MacLean, Gerald, editor. The Return of the King : An Anthology of English Poems Commemorating the Restoration of Charles II / edited by Gerald MacLean
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Woodstock School
Votivum Carolo

   Titlepage: VOTIVUM CAROLO, / OR / A WELCOME to his Sacred / MAJESTY / CHARLES the II. / [rule] / From the Master and Scholars of Wood-/ stock-School in the County of Oxford. / [rule] / [design: crowned rose and crowned thistle] / [rule] / Printed in the Year 1660./ [enclosed within ornamental box]

   Wing: W3475. [Published in Oxford by Henry Hall, according to Madan]. Qto. tp + [A]-[D4] last two blank.


Qto pp. [8]+20, signn. A-C4, D2

L 11626.d.68; checked 1/96

O1 Wood 319(10) with ms. date*; COPYTEXT chk 9/95

O2 Pamph.c.109(3) spot chk 3/96

OC F.127(2) chk 2/96

OB 910.h.13(21) chk 4.96; Crouch copy bought for 4d.

CS Ee.6.10 (3);

CN; MH; TU; Y.

   Commentaries: Madan #2540. "The royal borough of Woodstock contained a free Grammar School, founded in 1585, and at this time presided over by Francis Gregory, a native of that town and educated at Westminster and Cambridge. He had already issued several school-books, and according to Wood (Fasti Oxon. ii.258) `did much good by his sedulous instrution'. Anyway he induced his scholars to weep over Charles I in correct style and to rejoice in the new King to order he himself showing them how to do it, by example. Any sincerity there might have been was disturbed by the unfortunate doubt whether Charles after all would not be sent off, bag and baggage, to Holland again (p. [7]). In fact, the poems were a little `previous' when written. The Verses are fairly correct, and dictionaries and grammars produced [cites some gk and latin] [lists names of writers] "The volume seems to have been issued after [Brtannia Rediviva] which is referred to in the preface, that is to say, not before the middle of July."

   Francis Gregory is listed in Wing for numerous items up to 1696, including the following:

G1890A An elegie upon the death of our dread sovereign lord London 1649 brs LT, MH

G1895a The last counsel of a martyred King. For J. Jones 1660. LT, O

G1896 A modest plea for the regulation of the press For R. Sare 1689. L,OC, CT, LSD, EN, NR, VC, ZWT

G1905 Teares and blood Oxford, A and L Lichfield 1660. Madan 2496. L,O,OM,DU,DT; CG,MH, NU, TU,WF,Y; a composite of two sermons written for Woodstock and "when delivered at Oxford [St Maries] were criticized for expressions (near the end) about Church government. See Wood's Fasti Oxon. ii. 259.

G1888 David's Returne from his Banishment. Set forth in a Thanks-giving Sermon for the Returne of his Sacred Majesty Charles II. Oxford, by H. Hall. [Madan 2495], preached at St Maries Oxford 27 May. ded to Sir Thomas Spencer and Edward Atkins; on 2 Sam.xix.30. O=Vet.A3.e.171

   NB [there is a dating problem-sig A3 gives "The Scholars to the Reader," in which the boy-poets speak of being inspired by the scholars at Oxford University -- were this so, there may be a dating problem; Thomason only got his copy of Brit Red on 7 July, making the June dating of Vot Carolo difficult unless it took a very long time for him to receive the University volume. But since the Woodstock volume is also dated June 1660 in ms at Wood 319 (10), Brit Red may have come out very early June.??

   Of the academic collections, this is the only one produced by a school. Most of the work is by Francis Gregory of whom Woods writes: "the son of Francis Gregory, was born at Wodstock in Oxfordshire, educated in Gram. Learning in the Coll. school at Westminster, in Academical at Cambr. whence he returned to Westm. and was an Usher under Mr. Rich. Busby. Afterwards he became Master of the Free-school in the Town of his nativity (founded by Rich. Cornwell Cit and Skinner of Lond. 27 Eliz. dom. 1585) and at length the first master of the Free school founded at Witney in Oxfordshire by Hen. Box a Druggist of Lond, after his Majesties restauration: At both which places continuing several years, he did much good by his sedulous instruction. In 1672, or thereabouts, he became Rector of Hambleton near Great Wycomb in Bucks, and about that time one of his Majesties Chaplains in ordinary." (AO 2: 822-3).

    Gregory was certainly prepared for the king's return; on Sunday 27 May he preached on 2 Sam 19.30 at St. Mary's in Oxford, publishing his sermon as Davids returne from his Banishment.

    Votivum Carolo contains fifteen poems in English, given here; omitted are six in Latin (signed by Francis Gregory, Abraham Greg, Willoughby D'ewes, Carol Cocks, Johanne Cocks, Richard Woodward) and three in Greek (signed by Carol Cocks, J. Rogers, R. Woodward). The two English poems by Gregory on the death of Charles 1 are included. Although they claim to have been printed at the time of the execution, I have found no evidence of them.

[ornamental header]

To the Right Honourable His EXCELLENCY
KNIGHT of the most Noble Order
of the Garter, Master of His Sacred
LORD GENERALL of the Army of England, &c.

Most Noble Sir,

   I Am a stranger to your Person; but no man is a stranger to your Name and Worth. I love you for what you are; I honour You for what you have done; I cannot say, which is greatest in You, your Vertue, or your Valour; your Prudence, or your Loyalty.

    His Majestie's Return is (under God) your glory, and our Comfort: we did not enjoy our selves, when we wanted him. It was my sorrow, yet my Allegiance, to drop some Tears upon His Majesty's Royall Fathers Tomb; in those Teares there was then, as something of duty, so much of danger too. It is now my Ambition, and yet my Loyalty, to offer some Devotion at his Majesty's Throne. Our former losse of the Royall Father was by Death; our present enjoyment of his Royal Son, is by a kind of Resurrection. Indeed, our desires for his Sacred Majesty's Return, were never grown so much as faint or weak; but, our Hopes, a few Months since, were almost Dead; we had Reason enough to long for Our Soveraigne, but little ground so soon to expect him: Now, blessed be God, who, by you his Glorious Instrument, hath disappointed our fears, and, in mercy prevented our Hopes, and brought in our King the Object of both.

    I have suffered my young Scholars to use his Majesty's Name in Verse; I hope, they have not profaned it. If, for this, I need his Majesty's Pardon, I trust, your Excellency will beg it for me. Children are the Hopes of Gods Kingdome, and his Majesty's too; my work is, to teach them Religion, Loyalty, and Learning; Religion towards their GOD; Loyalty towards their KING; and Learning to fit them for the service of both. Besides, I cannot better evidence my own Allegiance, then by Teaching young Gentlemen Theirs.


    I dare not put this Paper into his Majesty's hand; it's highest Ambition is to fall down before His footstool; I dare not present it to any Noble-man, but Your self; It is above all other Persons, though not for its worth, yet for its Subject; the mercy, we enjoy, under God, we enjoy by You; the Acknowledgments, we return, under God, we Return to You. I am, among Thousands,

humble servant

Francis Gregory.

[ornamental header]

The Scholars to the READER.

   IN these Verses you may expect many expressions of joy, none of wit. Expressions may not be light, where the subject is Majesty. It is as hard a Task to bear the heigth of joy with sobriety, as the depth of sorrow with Patience. Joy, when it is in excesse, (and such is ours) doth not so much heighten as Transport and Ravish. The Product of our brain must needs be poor and beggarly, when our Passion groweth Head-strong and Plunders our Reason. Such is our joy for the long desired Returne of his Majesty, that we are even beside our selves, and no wonder then, if we are beside our wits too. It is not our design to Proclaim our learning, but our Loyalty; we care not to passe under the name of bad Poets, if we may but prove our selves good subjects. Indeed, it may look like ambition in school-boyes to be in Print; But, if young Students at Oxford doe much this way, why may not we at Woodstock doe a little? we think, Poetry is no more confind'd to Gownes and Caps, then Philosophy to Beards. It is our hope ere long to reach the University, we suppose, it is not our Crime to follow it now; indeed to have got the start and met the KING, before the Unversitie, had not been in us good manners, but yet to follow it, Proves our great disadvantage. Our Woodstock Verses after those of Oxford, must needs seem as dul as a Country Homily after a St Mary's Sermon. If University men shall read our verses, we must entreat them first to forget their own. Yet, not as if we like Plagiaries, had stolne any of theirs, surely if we are Theeves, we are fools too; 'tis not only dishonesty but imprudence to bring stolne goods so quickly to so neer a market, and expose them to sale at the right Owners door. Our Expressions are somewhat like the Aire we live in, Thin enough, but not piercing; though our School be neerer, yet our wits and fancies are above six miles from Oxford. However, what we would have done, accept; what we have done, excuse; it will be our honour, if our Gracious Soveraign please but to reckon us among his Minor Poets.

    [double ornamental rules]

[ornamental header]

To his Excellency the right Honourable
GEORGE MONCK Lord Generall
of the Armies of England, &c.

YOur Pardon, Sir, that We now use your Name,
To after ages we would bear your fame.
All we can say, fals short; yet our next age
Will ne're believe, what's done on Englands stage.
5: We can't believe our selves; your acts so high
Transcend our faith, and yet done in our Eye.
We seem as yet but men that dream; and see
Such actions done indeed which can not be.
Blame not our future Age; if they deny
10: To trust our Tongues, when we distrust our Eye.
We see, yet doubt; we wrong our selves and you,
We cannot yet believe, what Monck can doe.
'Tis sure, that CHARLES, Great CHARLES, is come; yet when
We think how much oppos'd, we fear agen.
15: Our feares and hopes between themselves are rackt,
We fear the Wonder, when we hope the act.
England, still stand and wonder; yet at last
Believe the Conquest, since the Triumph's past.
Tis strange, but true; thy King is come; begin
20: To pay for Duty what of late was sin.
But how came CHARLES again? O sure, here's all
That can be said; Brave MONCK'S our Generall.
O England, still adore thy God, and since
Thou wast a slave to subjects, love thy Prince.
25: Wee'd raise MONCK'S Name above the Sphear of men,
As he the sword, could we but use the Pen.

F. Gregory.
[double ornamental rules]

Upon the Returne of his Sacred MAJESTY
CHARLES the Second, KING
of England, &c.
Carmen Gratulatorium & Votivum.

BUt is it true? did Angels this newes bring?
So great and yet so good! a Saint and King?
Sure tis not one that's born of mortal race;
An head that's crown'd with gold? an heart with grace?
5: Were not great Britaines King confin'd in Spain,
I should believe 'tis he that's come againe.
Or doe his Subjects know at length their losse?
If CHARLES still want his Crown, they'l want no crosse.
It must be he, or else some God's come down
10: To change an Heav'nly, for an Earthly Crown.
But lo, 'tis CHARLES indeed! He, He alone
A Christian every where; a King in's Throne.
But may I creep into his Presence? may
I to his Crown of gold adde Crownes of Bay?
15: When others slay their Hecatombs, may wee
Bring but our Dove, and yet accepted bee?
All presents are below him, lesse then's right;
There's no more worth ith' Talent, then ith' Mite.
We owe him Twelve yeares duty; our Arreares
20: Can n'ere be paid, except by Prayers and Teares.
His Principall must needs be lost; pay th'best
We can, t'will not amount to th' Interest.
Our future Loyalty is Debt, no more;
Paying new Debts don't quit our former score.
25: But since we wrong'd a Prince, it's well, 'tis He
That spares the neck, if wee'l but bow the Knee.
'Tis not revenge, but mercy, dwels in's brest,
A Rebel, if repenting, he loves best.
You, that are Guilty soules, fall down at's Throne,
30: An Halter bring, you'l goe away with none.
You, that have injur'd CHARLES your King, draw neer
And weep; no satisfaction like a Tear.
How ready's He to pardon! O that they,
That once rebell'd, were ready to obey!
35: Subjects restore your Prince, what ere's his due;
'Tis much you owe him, his own Lands and You.
Build up his Royall Houses; build them all,
And let them loose, but Rubbish, by their fall;
But 'till you build up those by cost and art,
40: CHARLES shall not want an House, 'till I an Heart.
And now accept my welcome, Britaines King,
Had I a Pen, I'de write; a voice, I'de sing.
Could I as eas'ly do as wish; no Gemme
Should ere be wanting to thy Diadem.
45: Were th' Indies mine, yet gold how should I want
To make a Crown? I fear, t'would be too scant.
Thou art above our Presents; yet will we
The want of Gifts supply by Loyaltie.
Long live, Great CHARLES; go on, Dread Sir, go on,
50: Go, conquer hands abroad, but Hearts at home.
Thy Crown may fade; thy fame shall neer be spent,
If Prose or Verse can make a Monument.

Fran: Gregory.

[ornamental rule]

BUt why so, churlish Porter? why not I?
May none, but Nobles, wait on's Majesty?
What? roome for none but Princes richly drest?
CHARLES ev'n for Peasants hath a room in's brest.
5: Come, come, let's in; come shut the Gate no more;
We do not come to beg, but to adore,
See, see, what crowds are here! I dare to say
Here is some fair, or market kept too day.
Surely, we should have paid some Tole at th' doore,
10: I doubt, the Porter will let's in no more.
{But who's that yonder in an Ermyn Gown? 1
{A Scepter in his hand, on's head a Crown?
{Sure 'tis the King; peace, peace, stand still, fall down.
I never saw such Majesty! I fear,
15: It is high treason to approach thus near.
Let's worship and away; fools were we, when
We thought, that Kings and Princes had been men!

Willoughbeus D'ewes Baronetta.

[1]left margin triplet hook

[ornamental rule]

TEll me, my soule, am I a dream'd or no!
It can't be True; I'm sure, 'tis strange, if so!
And yet what meanes this mighty Triumph? why
Is England cloth'd with so much Gallantry?
5: Do'st thou not yonder see a Glorious Train?
Do not our Nobles wear their starres again?
Nothing but cloth of silver? O what light
Shines round, as if the Sun were grown more bright?
See how the Ministers do joy and crack,
10: As if they would no more wear Mourning black!
Where stands the City? where doth London dwel?
What? is each Citizen confin'd in's Cel?
No men in London? strange! what? empty street?
The Citizens are gone some God to meet.
15: Heark, heark, what sound of Trumpets do I hear?
Surely the Deity approcheth neer.
'Tis CHARLES, 'Tis CHARLES our Prince; That, that's the thing!
Welcome, dread Sov'raign! Welcome, O our King!
Hold, hold, my soul! forbear! O why should I,
20: Instead of Duty, shew Idolatry?
Hold, hold, my joyfull eye? Thy Teares don't spil,
O do not thou drop Ink into my Quil.
I can't forbear to worship CHARLES; no lesse
Will serve my soul, undone with Happinesse:
25: How shall I vent my Heart! what shall I say?
Dread SIR? my Soul's too full to speak; Ile Pray.
God blesse our Church! our King, O God, still own;
Give him an Earthly Crown, and Heavenly Throne.

Abrahamus Gregory, Gen. filius.

[ornamental rule]

BRing forth the royall robes; the scarlet gowne,
Now CHARLES our King takes his Imperiall Crowne.
Sound all the Trumpets, and let each Gun sing
An Honourable Welcome to our King.
5: England rejoyce, thy Prince returned is;
Thine owne Head, thou wilt Crowne, whil'st thou crown'st His.
Whil'st that with glistering Gemmes His Head shall Shine,
It is the Weight proves His, the Glory thine.

Georgius Fleetwood Baronis filius.

[ornamental rule]

CEase now to talke of C'sars, CHARLES is Hee,
That in the World will th'only Monarch bee.
Though He is High, He knowes no pride; His Throne
To mount Him nigher Heaven, doth serve alone.
5: CHARLES is a Subject to Himselfe; and Hee,
That doth Command, Obedient will be.
Nor is He onely Good, but Great; what man
Was both so great a King and Christian?
What man had Faith (Great CHARLES) so strong as Thine?
10: Thou art a second English Constantine.
O may that Cloud, that did obscure Thy light,
Serve but to render Thee to us more Bright.
Nor let us strive T'eclipse that Light, from whom
The brightest Splendour, that we have, doth come.
15: What though our Nobles like to Starres appeare?
These Starres shine not, unlesse the Sun be nere.

Bertius Fleetwood Equitis aurati filius.

[ornamental rule]

ARise, Great CHARLES, arise, O Glorious King,
And turne our Twelve yeares Winter to a Spring.
How faine would England see her Prince? how faine
Would all thy Subjects see their King againe?
5: As yet we hope, and feare: we joy and moan,
Longing to see Great CHARLES upon His Throne:
Thou art more welcome then the Sun: we see
How bright Thy Rayes, even at a distance, bee;
Surely that man's a Foole, that now will say,
10: It is the Sun above, that makes the Day.

Carolus Cocks Armigeri filius

[ornamental rule]

SOrrowes be gone; this day our joyes begin,
Teares, once our duty, now would be our sin,
We wept upon the Father's Shrine that's gone,
But now wee'll dance about the Throne of's Son.
5: Sighs well become the Fun'rall of a King,
None fit for Crowning dayes, but such as Sing.
Rejoyce ye Peeres of England, CHARLES is come,
Yee Starres attend the motion of the Sunne.
This is a double Coronation day,
10: The King is Crown'd with Gold, and we with Bay.

Henry Cope Heroin' filius.

[ornamental rule]

WHat Nation, now hath greater cause then wee
To turne their Mourning into Melody?
Wee, who for griefe did once with teares lament,
Should weep for joy, were not our teares all spent.
5: Wee showred teares when our late Sun did set,
Would wee at's rising could some few drops let.
We sure, who in whole yeares of night did lye,
'Iëê onlié 2 can't but with joy cry.
Not that it gets by acclamations loud,
10: The Sun's a Sun though hidden in a Cloud.
'Tis for our owne sakes (Great CHARLES) that we sing.
You need not Subjects, but wee need a King.
When we lost CHARLES, our selves then sure we lost,
The losse of th'Head the Members life did cost.
15: Drowned in teares, the Realme, that lately lay,
Now seeth with joy it's Resurrection day.
Our Sun hath dry'd those floods of teares; and wee,
That in them dead did lye, enlivened bee.
What is more strange? how wondrous is this thing?
20: That ev'n Northwinds should this yeare bring our Spring.
Honour'd by all let noble MONCK now live;
Their right, to God and C'sar, he doth give.
Perfect (Great Hero) what thou hast begun,
In th'end's the Crowne; leave not till that be done.
25: Surely that day will be the longest, when
Great CHARLES the Second takes his Diadem.
For when the Sun shall see His glittering Crowne,
Hee'll stop his Coach to gaze, and not goe downe.
And when that's done, with joy we Hymmes shall sing,
30: The Burden still shall be, GOD SAVE THE KING.

Georgius Goodman Gen. filius.

[2]lower case Gk: see 1660 Diary for 1 June.

WElcome Great CHARLES, welcome our royall King,
Would we a hymn becoming Thee could sing!
But O our wishes are in vain; sure He,
That is a King, in verse can't measur'd be.
5: How then, Alas! shall such a sneaks, as I,
Attempt the measuring of a Deity?
Thy graces sure are more then Three; thy praise,
Though th' Muses nine should sing, they could not raise
Fit for Thy fame, none e're will find a pen,
10: Unlesse the Gods should drop down quils to men.

Henricus Stratford, Armigeri filius.

TYrants instead of Peace did give us Strife,
They gave us death, but Thou dost give us Life;
When Thou wast gone, thy Members all were dead,
It was no wonder, for they lost their Head.

5: Let sorrows cease, now comes Great Britains King,
And shall not we on him some Verses sing?
Who from 'gyptian Bondage set's us 3 free,
And from a Common-wealth of Misery.

Johannes Cocks Armig. filius.

[3] us] ut 0=Woods 319, OC

[ornamental rule]

IS CHARLES a coming, what to Him shall wee
Present in token of our Loyalty?
At sight of Him shall teares our cheekes run downe?
Though teares are pearles, they don't become a Crowne.
5: We have no golden Crownes to send; for wee
Poets have none, but what of Laurell bee.
We wanting gold, our Muses us command
To put a golden verse into his hand.

Tobias Chauncy Armig. filius.

[ornamental rule]

ENgland behold thy Lord; thy King, thy Sun;
Whose Glory Shines, before himselfe is come.
How lov'd before once seen! His Majesty
Ravisht our hearts, before it fil'd our eye.
5: Welcome, Great CHARLES, now welcome Kingly Power.
Welcome sweet Calm after our stormy shower.
Thy troubles prove thy glory; 'tis thy gaine,
That thou wast once confin'd to France and Spaine.
That which men want, they prize the more; and since
10: We curst a Common-wealth, w'adore a Prince.
Our love had been the lesse had CHARLES been here,
His distance made him unto us more neere.

Johannes Blincowe, Gen. filius

[ornamental rule]

SHall I? what I? poor school-boy undertake
A verse on such a subject for to make?
CHARLES is a Subject that becomes the Pen
Onely of Doctours, Bishops, Nobler Men.
5: For school-boyes 'tis too high a theame; on it
An Ovid now might exercise his wit.
But yet so gracious is our Prince, that Boyes,
Who have no wit, are welcome ev'n with toyes:
Pardon, Dread Sir, this crime; O pardon one
That only begs to fall before your Throne.

Johannes Rogers, Ministri filius.

[ornamental rule]

THou, that like th' daysy, England, did'st combine
Thy selfe to shut, because CHARLES did not shine,
May'st now rejoyce, to see what Heaven hath done,
Thy Sun is rising, and thy night is gone;
5: As Sol dries up the Dew, when he doth rise,
So CHARLES, thy Sun, teares dropping from thy eyes:
When any broken member's set, we're glad,
And hast not thou much cause of joy, who'st had,
Thy head cut off, and set again? (" sure
10: Monck's a rare workman, that hath wrough this cure?)
Tis 'th Indians joy to see the sun appeare,
When they have been i'th dark but halfe a yeare;
And wilt not thou rejoice to see the light,
When thou hast been it'h dark a ten yeares night?
15: O henceforth love thy King: " cursed be,
That hand, which with this Head doth disagree.

Robert Wild, Ministri filius:


PArdon (Great Sir) in worthlesse Rhythmes, though we
Doe mete that joy, which cannot measur'd be;
If that some golden lines our pens could write,
To grace this golden age, they were too slight;
5: Much lesse may these my Muses threadbare Rhythmes,
Which is the all, my nothing gives these times;
O Men! won't ye rejoice to see your King!
Behold! the very birds for joy do sing;
Each creature welcomes CHARLES; go, view our downes,
10: And see how pretty lambs in milke white gownes
Do leap for joy! the woods, comdemn'd to die,
To see their King, put on their bravery;
How great a sense of joy in trees appeares,
The barke must be their eye, the sap their teares?
15: What wa'st, that made so backward this years spring?
The fields sure kept their flowers for their King.

John Wilde, Ministri filius.

[Latin and Greek poems, pp. 11-15]

[ornamental rule]

Upon His Sacred MAJESTIES

Dread SIR!
COuldst thou before thy death have giv'n, what we
Might ask, Thy Book had been the Legacie.
Thy will can make but Heirs of Monarchie;
But this doth make each man an Heir of Thee.
5: Blest Soul! Thou art now mounted up on High,
Beyond our Reach, yet not above our Eye.
Lo here thy other selfe: Thus Thou canst be
In Heaven and Earth without Ubiquitie.
Like This Thou hast no Picture: So Divine
10: Might any Image be ador'd, 'twere Thine.
So curious is this Work; 'tis easily known,
'Twas drawn by no mans Pensil, but Thine own.
None could expresse a King but Thou: We see
Men cannot, Gods may limn a Deitie.
15: The Style betraie's a King, the art a man,
The high Devotion speake's a Christian:
These meet in CHARLES alone; but He, theres none
So fully All, as if he were but One:
How short of thee is Balzacks Prince, He knew
20: Not how to think what thou knew'st how to doe:
Thou art the Copie for our Kings: and He
Shall still be best, that frame's Him false by Thee
Thy Work's a practick Pattern for thy Son,
Who, having this, shall need no Xenophon.
25: They that would know thy Parts, must read Thee: Look,
You'l find each Line a Page, each Page a Book:
Each Comma is so full, each Colon good,
'Tis Pitie, death did put a Period,
Great Tullie had been silenc'd amongst men,
30: Had but thy Tongue been equall to Thy Pen:
But this Defect doth prove Thy skil more choice,
That makes the Eccho sweeter then the voice:
Our Bodley's shelves will now be full; No man
Will want more Books; This one's a Vatican.
35: Yet 'tis but CHARLES contracted: Since His fall,
Heav'n hath the Volumne, Earth the Manual.

F. Gregory.
Printed in 1648.

[4] see 1660 Diary for 1 June

[double ornamental rule]

[ornamental rule]

On the Martyrdom of His late

COme, come, lets Mourne; all eies, that see this Day,
Melt into Showres, and weep your selves away:
O that each Private head could yield a Floud
Of Teares, whil'st Britain's Head stream's out His Bloud;
5: Could we pay what His Sacred Drops might claim,
The world must needs be drowned once again.
Hands cannot write for trembling; let our Eie
Supply the Quill, and shed an Elegie.
Tongues cannot speak; this Griefe know's no such vent,
10: Nothing, but silence, can be Eloquent.
Words are not here significant; in This
Our Sighs, our Groans hear all the Emphasis.
Dread SIR! What shall we say? Hyperbole
Is not a Figure, when it speak's of thee;
15: Thy book is our best Language; what to this
Shall e're be added, is Thy Meiosis:
Thy Nam's a Text too hard for us: no men
Can write of it, without Thy parts and pen.

Thy prisons, Scornes, Reproach, and poverty.
20: (Though these were thought too courteous Injury.)
{How could'st thou bear? Thou meeker Moses, how? 5
{Was ever Lion bit with whelps till now
{And did not roar? Thou England's David, how
Did Shimei's Tongue not move Thee? where's the man?
25: Where is the King? CHARLES is all Christian.
Thou never wanted'st Subjects, no; when they
Rebell'd, thou mad'st Thy Passions to obey.
Had'st Thou regain'd Thy Throne of state by power,
Thou had'st not then been more a Conquerour.
30: But thou, thine own soul's Monarch, art above
Revenge and anger, Can'st Thou tame Thy Love?
How could'st Thou bear thy Queen's Divorce? must Shee
At once Thy wife, and yet Thy Widdow be?
Where are Thy tender Babes, once Princely bred,
35: Thy choicest jewels, are They Sequestred?
Where are Thy Nobles? Lo, in stead of these
Base savage Villains, and thine enemies:
Egyptian Plague! 'twas only Pharoah's doom,
To see such Vermin in His Lodging room.
40: What Guards are set, what watches do they keep?
They do not think Thee safe, though Lock't in Sleep.
Would they confine thy Dreames within to dwell,
Nor let thy Fancie passe their Centinel?
Are Thy Devotions dangerous? Or do
45: Thy Praiers want a Guard? These faultie too?
Varlets, 'twas onely, when they spake for You.

But loe a charg is drawn, a day is set,
The silent LAMB is brought, the Wolves are met.
Law is arraign'd of Treason, Peace of War,
50: And Justice stand's a Prisoner at the Bar.
This Scene was like the Passion-Tragedie,
His Saviour's Person none could Act, but He.
Behold, what Scribes were here, what Pharisees!
What bands of Souldiers! what false witnesses!
55: Here was a Priest, and that a Chiefe one; who
Durst strike at God, and his Vicegerent too,
There Pilate, Bradshaw here, the worse of th'Twain,
Pilate for Fear, Bradshaw condemn'd for gain.
Wretch! could'st not thou be rich, till CHARLES was dead?
60: Thou might'st have took the Crown, yet spar'd the Head.
Th'hast justifi'd that Roman judg; He stood
And wash't in water, thou hast dipt in Blood.
And where's the Slaughter-House? White-hall must be
Lately His Palace, now his Calvarie.
65: Great CHARLES, is this thy dying place? and where
Thou wast our King, art thou our Martyr there?
Thence, thence Thy Soul took flight; and there will we
Not cease to mourne, where thou did'st cease to be.
And thus, blest soul, Hee's gon: a star, whose fall
70: As no Eclips prove's Oecumenicall.
That wretch had skill to sin, whose hand did know
How to behead three Kingdomes at one blow.
England hath lost the Influence of Her King,
No wonder that so backward was her Spring.
75: O dismall day! but yet how quickly gon?
It must be short, Our Sun went down at Noon.
And now, ye Senators, is this the thing
So oft declar'd? Is this your Glorious King?
Did you by Oaths your God, and Country mock,
80: Pretend a Crown, and yet prepare a Block?
Did you that swore you'd Mount CHARLES higher yet,
Intend the Scaffold for His Olivet?
Was this, hail Master? Did you bow the knee
That you might murder him with Loyaltie?
85: Alas! Two Deaths! what Cruelty was this?
The Ax design'd, you might have spar'd the Kiss.
But cease from Teares. CHARLES is most blest of men;
A God on earth, more then a Saint in Heaven.

F. Gregory.
Printed in 1648.

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Part VIII. Loyal Expressions, July 1660