, whether were
His Heart more single, or his Head more cleare.
Vertue was his Prerogative; and thus
Charles rul'd the King, before the King rul'd Us.
He knew that to command, his only way
Was first to teach his Passions to obey.
And his incessant waiting on God's Throne
Gave him such meek reflexions on his owne,
That, being forc't to censure, he exprest
A Judges Office with a Mothers breast.
And when some sturdy 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 Journy-men, those Sons of Night
Who looke on scarlet-murder, and think't white,
Unwillingly confess'd, The only thing
Which made him guilty was, That He was King.
He was Incarnate Justice, 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 Just.
And yet though he were such, that nothing lesse
Then Vertue's Meane stretch'd to a just Excesse
Flew from his Soule; He, like the Sun, was known
To see all excellence, except his owne.
His Modesty was such, that All which He
'Ere spake or thought of's selfe, 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,
(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
Impli'd his Cloyster; and his very sport
Was Self-deniall. Nay, though he were seene
So roab'd in purple, and so match'd t' a Queene,
As made him glitter like a Noon-day Sun,
Yet still his Soule 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 fall?
When he caught up by a Celestiall Traine
Began his second, and more solid Raigne.
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 Us.
Whom did Byzantium free, Rome would condemn;
And free'd from Rome, they are enslav'd by them.
So plac'd betwixt a Precipice and Wolfe,
There the Aegaean, here the Venice gulfe,
What with the rising and the setting Sun,
By these th'are hated, and by those undon.
Thus virtue's hemm'd with vices, &, though either
Solicite's her consent, she yeilds to neither.
Nay thus our Saviour, to enhance his griefe,
Was hung betwixt a Murderer, and a Thiefe.
Now Charles as King, and as a good King too
Being Christs adopted selfe, was both to doe
And suffer like him; both to live and die
So much more humble, as he was more high
Then his owne Subjects. He was thus to tread
In the same footsteps, and submit his Head
To the same thornes: when spit upon, and beat,
To make his Conscience serve for his retreat,
And overcome by suffring: To take up
His Saviour's Crosse, and pledge him in his Cup.
Since then our Soveraigne, 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 Crucifi'd.
And their renowned'st Epocha will be
Great Charles his Death, next Christ's Nativity.
Thus Treason's growne most Orthodox; who since
They said they'd [make him the most glorious Prince
In all the Christian World,] 'tis plaine, 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.
Their Libel's his best Obeliske; To have
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'affirme him murder'd in his owne 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 thinke's it witty
To burne the Suburbs, when they can't the City)
Howe're they storm'd his walls, & drain'd his blood,
Which moted round his Soule; 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 doe,
[It shew'd him King of his afflictions too.]
Untempted virtue is but coldly good,
(As she's scarce chast, that's so but in cold blood)
To scorne 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, prove's but his due.
For how could he be said to fall too soone,
Whose green was mellow, & whose dawn was noone?
Since Charles was onely by thy curteous knife
Redeemd from this great injury of life
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 doe mock, not cheat our griefe, and sit
Only 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 than another man,
He can but fancy 'um; and all his paines
Is but to fill his belly with his braines.
He may both Petrify'd and famish'd sit,
That weares 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 complaine: but since I know
To call things thus, is not to make them so,
Great Charles is slaine: and say we what we will,
Yet we shall find, judgements are judgements still.
For though 'tis true, that his now-immense Soule
Doth hold commensuration with each Pole;
Though he doth shine a Star more fixt and bright
Then where the yeare make's but one day and night;
And, least he fill the Zodiack, doth appeare
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
Betwixt the sinnes and judgments of the Land.
And what can we expect, our Lot be'ng 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 Peers.
So that for Charles the Good to have been try'd
And cast by mortall Votes, was Deicide.
No Sin, except the first, hath ever past
So black as this; no Judgment, but the last.
How does our Delos, which so lately stood
Unmov'd, lie floating in her Pilot's blood?
And can we hope to Anchor, who discerne
Nought but the tempest ruling at the sterne;
Whil'st Pluto's Rival, with his Saints by's side,
Drawn by the Spirit of avarice and pride,
Being fairly placed in the Chaire of scorne
Sits brewing Teares for Infants yet unborne?
Vast stocks of misery, which his Guardian-rage
Does husband for them till they come to age?
When future times shall look what Plagues befell
Aegypt and Us, by way of Parallel,
They'l find at once presented to their view
The Frogs and Lice, and Independents too.
Only this signal difference will be knowne
'Twixt those Aegyptian judgments and our owne,
Those were God's Army's; but th' effect doth tell
That these our Vermin are the Host of Hell.
Pausanias and Herostratus will looke
Like Pygmy-Sinners writ in Times black-booke.
The Spanish Fleet, and Powder-plot will lack
Their usuall mentions in our Almanack.
Will scarce be legible i'th' leaves of fame,
When Cromwell shall be read. Nature was ne're
So blessedly reform'd, since Lucifer.
O for a Jeremy to lament our woe!
From whom such tragick Rhetorick might flow,
As would become our misery, and dresse
Our sorrows with a dreadfull gaudinesse!
For next those hovering judgements, wch the fall
Of One so great, so good, makes Verticall,
(And rushing down, may only be withstood
If Charles his prayers 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 weep upon this subject, and weep sense,
Requires we should be borne ten Ages hence.
The greater are the hights an Artist's hand
Designe's to take, the farther he must stand.
And as when Sol's in's Zenith, He imply's
His dazling glory best, that shuts his eyes,
So, where the Theme's ineffable, the way
THE END.