A PANEGYRICK TO My LORD PROTECTOR, OF The present Greatness and joynt Interest of His Highness, and this Nation.
By E. W. Esq.
⟨May. 31⟩ LONDON, Printed for RICHARD LOWNDES at the White Lyon in S. Pauls Church-yard, neer the little North-dore. 1655.
A PANEGYRICK TO My LORD PROTECTOR, OF The present Greatness and joynt Interest of His Highness, and this Nation.
WHilst with a strong, and yet a gentle hand
You bridle faction, and our hearts command,
Protect us from our selves, and from the Foe,
Make us unite, and make us conquer too.
Let partiall spirits still aloud complain
Think themselves injured that they cannot Raign,
And own no liberty but where they may
Without controul upon their fellows prey.
Above the waves as Neptune shew'd his face
To chide the windes, and save the Trojan Race;
So has your Highness, rais'd above the rest
Storms of Ambition tossing us represt.
Your drooping Countrey torn with Civil Hate,
Restor'd by you is made a Glorious State,
The seat of Empire where the Irish come,
And the unwilling Scotch to fetch their doom.
The Sea's our own, and now all Nations greet
With bending sails each Vessell of our Fleet.
Your power extends as farre as windes can blow,
Or swelling sails upon the Globe may goe.
Heav'n that hath plac'd this Island to give Law
To ballance Europe, and her States to awe,
In this conjunction doth on Britain smile,
The greatest Leader, and the greatest Isle.
Whether this Portion of the world were rent
By the rude Ocean from the Continent,
Or thus created, it was sure design'd
To be the sacred refuge of mankind.
Hither th' oppressed shall henceforth resort
Justice to crave, and succour at your Court,
And then your Highness, not for ours alone,
But for the Worlds Protector shall be known.
Fame swifter than your winged Navy flies
Through ev'ry Land that near the Ocean lies,
Sounding your name, and telling dreadfull news
To all that Pyracie, and rapine use.
With such a Chief the meanest Nation blest,
Might hope to lift her head above the rest.
What may be thought impossible to doe,
By us, embraced by the Seas, and you,
Lord of the Worlds great Wast, the Ocean? we
Whole Forrests send to Reign upon the Sea,
And every Coast may trouble or relieve,
But none can visit us without your leave.
Angels and we have this Prerogative,
That none can at our happy Seas arrive,
While we descend at pleasure to invade
The Bad with Vengeance, and the Good to aide.
Our little World the Image of the great,
Like that amidst the boundlesse Ocean set,
Of her own growth hath all that Nature craves,
And all that's rare, as Tribute from the Waves.
As Aegypt does not on the Clouds relie,
But to the Nile owes more than to the skie,
So what our Earth and what our Heaven denies,
Our ever-constant friend the Sea supplies.
The tast of hot Arabia's spice we know,
Free from the scorching Sun that makes it grow;
Without the Worm in Persian-silks we shine,
And without planting drink of ev'ry Vine.
To dig for Wealth we weary not our limbs,
Gold (though the heaviest mettle) hither swims:
Ours is the Harvest where the Indians mow,
We plough the deep, and reap what others sow.
Things of the noblest kinde our own soil breeds;
Stout are our men, and warlike are our steeds;
Rome (though her Eagle through the world had flown)
Could never make this Island all her own.
Here the third Edward, and the black Prince too,
France Conquering Henry, flourisht; and now you,
For whom we stayed, as did the Trojan State
Till Alexander came to urge their Fate.
When for more Worlds the Macedonian cry'd,
He wist not Thetys in her Lap did hide
Another yet, a World reserv'd for you,
To make more great than that he did subdue.
He safely might old Troops to Battail lead
Against th' unwarlike Persians, and the Mede,
Whose hasty flight did from a bloodlesse field,
More spoil than honour to the Victor yield.
A Race unconquer'd, by their Clyme made bold,
The Calcedonians, arm'd with want and cold,
Have by a Fate indulgent to your Name
Been from all Ages kept for you to tame.
Whom the Old Roman-wall so ill confin'd,
With a new chain of Garrisons you binde:
Here foraign Gold no more shall make them come,
Our English iron holds them fast at home.
They that henceforth must be content to know
No warmer Region than their hills of snow,
May blame the Sun, but must extoll your Grace,
Wich in our Senate hath allow'd them place.
Preferr'd by Conquest happily overthrown,
Falling you rise to be with us made one:
So kinde Dictators made, when they came home,
Their vanquisht foes, free Citizens of Rome.
Like favour finde the Irish, with like fate
Advanc'd to be a Portion of our State,
While by your valour and your bounteous mind
Nations divided by the Sea are joyn'd.
Holland, to gain your friendship is content
To be our Out guard on the Continent:
She from her fellow Provinces would goe,
Rather than hazard to have you her foe.
In our late Fight, when Canons did diffuse,
Preventing Posts, the terror, and the news,
Our neighbour-Princes trembled at their rore,
But our Conjunction makes them tremble more.
Your never-failing Sword made Warre to cease,
And now you heal us with the Acts of Peace:
Our minds with bounty, and with awe engage,
Invite Affection, and restrain our Rage.
Lesse pleasure take brave mindes in Battails won,
Then in restoring such as are undone;
Tygres have courage, and the rugged Bear,
But Man alone can whom he Conquers, spare.
To pardon, willing; and to punish, loath;
You strike with one hand, but you heal with both
Lifting up all that prostrate lie, you grieve
You cannot make the dead again to live.
When Fate or Errour had our Age misled,
And ore this Nation such confusion spred:
The onely cure which could from Heaven come down,
Was so much power and piety in one.
One whose extraction's from an Antient Line,
Gives hope again that well born men may shine:
The meanest in your nature milde and good,
The noble rest secured in your blood.
Oft have we wondred how you hid in peace,
Amid proportion'd to such things as these,
How such a Ruling spirit you could restrain,
And practice first over your self to Reign.
Your private life did a just Pattern give
How Fathers, Husbands, Pious Sons should live,
Born to command, your princely vertues slept,
Like humble Davids, while the flock he kept.
But when your troubled Countrey call'd you forth,
Your flaming courage, and your matchless worth,
Dazeling the eyes of all that did pretend
To fierce contention, gave a prosperous end.
Still as you rise the State exalted too,
Findes no Distemper whilst 'tis chang'd by you;
Chang'd like the worlds great scene, when without noise
The rising-Sun nights vulgar lights destroyes.
Had you some Ages past this Race of Glory
Run with amazement we should read your story,
But living Vertue all Atchievements past
Meets Envy still to grapple with at last.
This Caesar found, and this ungratefull Age
With losing him, went back to blood and rage.
Mistaken Brutus thought to break their Yoak,
But cut the bond of Union with that stroak.
That Sun once set, a thousand meaner Starres
Gave a dimme Light to Violence and Warres,
To such a Tempest as now threatens all,
Did not your mighty Arme prevent the fall.
If Rome's great Senate could not weild that sword
Which of the Conquer'd world had made them Lord,
What hope had ours while yet their power was new
To rule victorious Armies but by you?
You that had taught them to subdue their Foes,
Could Order teach, and their high sp'rits compose,
To ev'ry Duty could their mindes engage,
Provoke their courage, and command their rage.
So when a Lyon shakes her dreadfull main,
And angry grows; if he that first took pain
To tame his youth, approach the haughty beast,
He bends to him, but frights away the rest.
As the vext world to finde repose at last
It self into Augustus Arms did cast:
So England now, doth with like toyle opprest,
Her weary head upon your bosome rest.
Then let the Muses with such notes as these
Instruct us what belongs unto our Peace;
Your Battails they hereafter shall indite,
And draw the Image of our Mars in fight.
Tell of Towns storm'd, of Armies overcome,
Of mighty Kingdomes by your Conduct wonne,
How while you thundred Clouds of dust did choak,
Contending Troops, and Seas lay hid in smoak.
Illustrious Acts high raptures doe infuse,
And ev'ry Conqueror creats a Muse,
Here in low streyns your milder deeds we sing,
But there (My Lord) we'l Bayes and Olive bring:
To Crown your head while you in Triumph ride
O're vanquish'd Nations, and the Sea beside,
While all your neighbour-Princes unto you
Like Josephs sheaves pay reverence, and bow.
The End.