MacLean, Gerald, editor. The Return of the King : An Anthology of English Poems Commemorating the Restoration
of Charles II / edited by Gerald MacLean
Electronic Text Center, University of Virginia Library
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Title: GRAMPIUS / CONGRATULATION / In plain / SCOTS LANGUAGE / TO HIS / MAJESTIES / Thrise Happy Return. / [rule] / [design] / [rule] / Printed Anno Dom. 1660. / [ornamental double-ruled box]
Since we hear of how the Scots are already well known to have been using the king's return as an excuse for doing a great deal of celebrtory drinking, and since English poets already have been penning celebrations, Grampius Congratulation most likely appeared during the summer.
To His Majesties thrise happy Return.
A SCOTS Rime.
OF twelve sad years, one tedious night
We'ave had, and now the day grows light,
Our Sun is up, awake my Muse,
Thy drousiness I'le not excuse.
5: We have been dead, and now we live
Again, and shall we no thanks give?
In our next life, if we give none
To God, Why Resurrection?
Are we redeem`d then from the tears
10: And torments of these twenty years?
And from th'Egyptian bondage free?
And are we all past the Red-sea?
And shall not one midst all this Throng
Remember upon Moses Song?
Let this be Purim to our Priests,
Although our Church allow no Fiests.
But Bacchus She priests here we bar,
Our mirth with fury we'll not mar,
Let them their Trietericks vent
20: To a Triennial Parliament.
And since profane men are discharg'd,
(By him for whose cause we're enlarg'd)
Ranting 'gainst the dead Commonwealth,
Or drinking their own Masters health,
25: Whom they so by their rude louse tongue
More than their hands could help, did wrong;
What shall we, poor we, do that dwell
By Chyrra; and Agamppe well?
What if we mirrie made by water,
Mingled with Enthean fire shall chatter?
No Treason's here: our noise and din
Shall greater be far than our sin.
Were we not then all this past while,
Cimmerians since our Kings exile?
35: Have we not liv'd in Holes and Caves?
And dig'd in Minerals like slaves?
To pay th'usurpers of the Crown?
And buy Swords t'had our Selves down?
But now since Jove amongst us Feists,
Like th'honest Corybantes Priests,
Let's Leap and Daunce all in a round,
Our Heads shake, and our Cymbals sound,
Till the French follow this our folly,
Who pitied not our Melancholy.
45: With God, our King a God we'll call,
More's in Him than our Armies all:
They brought us Toil and Husks for diet,
He Milk and Hony with much quiet:
When we by War our Peace did mar,
50: Then Nole sought Peace by 'nlawful War. Pax
But still behov'd he to keep's under, qu'ritur
And we must Pay or he must Plunder. bello.
Five several times the Scots made head
To make amends for one misdead;
55: Five times our Fire still turn'd to smoak,
And all the Kingdoms bore the yoak:
But what was in this wondrous thing?
Strong Armies could not help the King,
Nor rescue from Hells yauning jawes
60: Religion, Liberty, and Lawes.
Was't not because still Achan's wedge
Was by some of us kept in pledge?
And the curs'd thing was never purg'd,
So the poor People ay were scourg'd.
65: And with the truth if we may jump,
Our Scots House sometimes had its Rump,
And likewise a fanatick blood
Made some heads think that ill was good.
But now that brain-sicknesse, (great odds)
Is turn'd down to an Emerauds:
So if our Royal Doctor please,
To obviat the like Disease,
Let us be purg'd, and Leeches set,
While th'ill is at our Postern gate,
Lest it break back again, and breed
Some new distemper to the head.
The body of the Land, like men
Condemn'd, and then repriv'd again
By the griev'd Party, taste some grief
80: Mixt with the joy of their relief:
And were it not this weight did still us,
The extasie of joy would kill us:
We grieve, our interprises miss'd
The successe which our Souls had wish'd;
85: That our efforts made to repone
The King, had thus fail'd one by one.
When the Restorer from us went,
He knew this by our hearts consent
In offers free: And yet we wring
90: Our hands, that our selves did not bring
The King home: But since he's home brought,
Theirs be the Guerdon who best wrought.
Whither we take the work from Heaven,
Or adde it to the wonders seaven,
95: Or learn, that England never would
Take King, nor Reformation hold
Of us, Let us be well content
T'applaud unto the Instrument.
George whom ill los'd, we all confesse;
By providence was nothing lesse.
He serv`d in Egypt; so it fell,
He proves the prope of Israel.
He is our David, and he took
But five small sling-stones from the brook;
And with the G'ants own sword indeed,
He hath cut off Goliah's head. sic
His Club hath made more Monsters fall,
Than Hercules his Labours all.
He hath the Hydra's heads down born,
110: And gives us Achelous horn.
Of Philistines a greater crew
A'has quash'd, than ever Samson slew.
His finger hath drawn down their house,
And yet both sav'd himself and us.
Thrasibulus he hath excel'd,
Though thirty Tyrants he expel'd.
And this act shall Eclipse the Glory
Of old Saint George his Legend Story,
As far's the King's and Kingdoms three,
120: Outvies a poor Maids jeopardie.
And of all those, though brave and good,
Not one like this was done but blood.
Then; to Heaven's let us praises sing,
Thank George, and Pray, God Save the King.