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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Upon the Blessed Return
UPON THE BLESSED RETVRN OF OUR
Presented to his sacred Majesty by a Person of Honour the next day.
1: WHat Pen is fitting to salute a King?
Lend me a Quill pluck'd from an Angels wing.
My Muse doth tremble, and my hand doth shake,
Whil'st that my King I do my Subject make.
5: So tender am I to my Sovereign's Name,
I fear the Press, whils't that it stamps the same:
Hold, Printers, hold, pray stop your hands again,
Let Jove impress it in his Charles his Wain.
Heav'n's milky path suits best for papyr here,
10: And golden Letters from the starry Sphear.
Yet since my knee, nor yet Poetick feet
Bow'd e're to Baal, or Times-Idol greet:
Since mouth ne're swore, nor yet subscrib'd my hand,
A Poets feet in loyal verse may stand:
15: On Pegasus now mounted will I style
My Poem a Troop to lead in rank and file.
1: LET Canons speak it with their Brazen lungs,
Let Muskets shout it with their iron tongues;
Let Towr's and Steeples now instead of Knells,
Chime with their Canons, Volleys sound with Bells.
5: Let Squibs and Crackers ring their Peals of joyes,
Let old decrepid men turn skipping boyes.
Let frozen Stoicks melt; our vowed Dads
Drop off their snowy beards, turn smooth-cheek Lads.
Let Poets toss their Laurels up, and try
10: To lodge them on the Blew slate-Eves of th'Sky.
Let th' Muses fill each head, their Conduits may
Through their Quil-pipe run Hippocrene to day.
Let th'British Island frisk a Water Daunce,
Like the Nymph Isles of Lydia let them prance.
15: Let now the Irish waves like th' Attick Sea,
Sound like an Harp, and quaver Harmonye.
Let both the York and the Lancastrian Rose,
Which in War's Limbeck was distill'd by foes:
Let it so spring, that all the world may say,
20: Alt'ring the Proverb, like a Rose in May.
Let The Scotch Thistle yield up all her down,
To ease the Travels of the tossed Crown.
Let the French Lily with its silver Bell,
And jealous Clapper ring our joy, their Knell.
25: Let Souldiers now no more from Cromwel's Nose
Be Blazon'd Red Coats, but from Charles his Rose.
O let, that blazing Comet be accurst,
For its predicting death to Charles the First:
That Nebuchadnezzar's furnace and the Urn
30: Where Charl's three Children were condemn'd to burn.
Hadn'to our Moses God himself been seen:
For Elohim both God and Oak doth mean.
'Twould be no Legend sure, if I should say
The withered Oaks grow fresh and plump to day.
35: Let trees who have their mossie rugs for age
Skip at this News upon the grassie stage.
In fine, the Church of England let us see,
To day not Militant, but Triumphant be.
Let old decrepid Pauls, whose palsie head,
40: Bare to the scull was ev'n trapanned dead;
Let it revive with joy, to think it shall
Have a new Birth-day, not a Funeral.
Let not Religion come to this, we must
Pull down the Altar to set up a Just.
45: Let Moses, Jesus, Gospel and the Law,
Ne're more be hid in Reeds, or laid in Straw;
Let never such contempt in Churches reign,
As in the Manger lay our Christ again.
CHARLES STUART Ana -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- gramme
A Rachel's Trust.
1: ENgland thy Rachel is, thy Leah we
May Scotland call, first marry'd unto thee.
Had Monk thy Laban been, we surely know,
Th'hadst marry'd been to Rachel long ago.
5: England his love can ne're mistrust 'tis true,
Which twelve years waited for what first was due.
The Embleme of our English Times.
[engraving of angel at a lathe]
Vivat CAROLVS II.
1: HAs not the world been round? our Times can say
This giddy age was turned every day.
Spare, spare such pains, of which no need at all;
The World is round enough for Fortunes ball.
Some that did see these precious shavings lye
Under the Lathe, strait covet with their eye.
The parings of this golden Apple they
With wide-mouth'd bags gape after every day.
One on his Pike a golden Pippin sets;
Another hedg-hog a Queen Apple gets.
See how the Royal Rose was stole by such,
Who left their Sovereign but the Thorny bush.
It seems that fruit, which they a Crab did call;
So sweet it was, they would devour'd it all.
But what's the Tool hath turn'd our British sphear?
Not the smooth Chizel, but the Pike and Speare.
Hence drops the Scepter; there a royal Jem,
Here falls a George, and there a Diadem.
Sweet Angel leave thy turning, and but see,
What kind of men these shavings steal from thee.
Well then! if that my Muse this sacred time,
'Stead of Parnassus may Olympus climbe,
A wheel within a wheel I shall descry,
Not Cupid turning, but the watchful eye.
25: For th'hand of th'Dyall stands now where't begun,
Twelve years are past, and we are come to One.
Kingdomes are Watches, and their Native King,
His Scepter is the Hand, himself the Spring.
The Crown-wheel keeps the other wheels in awe,
30: Justice the Ballance, and its string the Law.
God grant now of our Watch it may be sain,
Once more wound up shall ne're go down again.
The concluding Embleme.
1: HEav'n bad the Angels cry aloud to Fame
To blow the Trumpet in our Sovereigns Name.
Just Fame obeys and sounds it in the Eares
Of Englands Commons and the Noble Peeres.
5: Both Houses meet, and Vote the Droven Bees
With their Great King, are welcom when they please.
White-Hall and all the Palaces do strive
To be unto this honey-dew a Hive.
When Neptune heard the News, he swell'd with pride,
10: To think our Sovereign on his back should ride:
Forthwith he Courtier turn'd, to make him fine,
Besnow'd his curled Locks against the Time;
But when he saw our Charles, no more he raves,
But's Trident Kembeth smooth his tangled Waves.
15: Now th' wildenesse is pass'd, now Canaan found,
Our Crown is landed, and our Land is Crown'd.
With mild and honey doth white Albion flow;
The silver and the golden Mint will goe;
This day for Englands Vintage wee'll allow,
20: Since very Conduits turn wine-presses now.
Sure Charles his presence can't but be Divine,
That turnes our Water thus to purest Wine.
Charles the best Christian does Assurance gain;
The World will witness that he's born again.
Johan. Lawson. M. D. de
In the first Year of Englands restored Liberty and Happiness.
LONDON, Printed by Thomas Ratcliffe, 1660.