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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His Majesties Welcome
in an honest blunt Ballad

    Another unicum in the library at Worcester College, Oxford, this is perhaps the most cynical of the contemporary verses on the king's return, satirizing all those who have welcomed the exile for their own selfish ends.

In an honest blunt Ballad.
            To the Tune of           Cook-Lorrell.


SIR, now that the skillfull Heroicks and Lyricks
To give a delight to your Majesties palat,
Have shew'd their rare art in Odes and Panegiricks
Jack Pudding makes bold to come in with his Ballat.


Whose love to the tune of Cooke Lorrell's as true
As that of the Pindars and Claudians o'th age.
Who new Lords to please, bade their old songs adieu,
Whilst he sung his Prince in the Usurpers Cage.


And now that all voyces are hoars with Hosannas
He ventures with is, that y'are welcome, to tell ee.
And that from a heart as right as any Man has
Or else I pray God turne it out of his bellie.


Y'are welcome as Raine to the long parched ground
(And like it, the good and the Bad you refresh.)
As health to the sick, or as wealth to the sound,
As blest Soules at Doomesday will be to their flesh.


Y'are welcome to all, to th' blustring War-men
Who this side, or that side, or all sides have owned.
To Priests of all Altars, and none, to the Bar-men
Who love Kings so wel, that ev'n Nol they'ld have crowned.


Y'are welcome to thousands, who thought their guilt far
Out-stript humane mercy, till yours o're went it.
Those few too whom Justice expects for hir share
Rejoyce that selfe-haltring will now be prevented.


Of all Sects and Int'rests Physitians alone
Complaine of your Presence, and seeme to have reason,
For since you came in all Diseases are gone,
Men think, to be sick now does favour of Treason.


But some of them hope yet, that for reparation,
You'l make 'em Domesticks, being Men whose rare cures
Have made their skill fam'd, and their Faith o're the Nation
For they did prolong ev'n his life, who sought yours. 1


Y'are welcom'd by some whom pure joy doth enflame
To see you restor'd, but like Children some be
Who think from a Faire of Preferments you came,
And cry welcome home Sir, what have you brought me.


And had you brought in the Promotions and Treasure
Of all Courts in Europe, you must have left some
Unsatisfi'd; then may it be your good pleasure,
To let your first Bountie begin with the Dumb.


Not such as with insolent items do show forth
To what their lost bloud, and long bondage amount,
Their plundrings, sequestrings, compoundings, & so for[th 2
Then pray, you'l come with 'em to a just account.


Nor that Man of Cassock (of diffrent opinion [sic
From all that think any as wise) who possest
Four hundred a yeare under Tyrant's dominion,
And looks his true Soveraigne should treble it at least[. 3


That Man of all Scenes, who to civill broiles
Can Cock-pit and Bowling-green-hedgings translate,
Both sides he makes his, and if this prevailes
He's forty pound winner, a hundred, if that.


Nor Bussemen who put in for Regiments now,
'Cause Troopes they commanded for Nol and the Stat[e 4
Unlesse their discretion can show a way, how
The Army may all be preferr'd at that rate.


Nor such, as their March with you from Dover hither
To get a Court-office so strongly do plead.
And urge the great charge of a Circular-feather,
Which serves well to ballast an unsteady head.


But those that have done well, and think, that thereby
The deeds to themselves were an ample reward,
No service how mighty so ever and high
'Thout modesty 'ith' Doer deserves your regard. [sic


And now, Sir, calme days and store of'em I wish you,
With all the content your sweet soule can desire
And may you be happy in consort and issue,
As he, you in virtue expresse, your blest Sire.


The rage of black Boreas you nobly have born,
Till Ph'bus kind rayes of refreshment hath spread,
The Crown of Thorns long with renown you have worn
And now let the Golden one heale your peirc't head.


With more then Herculean courage and might
Y'ave conquer'd the malice of your step-dame fortune,
And virtue no lesse now then Bloud pleads your right
To th'Scepter, wch humbly you hand doth importune[. 5


And may those brave Heroes your brothers by birth,
And suffings, be so in what Kinder fates bring,
Till full of good dayes, and disdaining the Earth,
You soare to your Father, so God save the KING.


LONDON: Printed for Henry Marsh
at the Princes Armes in Chancery-Lane near Fleet-Street, 1660.

[1] yours.] yours/ OW

[2] final letters cropped

[3] cropped without period

[4] final letters cropped

[5] cropped without period

[6] Henry Marsh] black-letter

Part XIV. Additional Verses