Of the Sixth Book of
A Poem upon the late Rebellion, the
Happy Restoration of His Sacred Ma-
jesty, and the Dutch War Ensuing.
Bella per Angliacos plusquam Civilia Campos
Jusque datum sceleri canimus -- -- -- Lucan. [cf. 1.1-2]
-- -- -Crimine ab uno
Disce omnes -- - Virg. [Aen. 2.65-66]
Printed for Samuel Walsall, at the Golden Frying-Pan
An heroick poem.
Upon the late horrid Rebellion,
His Majesties happy Restauration:
and the magnanimity and valour of
his royal highness James Duke of York,
in the late Dutch war
London: printed for T. D. 1683
This little Poem I have Collected and Translated from the Sixth Book of Mr. Cowley's Plantarum, being intermix't with other Matters and Circumstances. I am very sensible how ill this Piece represents the Life, for if no Copy was ever so good as the Original, (as the Divine Cowley himself says) how imperfectly must the greatest Master perhaps that ever the world knew (Virgil excepted) be copied by the Pencil of a Dawber? However this Translation may give you a tolerable Prospect of the Sense of the Author and the Beauty of his Thoughts, though divested of their Ornaments, and perhaps these ill-dress't Lines may at least be acceptable to those who have not the advantage of seeing them in their rich Habiliments. I have avoided a servile, verbal translation, observing that noted Rule of Horace [A. P. 123-33]:
Non verbum verbo reddere fidus
Interpres. -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
the only way an Author can be rendred perspicuous, and (I may say) intelligible in another language. By a verbal Translation nothing almost can be rendred well, and some things not tolerably; As Mr. Dryden in his excellent discourse of Translations before Ovid's Epistles, observes.
I will produce an instance out of the Sixth Book of Mr. Cowley's Plantarum [6.1211] here translated:
Tergeminique eidem fratres in morte Jacentes.
The greatest Favourite of Apollo (I doubt) cannot render this well into English any way, much less by a literal translation.
In some places of this Poem the sence is not determin'd at the end of the Stanza, which (tho improper in Original Poems) I think an ill natur'd Judge may excuse in a Translation, where a man ha's, at the best, but a limited, and no absolute power, being confin'd to the sence of the Author; which rather than pervert, I choose sometimes to be a little irregular in inconsiderable matters.
When Charles the Pious, Son of James the Wise, [Latin: 40]
In Peace and Plenty Britain's Scepter sway'd, [image]
His Subjects happy (if they knew to prize
Their happiness) by his just Reign were made.
Happy above all Kings, while Fate permits,
Till the curst Tempest of Rebellion came,
Now he 'bove Envy blest securely sits
Among the Gods, crown'd with immortal Fame. [image]
For while the dreadful Storms of cruel War
Did all the rest of Europe rudely spoil,
Peace o're the Ocean flew disturb'd with fear,
And built her warm Nest in the British Isle.
Nor did the fruitful Goddess sit in vain,
For strait, Faith, Justice, Plenty, (who's full Horn
A Cure for most Diseases do's contain)
The golden Off-springs of rich Peace were born.
Such I believe was Saturn's Golden Reign. [image]
So smoothly pass't his quiet years away,
Till Fortune her own weight could not sustain,
Envy'd by Gods, by Men contemn'd, she lay:
And rash inconstant men too happy made,
Tir'd with the kindness of a lovely Wife,
Exchange her for an ugly painted Jade
Fickle and lew'd; O blessed Change of Life. [Latin: 60]
A seeming vigorous and luxuriant Health
Death or Disease approaching still portends,
When without cause apparent, and by stealth
Languishing nature with it's own weight bends:
Such was the Britans fair and sickly State,
Happy, if Happiness they could have known.
Impute not yet their ignorance to Fate,
Since it was wilful, and the crime's their own.
Fore-warning Prodigies, alas! in vain
The fatal Anger of the Gods proclaim;
So is fierce Thunder, which big Clouds contain,
Before it breaks, known by fore-running Flame.
I saw (and still, methinks, the horrid Sight
I plainly see) sad Signs o're all the Skies;
Heav'n seem'd the Tragic History to write
Of all our sad approaching Miseries.
The Heavens (which I tremble but to tell)
Which a bright Fiery Tempest did infold,
Did represent the Burning Face of Hell, [image]
And about waves of Flaming Sulphur roll'd.
Strait then appear'd within a broken Cloud
A horrid beauteous Scene, two Armies plac't [Latin: 80]
And Marshall'd in rare Order, ready stood
For Fight, with shining Armour nobly grac't:
Not Monck himself, that Hero Monck, the Grace
And Pillar of his falling Country nam'd,
In better order could those Armies place,
Monck above all in War so justly fam'd:
Who perhaps in some Figure then express't
In the Célestial Army fiercely rode,
High mounted on a Noble, Fiery Beast;
Gracing the Heavens, looking like a God:
I heard (unless fear did my senses cheat)
The Trumpets sound the Charge; here Wings of Horse
With bodies bended forwards fiercely meet;
The Foot their Spears brandish with mighty Force,
They from étherial Guns true Thunder send,
Involving in dark Clouds the Heav'nly Field,
Which did the Cloud-begotten Men defend
From mortal Eyes, and their brave Acts conceal'd.
Yet a confused Prospect of the Fight
And of the Sky with Bloody Rivers swell'd
We had by the Armours Brightness, and the Light
Of the dire, threatning Flames the Guns expell'd.
At length the Army which the better shew'd, [Latin: 100]
And Nobler both in Men and Armour, flies:
But from the rest a dismal gloomy Cloud
And Darkness of the future seal'd our Eyes.
But nor these Prodigies, nor many more,
Which at that time by Pious Men were seen,
Did stupid England to it's Sense restore,
Careless, as if it had Lethargic been;
Who then the Murmurs of the foolish Croud,
Or hidden Seeds of Zeal Phanatic, fear'd?
Or Monsters of the Caledonian Wood? [image] [image]
And impious Cromwell had not then appear'd. [image] [Latin: 109]
First rose a Cloud from Caledonian ground [Latin: 630]
Which did the North and gentle Tweed invade,
Forgetting once he did two Kingdoms bound
He thinks of one he is the Center made:
By popular Winds fiercely impuls't it flyes
To frighten England with it's deadly Shade,
First to move terrour only Scotland tries,
And in cool blood a Scene of War is plai'd.
A Silver show'r soon put the Foe to flight,
A sort of Weapon never understood
By our Forefathers, who alone in Fight
Profuse, bought Peace with the sole price of Blood. [Latin: 640]
And yet this people prodigal and vain,
Who did so dearly a short Peace create,
Lasting Rebellion purchas't and Prophane
Dire Civil War at a much dearer rate:
Now Peace it self with the first Blood was stain'd,
(O dreadful Omen of ensuing Fate!)
A purple Fountain op'ning she prophan'd,
And in the Senate with the Furies sate.
A great man falls by th'Envy of the Great,
A just by th'unjust hatred of the Croud,
Noise do's the wise and Eloquent defeat:
Rivers of Blood (Strafford) thy sacred Blood [image]
Must expiate, which Miseries will bring
Both to the guilty People and the guiltless King:
Worcester condemn'd for the first seat of War,
A mournful Victor her good fate deplores,
Her Severn's Tears and Murmurings declare
Her Grief; she rages, foams, and beats the shores;
But she that now with so much grief and care
The op'ning of the War do's apprehend,
(Who can believe it?) of this fatal War
With much more sorrow shall behold the End;
Methinks I'me mounted high on Kinton Hills,
The Vale beneath with a red Sea of Blood
Is overflow'd, and dire Bellona fills
With heaps of slaughter'd Men, the sanguine Flood.
What a prodigious Harvest thought the Field
Is reap't by Fiery Rupert's conquering Sword? [image]
What heaps are by the Pious Monarch kill'd?
A mourning Conqu'rour: if the Fates afford
Still a propitious Course, but this one Day
To all that kind of Ills will put an End,
Th'o're hasty Conquest stumbling in the Way [Latin: 660]
Fell e're it had the Neighbouring Goal attain'd.
Then Mars through all the British Empire rag'd;
From the Lands-End to Orkney by the Sun
Coldly oblig'd, no place is disengag'd;
Posses't with Fury all to Ruine run.
What cruel Serpent of the Furies Brood,
Unhappy England, did thy Health confound?
All thy sick Members flow with poison'd Blood
That thy whole Body seems but as one Wound.
Thrice were thy Fields, unlucky Newberry,
With Slaughter and Destruction cover'd o're;
And thy sad Fame in horrour do's out-vie
Philippi's Fields twice-dy'd in humane Gore:
Long was the Ballance even held by Fate,
Who did of Both the nodding Ruin poise
With mutual Slaughter, and alternate Weight
Of damage; Equal were their Griefs and Joys.
First Yorkshire's cruel Fight severely shakes
And turns the Scales of War, and Naseby's Field [image]
At last a Wound profound and mortal makes
Never by Art or Fortune to be heal'd.
The rest (ye Gods) permit me not to write; [Latin: 680]
But Lo! a wondrous and deformed Heap
Of Miseries at once invade my sight;
What Spoiles of War the Impious Victors reap.
The King in a Poor rustic Habit dress'd
('Twas the first time he ever us'd Deceit;
Though greatness still his sacred Looks express't,)
Flying the Foe, flies to a Foe as Great.
What place will to the Conquer'd help afford?
A King, a Guest, a Suppliant in vain
Of his own-Country-Subjects aid implor'd:
Ungrateful men, perfidious and prophane!
So do's the self-wrack't Pilot freely leap
Into the threatning Waves he fear'd before,
From out the first Flames of his burning Ship,
Whom cruel Waves again to Flames restore.
With Prayer's and Threats the Conquerours demand
The King as a just Spoil of War, detain'd
By fraud; such Seeming proofs of Love they give
You'd think without their King they could not live.
No less the Scots their zealous Love declare, [Latin: 700]
They to restore their Royal Guest deny,
And stifly urge and claim their right and share
He's not so vile, but England yet must buy,
Or not possesse him. O unheard of Shame,
Which will in vain to Future Times be told!
The Potent Lord, of Sea, and Land, became
A Slave; the Master's to the Servant sold.
Far be it that this great and horrid Crime
On your whole Nation (Scotland) should be thrown;
Your Virtue did the Sin of part redeem;
And with much Blood for Crimes of Few attone.
Scarce did the Arms hung up in houses rest
But a long Course of Civil war return'd;
Who by base Tyrants saw the King oppress't,
And made a Prisoner, but with Anger burn'd?
Scotland, though late it did thy Anger move,
And the just Rage of Generous Kent inflame
Which above life it self do's Freedom love;
And Wales which still maintains the Britains Fame.
Why should I mention the unhappy Fights,
The trembling Ribla stain'd with humane Blood,
Or routed Scots who in their hasty Flights [Latin: 720]
Did stop the very Current of the Flood?
Why should I Medway swell'd with Slaughter name
Or Colchester's long cruel Seige relate,
Whose Courage greatest Mis'ries ne're could tame
And who deserv'd a more propitious Fate?
Why should I recollect the Glorious Fate
Of Lords who bravely fighting dy'd in Field?
Or their sad ignominious Death relate
Who to the cruel Victors Mercy yield?
After such Ruins, and such Miseries,
So many Wounds by advers Fortune given,
So much the Pious King did Life despise,
That he thought Death the greatest gift of Heaven. [image]
But Oh! the impious and tremendous Deed
Can ne're be curs't enough by after-times;
It Hells most sharp Invention do's exceed
To find a Torment equal to their Crimes.
I' th'Peoples sight, the King from Prison led,
On a High Scaffold, just before the Gate [image] [image]
Of his cheif Palace, bows his Sacred Head
To the Hangmans hands -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- - [Latin: 737]
Wounded on all sides now poor Britan dyes [Latin: 748]
Drown'd in the Blood which from her self did flow,
A Headless, nameless, deform'd Carkass lyes,
A Monstrous, Lifeless, Trunck which none could know.
Who would not hope (tho there was nothing less)
In Death soft Quiet, and eternal Rest!
Lo! numerous vile Souls in Tumults press,
And ('stead of One to rule) the Limbs infest.
Vile Sons of Earth by base Corruption bred,
Worms, pois'nous Insects, and black Serpents croud,
And Cromwell, greatest of the Serpents fed
Upon the very Marrow and the Blood.
A noisom Odor's through the World diffus'd. [Latin: 760]
Sin and Injustice Justice then became,
No Rains Impiety now Reigning us'd
To Fury, having pass't the Bounds of Shame.
'Twas counted Sport to see the Scaffolds fix't
In every Street bedew'd with noble Blood;
To see in Pairs hangmen and Worthies mix't
O Gods! as Shows presented to the Croud.
The good man's standing Mansion was the Gaol,
Th'Access to which with Crouds was early press't;
But weary'd Cruelty at length did fail,
And was compell'd a while to breath and rest;
Insatiate Avarice no Cessation makes;
No Limits to it's violent Rage appear;
The Warriour often willingly forsakes,
But the Proscriber hardly quits the Spear.
All that preceding glorious Kings had heap't
With a Magnificent and Sparing hand,
The noble Spoils in bloody Battel reap't,
And all the Riches by long Peace attain'd;
What our Forefathers generous Piety,
And rich Religion in a splendid Dress
Did to the Sacred Altar's Use apply;
All the Estates the Nobles did possess;
And those whoe're of Loyalty and Lands [Latin: 780]
Were Guilty found, O wretched Avarice!
Not all these Riches could the Harpy-hands
Of the Tyrannic Sons of Earth suffice.
Nor is't enough alone to take the Spoils
Of Gods, and the Kings Houses; these unjust
And impious Men destroy the stately Piles.
Of very Ruin there's a wicked Lust.
In every place the groaning Carts are fill'd
With Beams and Stones, so busie and so loud
Are the proud Victors, as they meant to Build,
But they to Ruin and Destruction croud:
Timber, which had been bury'd many Years
Under high Royal Towers, they invade.
'Tis sure that Hand the Living never spare
Which is so wicked to disturb the Dead.
Then all the Woods the barbarous Victors seize,
(The noble Nursery of the Fleet and Town,
The hopes of War and Ornaments of Peace) [Latin: 800]
Which once Religion did as Sacred own.
Now Publick Use and great Convenience claims
The Woods from private Hands inviolate,
Which greedy men to less devouring Flames
Do for sweet Lucre, freely dedicate.
No Age they spare, the tender Elm and Beach
Infants of thirty Years they overthrow,
Nor could old Age it self their Pity reach,
No Reverence to hoary Barks they know.
Th'unhappy Birds, an ever-singing Quire,
Are driven from their antient shady Seats,
And a new Grief do's Philomel inspire
With mournful Notes, which all the night repeats [Latin: 811]
Let them the Woods and Forrests burn and wast, [Latin: 820]
There will be Trees to hang the Slaves at last;
And God, who such Infernal men disclaims,
Will root 'em out and throw 'em in the flames.
Mean while expell'd his cruel Country's Shores
The Great Carolides through foreign Lands [image]
Wanders, and Aid, alas! in vain implores;
Still cruel Fate his Happiness withstands.
How did he suffer both by Sea and Land,
That Pious Son of an immortal Saint! [image]
Chearful he bears the troubles Fates command
Till they grew weary, though he ne're did faint:
The Reverend Young Man made Fortune yield,
And in due Course of time by Fate design'd
His Scepter which so fast a Tyrant held
At last was gently to his Hands resign'd.
But before Fate the happy Signal makes,
Fierce and impatient unto Arms he flyes,
Despising Life, and courting Fame, he breaks [Latin: 840]
Through Seas block't up with hostile Ships and Ice.
To a late hostile, still suspected Land
He goes; The Oliverian Powers of Hell [image]
And Furies trembling and counfounded stand,
To see great Charles to his own Kingdom sail:
Impetuous Waves and raging Storms they raise,
In vain to sink the Sacred Ship they strive,
Their Thunder cannot violate his Bays,
In vain they stop the Ship which Fate do's drive:
Vain is their Fear, since Cæsar it Conveys
Safely conducted by the Almighties Hand,
But yet not Cæsars Fortune; which to raise
Do's other Arm's (and yet scarce Arms) demand.
In vain the Scots (now chang'd) invite the King,
Though They some Honour for that Action bore,
And thence a Man (by happy Stars) did spring,
Who did in Arms with Peace the King restore.
In the mean time Great Fergus greater Heir
(Who's Right is from a hundred Kings deriv'd,)
Did to the Reverend Church of Scone repair,
And there the Antient Scottish Crown receiv'd, [Latin: 860]
With an unlucky Sign, though great Applause,
The Crown not being in due manner plac't;
The Insulting conquering Foe did rage, and cause,
Disturbance, and the Solemn Rights infest.
But now his Royal Father's Murder fires
Charles with Revenge, Just Indignation stings
His Breast, Virtue incens't a Soul inspires
Worthy the Off-spring of a hundred Kings.
He scorns to be by an inglorious Siege
In the utmost Limits of his Kingdom shut
Nor shall the coming Winters Aids oblige
Him, whose great Faith is not in Mountains put.
Wholly resolv'd for War, He gives the Rains
To Fortune and his Courage, distant Tay
As his Confinement nobly He disdains,
But ev'n with Death to Thames designs his way.
The amazed Enemy is left behind,
Who of the Horror of this Action speak
With Trembling and Confusion of mind;
But Valour is without good Fortune weak.
At length arrives the long, long wish't for Day
For which with Pray'rs and Tears the Britains sue'd;
The King through thousand Dangers of the Way [Latin: 880]
On Severn's Banks with a good Army stood;
Thus far a Victor, better had it prov'd
If He Advances to the Thames had made;
The King himself this sounder Counsel mov'd,
But powerful Votes, with Counsels mixt, disswade.
Now, Warlike England, now's the time; To Arm's.
Defend the Son, revenge the Father kill'd,
(If Piety has yet prevailing Charms)
And your poor ruin'd Country now rebuild.
England's ill Genius now alarm'd with Fears,
Who on the Ruin of Good men did dwell,
More vigilant than Crowmells self, prepares
A Cruel Poison by the Arts of Hell;
One of the sleepy, cold, and fearful Snakes,
Opium of Sloath, which binds the Nerves with Cold,
Poison of griping Avarice he takes,
Which close (Torpedo-like) the Hand do's hold:
He Drops of Lethe mixes, every Breast
With these he sprinkles, strait moist Poison came
Upon them, and deep Lethargy posses't
England forgetting her own Health and Fame.
Yet here true Courage did not Charles forsake,
Whom Fortune and his People now desert;
Innumerous Foes surrounding could not make
Him yield, or Conquer his Heroic Heart; [Latin: 900]
Witness, Ye HIlls, not since call'd Red in vain,
And Severn's Waters stain'd with humane Blood,
And fatal Worcester which did first sustain
The War, and to it's Course a Limit stood.
The last unwillingly he quits the Field
After a cruel Slaughter and the Flight
Of th'Army, last the Captive Town do's yeild;
And from near Hills looks back with Rage and Spight.
In haste he recollects his scatter'd Men
(But few so great a Shipwrack scap't) to try
His extream Fortune, and at last regain
The Day he lost, or in it Nobly dye.
The Valiant Derby, faithful Wilmot fam'd
For Armes, who both the King and Charles did love,
And Buckingham with Honour always nam'd
Prepar'd for both, this Generous Vote approve.
Buckingham Valiant, Beautiful and Young, [image]
A benign Star at home, and in the Field
Like violent Lightning, an Achates strong
Worthy to bear his great Æneas Shield.
Ther's no Delay, with Fury they return;
Nor is it Hope so much their Minds alarms,
But a brave generous Despair do's burn
Their Hearts, and drives them to unfortunate Arms.
Thus do's the King with a Few more, who know
(By Glory taught) that Death can never prove
Or to the Wretched or the Brave a Foe; [Latin: 920]
The rest such Noble Knowledge could not move;
Trembling their King and Leader they forsake,
Who in vain the Deaf do's court and animate,
In hasty Flight they all disperse, and take,
Inglorious Life before a Glorious Fate;
Now, brave young Man, alas! in vain so brave,
Who can preserve Thee every where beset?
What God himself can extricate and save
Thee (Sacred Charles) from Fortunes Cruel Net?
Yet, this great Miracle to Charles the Saint [image]
The Eternal God who is Omnipotent
As a Reward for Martyrdom will grant,
And ev'n his Pray'rs for Mortal Charles prevent.
There stands in th'utmost limits of the East
Of rich Salopia, a Wood fair by Name; [Latin: 940]
Now (though 'twas once obscure and humbly blest)
No place is Brighter with the Beams of Fame: [image] [image] [image]
Hard by, a sacred and auspicious Pile,
White Ladies call'd, did the poor King invite [image]
To Bread and Refuge (mighty gifts!) a while,
And here his growing Fate became more Bright.
But not before he had put off the King;
Here weeping he dismiss't his weeping Friends,
No Tears do from his own Misfortunes spring,
Upon their Dangers all his Grief depends.
The Gems and Gold which did so much adorn,
The Garter, and all Objects of Delight
He leaves, nor is St. George's Image worn,
The Dragon vanquishing the Sacred Knight.
His long, black, graceful Curls by Scissars fall,
Nor is't enough his Crown fell from his Head.
A poor Cloath Suit he wears, nor is that all,
He acted Poverty, and was poor indeed.
Alas! too strictly the great Monarch bears
Th'old Slav'ry of this House; for he forsakes
All worldly Pomp, poor sordid Cloaths he wears, [Latin: 960]
He cuts his Hair, of Friends sad leave he takes.
Now he's a Monk; soon after cruel Fate
Not ev'n a House to cover him allows;
Then he's a Hermit; in a wretched State,
Alone, he hides among the shady Boughs; [image]
Yet even this curs't Fortune too denies;
From him the very Earth the Tyrant takes,
Scarce to the Fugitive a Tree supplies
A Seat, and in the Air safe Harbour makes. [Latin: 967]
Under a cruel Sky in Wind and Rain, [Latin: 985]
With sordid Hair and a more sordid Dress
He sits; great signs of Grief, but more of Pain
And extream Labour his sad Looks express;
His Face a little too with Smutch is dy'd,
Yet in his Looks do's Sacred Brightness dwell,
Nor can his Majesty disguises hide,
Whose Beams all Darkness and vain Clouds dispell.
Some body comes, ye Gods, preserve the King; [Latin: 1000]
O all is well! the Gods to men are just,
No Traytor, but a Royalist they bring,
The valiant Carlos, faithful in his Trust;
He happily with Want and Danger press't
Is on this Coast by the same Shipwrack cast.
O happy! O much more than Cromwell bles't,
On whom ill Fortune so much Honour plac'tt!
He informs the King that all the Country's fill'd
With the Enemies Troops, in every House and Grove
His Sacred Head at a set Value held
They seek, and near, now very near they move;
What should they do? They from the Danger take
Rash, hasty Counsel, yet from Heav'n inspir'd.
A spatious Oak he did his Palace make,
And safely in its hollow Womb retir'd. [image] [image] [image]
The Loyal Tree it's willing Boughs inclin'd
Well to receive the climbing Royal Guest,
(In Trees more Piety than Men we find)
And it's thick Leaves into an Arbour press't.
A rugged Seat of Wood became his Throne,
The bending Boughs his Canopy of State;
With bowing Tops the Trees their King did own,
And silently ador'd Him as he sate:
Hail, Heaven's Care, and greatest now of Kings, [Latin: 1020]
A horrid Croud of saddest Miseries
From Thee no undecent Tears or Sorrow brings,
Or makes thy Reason Captive by Surprise.
He's truly Great, who could at such a time
Neither fear Death, nor yet of Life despair.
This is a Work so Noble and Sublime,
It cheifly do's a Royal Soul declare.
If Fortune did your Kingdom basely seize,
You Fortunes Kingdom from her Nobly gain,
A Just Revenger: she will now have Peace
With him who conquer'd Triumphs do's obtain.
The Gods are pleas'd so great a Pair to Joyn:
But you will be discharg'd, the happy Birth
Of that fair Year is nigh; from Heaven 'twill shine
Lighting with happy Stars the peaceful Earth.
That glorious Star the shining Pomp do's lead
Than all the starry Host more gay and bright,
Which thirty Years before did Wonder breed,
And signaliz'd your Birth with sacred Light.
Daring at Noon to exert the Lamp of Night
Boldly i' th'open Face of Day it rose,
New Light portending by unusual Light
Did at Mid-day Ph■bus himself oppose.
Now once again with wondrous Light adorn
The Heavens, rise at noon, Auspicious Star,
Behold! your Royal Charles again is born [Latin: 1040]
To vital Life, and to a pleasant Air.
Behold! how gently Monk's strong artful Hand
The labouring Prince delivers, and removes
All Stops, he best this Art do's understand,
And to deliver troubled Monarchs loves.
Great generous Prince, return to life again
The beauteious golden May do's now arrive
And your Birth-day, so long desir'd in vain;
Live, Generous Prince; again, Great Monarch, Live.
O Joyful, Charming, and Propitious Day!
Triumph of conquering Peace! when you most blest
Of Kings, through London made your glorious Way,
Mid'st of three great Heroic Brothers plac't,
Attended by a Noble splendid Train;
So many came this Triumph to behold
You'd think the whole World London did contain;
Numberless Leaves in Woods as soon are told.
First all cry out, He comes; with one Consent,
Long live, King Charles, then the vast Tumult cries;
Methinks their Joys (which with such noise they sent)
In Whirlwinds drove, should Forreign Lands surprize.
Joys make us mad; Stoics, permit our Cares
Now to be drown'd, and let short chearful Folly
At length impose an end to twenty Years
Of wretched Rage, and dismal Melancholy. [Latin: 1060]
Nor will the Island, which all o're do's burn
With festival bright Flames, now suffer Night
Succeed this Great Day in it's usual Turn;
All the Island burns, the Seas a round are light.
I omit the Peoples Banquets, Songs and Sports
Their boundless Laughter and their Tears to write,
For extreme Joy, which not it self supports,
With Pleasure gently sheds Tears sweet and white.
The Wines which from the Conduits freely run
Why should I name? Rivers themselves should pour
(Since the true golden Age is now begun) [image]
Good Wine, far richer than Jove's golden Show'r.
Now golden Months, and a bright Chain of Years
Advance. Behold! from part of Heav'n serene
Peace scattering the Clouds at length appears;
Long Peace which had so long an exile been,
Clapping her white Wings Albion she imbrac't,
With her return'd Shame, Plenty, and Good Fame,
And Piety in decent Habit dress't,
And Justice, which did Britain long disclaim,
Wit, and Good Arts, and charming Liberty
Which best do's flourish under Pious Kings.
To these the Royal Mother do's apply
As great a Blessing; for Her Self She brings.
Great Mary comes after a Banishment
In her own Country long and sad, 'tis strange; [Latin: 1080]
Love to her Husband was the Crime they mean't,
Now Heav'n do's Her reward, and him revenge.
Hail, Queen! your Sexes Ornament and Pride,
And Shame of ours, you both in prosperous Fate
And adverse decently your Passions guide;
Your pious Tears Envy in Gods create,
Your Husband Charles alone they envy, Heav'n
Thinks him too highly with those Offerings bless't;
You (while the Worlds Wheel is a round you driven)
Remain unmov'd, in Virtu's Center plac't.
Now the most just of Kings applies his Mind
To Government, the gaping Wounds of Wars
With a sure gentle Hand to close and bind,
And by degrees to hide the very Scars.
To restore Laws their Force and Majesty,
To polish rusty Manners, and redeem
The antient Faith, and sincere Honesty
And the old Glory of the English Name;
Such is the lately return'd Masters Care
Of his neglected Garden, which he finds
O're-run with Ruin, he do's gently pare
Luxuriant Plants, the Loose and Wandring binds:
He the Dejected raises and sustains,
Much sets, and much extirpates, all's redress't; [Latin: 1100]
Vast is the Work, but sweet; for all his Pains
By growing Beauties are repaid and blest.
Great King, your Gardens, Towns and Cities are,
To these you good and artful Culture give,
And in fair Order you dispose with Care,
And ev'n the woods your Favour too receive:
You raise their Kingdoms wasted and oppress't
Young Plants the places of the Old supply,
Posterity beneath thy Shadows bles't,
(Thou best Protector) will securely lye.
To you with chearful Gratitude they'l owe
Their Winter Fires, their summer Shades and Ease,
Their fixed Houses too, and those which flow
In water, th'Oceans wooden Palaces.
You now perhaps for Future Ages lay
Of Towns and Fleets Foundations strong and deep,
Living great Triumphs you will reap, and may
Sow Triumphs which Posterity shall reap.
You forcing first your Way to Honour's name
Up the steep Hill where Glory do's proceed
To the bright Temples of exalted Fame [Latin: 1120]
Your Britains, then from night exempt, shall lead.
You shall the Watry World command, the Mild
And Quiet loose, and bind the raging Sea,
By the whole World the Ocean's Neptune styl'd,
And your three Kingdoms shall your Trident be.
What Madness is it, Holland, to contend
With England for the Watry World's Command?
That Scepter nature did to her commend,
In vain you strive to wrest it from her Hand.
With Waves by nature Soveraign Britain's crown'd,
And Amphitrite, which another place
Only salutes in part, do's flow around,
And her beloved Albion embrace.
Can you to th'Empire of the Sea pretend
Who scarce with artificial Banks resist
Th'insulting Ocean's Fury, and defend
Your Towns, with his continual Siege oppress't?
The High and Mighty Lords of Bogs andFens
(See how Ambitions foolish Hopes aspire!)
Would on the Sea impose, but this Pretence
The brave Carolides with Rage do's fire.
Lo! a Dutch Fleet cutting the empty Main
Triumphs o're the absent as a vanquish't Foe:
He'l soon be there, (fierce Dutch) and then in vain [Latin: 1140]
That you rejoyc't, you to your Grief will know.
No sooner did swift Fame the rumour raise
But Valiant James to Sea the Navy led,
(Profuse of Life, and only fond of Praise)
With as much Hast as after Fight they fled.
When first the English at a distance spy'd
The Belgic Fleet, they rais'd a mighty Shout,
As when they long in furthest parts reside,
At their return their Country they salute.
The foremost squadron with a prosperous gale
Brave Rupert led, (his Valour long had won [image]
Renown by Sea and Land) who did prevail
And break the Naval Horns o' th'Belgic Moon.
Strait James opposes to his trembling Foes
The middle Squadron, standing high in Sight
I' th'Royal Charles, a round his Head he throws
Nis naked Sword, and Opdam calls to Fight;
Nor do's brave Opdam the dire Honour shun
Here fiercely the Dutch Admiral, and there
The English Admiral the Fight begun,
And horrid Shows for both the Fleets prepare.
Why do you, Opdam, to your Ruin run? [Latin: 1160]
This frantic Valour Heav'n do's not allow,
Is it Ambitious Pride that spurs you on
To a glorious Death by such a noble Foe?
You by a greater Hand shall suffer Death,
Heav'n a Reward for all your Crimes will send,
And will it self revenge your broken Faith,
Heaven which always do's it's Charles defend.
That great Ship which of Guns a Hundred bore
Of men Six Hundred, free from hostile Harms,
Blown up into the Clouds, did loudly roar,
Scattering Flames, burn't Fragments, Legs and Arms. [image]
Perhaps Just Heav'n with true Thunder strook
The perjur'd Wretches, with revenging Hand;
Amboyna's Crimes, and Peace so often broke
No gentler Expiations did demand;
Or else some accidental Fire did move
The Powder with resistless Fury driven;
But Chance it self directed from Above
Must be accounted as the Act of Heav'n.
A Burning Shipwrack in the Sea do's float,
Terrible even to a pious Foe,
And to be pity'd; but they can devote
But little time to tender Pity now; [Latin: 1180]
Now in both Navies nothing do's appear
But horrid Tumult, all Confusion seems;
They Board; and the Orange nothing mov'd with Fear
By Opdam's Fate, encounters Conquering James.
Bold above all, and worthy Opdam's Fate
Did not the English Bravery require
The Action of it's own Revenge and Hate;
Down, down it sinks hissing with human Fire.
Three Ships the Fame, much by the Goddess Fame
To be renown'd, and three the Dolphin burns
With a fierce Show'r of Sulphur and of Flame,
Which in a moment Ships to Beacons turns;
There seems a Captive Town in Flames by night,
So many Fires from several Places broke
At once, such Pyramids of horrid Light
Pierc't through the Clouds and Darkness of the Smoke.
Who would imagine Fire so great a sway
Should in the Empire of the Water bear?
Justly for Shame conceal'd the Waters lay,
They hid with Heaps of scatter'd Ruin are.
With Sail-yards, Masts, Planks, broken Beaks, and Sails
Ropes, Flags, and Arms, and Carkasses of men,
And men half dead, a Purple Dye prevails
(Where the Sea's open) and conceals the Green. [Latin: 1200]
It were an endless Labour to relate
All the Ships sunk and taken in the Fight,
To tell the many kinds of various Fate
Which were in that one day expos'd to Sight;
In various ways Address, and Wit appear,
Almost Poetical Variety
Of ways, by which Chance uses Mercy here
To some, and there to many Cruelty:
Three young men Noble both in Parts and Blood
A brave Example to the World did give,
Who at once fell as they together stood,
And by one Bullet did their Death receive;
All three almost but the same Carkass were,
Three Brothers lying in Death's fertile Womb
Together; Now who would not Fate declare
Cruel, and Barbarous, in this monstrous Doom?
But she is kind withal; for next 'em stood
(Joys so near Danger trembling I declare)
The Royal Admiral sprinkled with their Blood,
As free from Wounds, as he was free from Fear;
With greater Vigour he the Foe pursues
Burning with Grief and new-excited Rage,
At length the Dutch though truly brave, refuse [Latin: 1220]
The English, with just Fury fir'd, to' engage.
The broken Remants of the cruel Fight
Fly scatt'ring through the Sea, whom Rhene admits
At length, and seeing ours pursue their Flight,
Trembles with Horror, and his Horns submits: