Henry King: Verses about Time

When I entreat, either thou wilt not hear,
Or else my suit arriving at thy ear
Cools and dies there. A strange extremitie
To freeze ith' Sun, and in the shade to frie.
Whil'st all my blasted hopes decline so soon,
Tis Evening with me, though at high Noon.
For pity to thy self, if not to me
Think time will ravish, what I lose, from thee.
If my scorcht heart wither through thy delay,
Thy beauty withers too. And swift decay
Arrests thy Youth. So thou whil'st I am slighted
Wilt be too soon with age or sorrow nighted.

Piensan los Enamorados
Que tienen los otros, los oios quebranta dos.

Why slightest thou what I approve?
Thou art no Peer to try my love,
Nor canst discern where her form lyes,
Unless thou saw'st her with my eyes.
Say she were foul and blacker than
The Night, or Sun-burnt African,
If lik't by me, tis I alone
Can make a beauty where was none;
For rated in my fancie, she
Is so as she appears to me.
But tis not feature, or a face,
That does my free election grace,
Nor is my liking onely led
By a well temperd white and red;
Could I enamour'd grow on those,
The Lilly and the blushing Rose
United in one stalk might be
As dear unto my thoughts as she,
But I look farther, and do find
A richer beauty in her mind;
Where something is so lasting fair,
As time or age cannot impair.
Had'st thou a perspective so cleere,
Thou could'st behold my object there;
When thou her vertues should'st espy,
Theyl'd force thee to confess that I
Had cause to like her, and learn thence
To love by judgment not by sence.

Sad Relick of a blessed Soul! whose trust
We sealed up in this religious dust.
O do not thy low Exequies suspect
As the cheap arguments of our neglect.
'Twas a commanded duty that thy grave
As little pride as thou thy self should have.
Therefore thy covering is an humble stone,
And but a word for thy inscription.
When those that in the same earth neighbour thee,
Have each his Chronicle and Pedigree:
They have their waving pennons and their flagges,
(Of Matches and Alliance formal bragges.)
VVhen thou (although from Ancestors thou came
Old as the Heptarchy, great as thy Name)
Sleep'st there inshrin'd in thy admired parts,
And hast no Heraldry but thy deserts.
Yet let not Them their prouder Marbles boast,
For They rest with less honour, though more cost.
Go, search the world, and with your Mattocks wound
The groaning bosom of the patient ground:
Digge from the hidden veins of her dark womb
All that is rare and precious for a tomb:
Yet when much treasure, and more time is spent
You must grant His the nobler Monument.
Whose Faith stands ore Him for a Hearse, and hath
The Resurrection for His Epitaph.

Il sabio mude conseio: Il loco persevera.

We lov'd as friends now twenty years and more:
Is't time or reason think you to give o're?
When though two prentiships set Jacob free,
I have not held my Rachel dear at three.
Yet will I not your levitie accuse;
Continuance sometimes is the worse abuse.
In judgment I might rather hold it strange,
If like the fleeting world, you did not change:
Be it your wisdom therefore to retract,
When perseverance oft is follies act.
In pity I can think, that what you do
Hath Justice in't, and some Religion too;
For of all vertues Morall or Divine,
We know but Love none must in Heaven shine:
Well did you the presumption then foresee
Of counterfeiting immortalitie:
Since had you kept our loves too long alive,
We might invade Heavens prerogative;
Or in our progress, like the Jews, comprise
The Legend of an earthly Paradise.
Live happy and more prosperous in the next,
You have discharg'd your old friend by the Text.
Farewel fair Shadow of a female faith,
And let this be our friendships Epitaph:
Affection shares the frailty of our fate,
When (like our selves) 'tis old and out of date:
'Tis just all humane Loves their period have,
When friends are frail and dropping to the grave:

So soon grown old! hast thou been six years dead?
Poor earth, once by my Love inhabited!
And must I live to calculate the time
To which thy blooming youth could never climbe,
But fell in the ascent! yet have not I
Studi'd enough thy losses history.
How happy were mankind if Death's strict lawes
Consum'd our lamentations like the cause!
Or that our grief turning to dust might end
With the dissolved body of a friend!
But sacred Heaven! O how just thou art
In stamping deaths impression on that heart
Which through thy favours would grow insolent,
Were it not physick't by sharp discontent.
If then it stand resolv'd in thy decree
That still I must doom'd to a Desart be
Sprung out of my lone thoughts, which know no path
But what my own misfortune beaten hath:
If thou wilt bind me living to a coarse,
And I must slowly waste; I then of force
Stoop to thy great appointment, and obey
That will which nought avail me to gainsay.
For whil'st in sorrowes Maze I wander on,
I do but follow lifes vocation.
Sure we were made to grieve: at our first birth
With cries we took possession of the earth;
And though the lucky man reputed be
Fortunes adopted son, yet onely he
Is Natures true born child, who summes his years
(Like me) with no Arithmetick but tears.

VVhat is th' Existence of Mans life?
But open war, or slumber'd strife.
Where sickness to his sense presents
The combat of the Elements:
And never feels a perfect Peace
Till deaths cold hand signs his release.
It is a storm where the hot blood
Out-vies in rage the boyling flood;
And each loud Passion of the mind
Is like a furious gust of wind,
Which beats his Bark with many a Wave
Till he casts Anchor in the Grave.
It is a flower which buds and growes,
And withers as the leaves disclose;
Whose spring and fall faint seasons keep,
Like fits of waking before sleep:
Then shrinks into that fatal mold
Where its first being was enroll'd.
It is a dream, whose seeming truth
Is moraliz'd in age and youth:
Where all the comforts he can share
As wandring as his fancies are;
Till in a mist of dark decay
The dreamer vanish quite away.
It is a Diall, which points out
The Sun-set as it moves about:
And shadowes out in lines of night
The subtile stages of times flight,
Till all obscuring earth hath laid
The body in perpetual shade.
It is a weary enterlude
Which doth short joyes, long woes include.
The World the Stage, the Prologue tears,
The Acts vain hope, and vary'd fears:
The Scene shuts up with loss of breath,
And leaves no Epilogue but Death.

So breaks the day when the returning Sun
Hath newly through his Winter Tropick run,
As You (Great Sir!) in this regress come forth
From the remoter Climate of the North.
To tell You now what cares, what fears we past,
What Clouds of sorrow did the land ore-cast,
Were lost, but unto such as have been there
Where the absented Sun benights the year:
Or have those Countreys traveld which nere feel
The warmth and vertue of his flaming wheel.
How happy yet were we! that when you went,
You left within your Kingdomes firmament
A Partner-Light, whose lustre may despise
The nightly glimm'ring Tapers of the skies,
Your peerless Queen; and at each hand a Starre
Whose hopeful beams from You enkindled are.
Though (to say truth) the light which they could bring
Serv'd but to lengthen out our evening.
Heavens greater lamps illumine it; each spark
Adds onely this, to make the sky less dark.
Nay She who is the glory of her sex
Did sadly droop for lack of Your reflex:
Oft did She her fair brow in loneness shrowd,
And dimly shone, like Venus in a cloud.
Now are those gloomy mists dry'd up by You,
As the Worlds eye scatters the Ev'ning dew:
And You bring home that blessing to the land
Which absence made us rightly understand.
Here may You henceforth stay! there need no charms
To hold You, but the circle of her arms,
Whose fruitful love yields You a rich increase,
Seales of Your joy, and of the kingdomes peace.
O may those precious pledges fixe You here,
And You grow old within that chrystall Sphere!
Pardon this bold detention. Else our love
Will meerly an officious trouble prove.
Each busie minute tells us as it flies,
That there are better objects for your eyes.
To them let us leave you, whil'st we go pray,
Raising this triumph to a Holy-day.
And may that soul the Churches blessing want;
May his content be short, his comforts scant,
Whose Bosom-Altar does no incense burn,
In thankful sacrifice for your return.

Con mala Muger el remedio
Mucha Tierra por el medio.

I have oft wondred why thou didst elect
Thy Mistress of a stuff none could affect,
That wore his eyes in the right place. A thing
Made up, when Natures powers lay slumbering.
One, where all pregnant imperfections met
To make her sexes scandal: Teeth of jet,
Hair dy'd in Orpment, from whose fretful hew
Canidia her highest Witch-crafts drew.
A lip most thin and pale, but such a mouth
Which like the Poles is stretched North and South.
A face so colour'd, and of such a form,
As might defiance bid unto a storm:
And the complexion of her sallow hide
Like a wrack't body washt up by the Tyde:
Eyes small: a nose so to her vizard glew'd
As if 'twould take a Planets altitude.
Last for her breath, 'tis somewhat like the smell
That does in Ember weeks on Fishstreet dwell;
Or as a man should fasting scent the Rose
Which in the savoury Bear-garden growes.
If a Fox cures the Paralyticall,
Had'st thou ten Palsies, she'd out-stink them all.
But I have found thy plot: sure thou did'st trie
To put thy self past hope of jealousie:
And whil'st unlearned fools the senses please,
Thou cur'st thy appetite by a disease;
As many use to kill an itch withall,
Quicksilver or some biting Minerall.
Dote upon handsome things each common man
With little study and less labour can;
But to make love to a Deformity,
Onely commends thy great ability,
Who from hard-favour'd objects draw'st content,
As Estriches from iron nutriment.
Well take her, and like mounted George, in bed
Boldly archieve thy Dragons Maiden-head:
Where (though scarce sleep) thou mayst rest confident
None dares beguile thee of thy punishment:
The sin were not more foul he should commit,
Then is that She with whom he acted it.
Yet take this comfort: when old age shall raze,
Or sickness ruine many a good face,
Thy choice cannot impair; no cunning curse
Can mend that night-peece, that is, make her worse.

Lightned by that dimme Torch our sorrow bears
We sadly trace thy Coffin with our tears;
And though the Ceremonious Rites are past
Since thy fair body into earth was cast;
Though all thy Hatchments into ragges are torne,
Thy Funerall Robes and Ornaments outworn;
We still thy mourners without Shew or Art,
With solemn Blacks hung round about our heart,
Thus constantly the Obsequies renew
Which to thy precious memory are due.
Yet think not that we rudely would invade
The dark recess of thine untroubled shade,
Or give disturbance to that happy peace
Which thou enjoy'st at full since thy release;
Much less in sullen murmurs do complain
Of His decree who took thee back again,
And did e're Fame had spread thy vertues light,
Eclipse and fold thee up in endless night.
This like an act of envy not of grief
Might doubt thy bliss, and shake our own belief,
Whose studi'd wishes no proportion bear
With joyes which crown thee now in glories sphere.
Know then blest Soul! we for our selves not thee
Seal our woes dictate by this Elegie:
Wherein our tears united in one streame
Shall to succeeding times convey this theme,
Worth all mens pity who discern how rare
Such early growths of fame and goodness are.
Of these part must thy sexes loss bewail
Maim'd in her noblest Patterns through thy fail;
For 'twould require a double term of life
To match thee as a daughter or a wife:
Both which Northumberlands dear loss improve
And make his sorrow equal to his love.
The rest fall for our selves, who cast behind
Cannot yet reach the Peace which thou dost find;
But slowly follow thee in that dull stage
Which most untimely poasted hence thy age.
Thus like religious Pilgrims who designe
A short salute to their beloved Shrine,
Most sad and humble Votaries we come
To offer up our sighs upon thy Tomb,
And wet thy Marble with our dropping eyes
Which till the spring which feeds their current dries
Resolve each falling night and rising day
This mournfull homage at thy Grave to pay.

Great Lady! That thus quite against our use,
We speak your welcome by an English Muse,
And in a vulgar tongue our zeales contrive,
Is to confess your large prerogative,
Who have the pow'rful freedom to dispense
With our strict Rules, or Customes difference.
Tis fit when such a Star deigns to appeare
And shine within the Academick Spheare,
That ev'ry Colledge grac't by your resort,
Should onely speak the language of your Court;
As if Apollo's learned Quire, but You
No other Queen of the Ascendent knew.
Let those that list invoke the Delphian name,
To light their verse, and quench their doting flame;
In Helicon it were High Treason now,
Did any to a feign'd Minerva bow;
When You are present, whose chast vertues stain
The vaunted glories of her Maiden brain.
I would not flatter. May that dyet feed
Deform'd and vicious soules: they onely need
Such physick, who grown sick of their decayes,
Are onely cur'd with surfets of false praise;
Like those, who fall'n from Youth or Beauties grace,
Lay colours on which more bely the face.
Be You still what You are; a glorious Theme
For Truth to crown. So when that Diademe
Which circles Your fair brow drops off, and time
Shall lift You to that pitch our prayers climbe;
Posterity will plat a nobler wreath,
To crown Your fame and memory in death.
This is sad truth and plain, which I might fear
Would scarce prove welcome to a Princes ear;
And hardly may you think that Writer wise
Who preaches there where he should poetize;
Yet where so rich a bank of goodness is,
Triumphs and Feasts admit such thoughts as this;
Nor will your vertue from her Client turn,
Although he bring his tribute in an urn.
Enough of this: who knowes not when to end
Needs must by tedious diligence offend.
'Tis not a Poets office to advance
The precious value of allegiance.
And least of all the rest do I affect
To word my duty in this dialect.
My service lies a better way, whose tone
Is spirited by full devotion.
Thus whil'st I mention You, Your Royal Mate,
And Those which your blest line perpetuate,
I shall such votes of happiness reherse,
Whose softest accents will out-tongue my verse.

I see that wreath which doth the wearer arm
'Gainst the quick strokes of thunder, is no charm
To keep off deaths pale dart. For, Johnson then
Thou hadst been number'd still with living men.
Times sithe had fear'd thy Lawrel to invade,
Nor thee this subject of our sorrow made.
Amongst those many votaries who come
To offer up their Garlands at thy Tombe;
Whil'st some more lofty pens in their bright verse
(Like glorious Tapers flaming on thy herse)
Shall light the dull and thankless world to see,
How great a maim it suffers wanting thee;
Let not thy learned shadow scorn, that I
Pay meaner Rites unto thy memory;
And since I nought can adde, but in desire
Restore some sparks which leapt from thine own fire.
What ends soever others quills invite,
I can protest, it was no itch to write,
Nor any vain ambition to be read,
But meerly Love and Justice to the dead
Which rais'd my fameless Muse; and caus'd her bring
These drops, as tribute thrown into that spring,
To whose most rich and fruitful head we ow
The purest streams of language which can flow.
For 'tis but truth, thou taught'st the ruder age
To speake by Grammar, and reform'dst the Stage:
Thy Comick Sock induc'd such purged sence,
A Lucrece might have heard without offence.
Amongst those soaring wits that did dilate
Our English, and advance it to the rate
And value it now holds, thy self was one
Helpt lift it up to such proportion.
That thus refin'd and roab'd, it shall not spare
With the full Greek or Latine to compare.
For what tongue ever durst, but ours, translate
Great Tully's Eloquence, or Homers State?
Both which in their unblemisht lustre shine,
From Chapmans pen, and from thy Catiline.
All I would ask for thee, in recompence
Of thy successful toyl and times expence,
Is onely this poor Boon: that those who can
Perhaps read French, or talk Italian,
Or do the lofty Spaniard affect;
To shew their skill in Forrein Dialect,
Prove not themselves so unnaturally wise,
They therefore should their Mother-tongue despise.
(As if her Poets both for style and wit
Not equall'd, or not pass'd their best that writ)
Untill by studying Johnson they have known
The height and strength and plenty of their own.
Thus in what low earth or neglected room
Soere thou sleep'st, thy book shall be thy tomb.
Thou wilt go down a happy Coarse, bestrew'd
With thine own Flowres; and feel thy self renew'd,
Whil'st thy immortal never-with'ring Bayes
Shall yearly flourish in thy Readers praise.
And when more spreading Titles are forgot,
Or spight of all their Lead and Sear-cloth rot,
Thou wrapt and Shrin'd in thine own sheets, wilt ly
A Relick fam'd by all Posterity.

At this glad Triumph, when most Poets use
Their quill, I did not bridle up my Muse
For sloth or less devotion. I am one
That can well keep my Holy-dayes at home;
That can the blessings of my King and State
Better in pray'r then poems gratulate;
And in their fortunes bear a loyal part,
Though I no bone-fires light but in my heart.
Truth is, when I receiv'd the first report
Of a new Starre risen and seen at Court;
Though I felt joy enough to give a tongue
Unto a mute, yet duty strook me dumb:
And thus surpriz'd by rumour, at first sight
I held it some allegiance not to write.
For howere Children, unto those that look
Their pedigree in God's, not the Church book,
Fair pledges are of that eternitie
Which Christians possess not till they die;
Yet they appear view'd in that perspective
Through which we look on men long since alive,
Like succours in a Camp, sent to make good
Their place that last upon the watches stood.
So that in age, or fate, each following birth
Doth set the Parent so much neerer earth:
And by this Grammar we our heirs may call
The smiling Preface to our funerall.
This sadded my soft sense, to think that he
Who now makes Lawes, should by a bold decree
Be summon'd hence to make another room,
And change his Royal Palace for a tomb.
For none ere truly lov'd the present light,
But griev'd to see it rivall'd by the night:
And if't be sin to wish that light extinct,
Sorrow may make it treason but to think't.
I know each male-content or giddy man,
In his religion with the Persian,
Adores the rising Sun; and his false view
Best likes not what is best, but what is new.
O that we could these gangrenes so prevent
(For our own blessing and their punishment)
That all such might, who for wild changes thirst,
Rack't on a hopeless expectation, burst,
To see us fetter time, and by his stay
To a consistence fix the flying day;
And in a Solstice by our prayers made,
Rescue our Sun from death or envies shade.
But here we dally with fate, and in this
Stern Destiny mocks and controules our wish;
Informing us, if fathers should remain
For ever here, children were born in vain;
And we in vain were Christians, should we
In this world dream of perpetuitie.
Decay is natures Kalendar; nor can
It hurt the King to think he is a man;
Nor grieve, but comfort him, to hear us say
That his own children must his Scepter sway.
Why slack I then to contribute a vote
Large as the Kingdoms joy, free as my thought?
Long live the Prince, and in that title bear
The world long witness that the King is here:
May he grow up till all that good he reach
Which we can wish, or his Great Father teach:
Let him shine long a mark to Land and Mayn,
Like that bright Spark plac't neerest to Charles Wayn,
And like him lead successions golden Teame,
Which may possess the Brittish Diademe.
But in the mean space, let his Royal Sire,
Who warmes our hopes with true Promethean fire,
So long his course in time and glory run,
Till he estate his vertue on his son.
So in his Fathers dayes this happy One
Shall crowned be, yet not usurp the Throne;
And Charles reign still, since thus himself will be
Heir to himself through all Posteritie.

Fair one, why cannot you an old man love?
He may as useful, and more constant prove.
Experience shews you that maturer years
Are a security against those fears
Youth will expose you to; whose wild desire
As it is hot, so 'tis as rash as fire.
Mark how the blaze extinct in ashes lies,
Leaving no brand nor embers when it dies
Which might the flame renew: thus soon consumes
Youths wandring heat, and vanishes in fumes.
When ages riper love unapt to stray
Through loose and giddy change of objects, may
In your warm bosom like a cynder lie,
Quickned and kindled by your sparkling eie.
Tis not deni'd, there are extremes in both
Which may the fancie move to like or loath:
Yet of the two you better shall endure
To marry with the Cramp then Calenture.
Who would in wisdom choose the Torrid Zone
Therein to settle a Plantation?
Merchants can tell you, those hot Climes were made
But at the longest for a three years trade:
And though the Indies cast the sweeter smell,
Yet health and plenty do more Northward dwell;
For where the raging Sun-beams burn the earth,
Her scorched mantle withers into dearth;
Yet when that drought becomes the Harvests curse,
Snow doth the tender Corn most kindly nurse:
Why now then wooe you not some snowy head
To take you in meer pitty to his bed?
I doubt the harder task were to perswade
Him to love you: for if what I have said
In Virgins as in Vegetals holds true,
Hee'l prove the better Nurse to cherish you.
Some men we know renown'd for wisdom grown
By old records and antique Medalls shown;
Why ought not women then be held most wise
Who can produce living antiquities?
Besides if care of that main happiness
Your sex triumphs in, doth your thoughts possess,
I mean your beauty from decay to keep;
No wash nor mask is like an old mans sleep.
Young wives need never to be Sun-burnt fear,
Who their old husbands for Umbrellaes wear:
How russet looks an Orchard on the hill
To one that's water'd by some neighb'ring Drill?
Are not the floated Medowes ever seen
To flourish soonest, and hold longest green?
You may be sure no moist'ning lacks that Bride,
Who lies with Winter thawing by her side.
She should be fruitful too as fields that joyne
Unto the melting waste of Appenine.
Whil'st the cold morning-drops bedew the Rose,
It doth nor leaf, nor smell, nor colour lose;
Then doubt not Sweet! Age hath supplies of wet
To keep You like that flowr in water set.
Dripping Catarrhs and Fontinells are things
Will make You think You grew betwixt two Springs.
And should You not think so, You scarce allow
The force or Merit of Your Marriage-Vow;
Where Maids a new Creed learn, & must from thence
Believe against their own or others sence.
Else Love will nothing differ from neglect,
Which turns not to a vertue each defect.
Ile say no more but this; you women make
Your Childrens reck'ning by the Almanake.
I like it well, so you contented are,
To choose their Fathers by that Kalendar.
Turn then old Erra Pater, and there see
According to lifes posture and degree,
What age or what complexion is most fit
To make an English Maid happy by it;
And You shall find, if You will choose a man,
Set justly for Your own Meridian,
Though You perhaps let One and Twenty woo,
Your elevation is for Fifty Two.

I envy not thy mortal triumphs, Death,
(Thou enemy to Vertue as to Breath)
Nor do I wonder much, nor yet complain
The weekly numbers by thy arrow slain.
The whole world is thy Factory, and we
Like traffick driven and retail'd by Thee:
And where the springs of life fill up so fast,
Some of the waters needs must run to waste.
It is confest, yet must our griefs dispute
That which thine own conclusion doth refute
Ere we begin. Hearken! for if thy ear
Be to thy throat proportion'd, thou canst hear.
Is there no order in the work of Fate?
Nor rule, but blindly to anticipate
Our growing seasons? or think'st thou 'tis just,
To sprinkle our fresh blossomes with thy dust,
Till by abortive funerals, thou bring
That to an Autumn Nature meant a Spring?
Is't not enough for thee that wither'd age
Lies the unpiti'd subject of thy rage;
But like an ugly Amorist, thy crest
Must be with spoyles of Youth and Beauty drest?
In other Camps, those which sate down to day
March first to morrow, and they longest stay
Who last came to the service: But in thine,
Onely confusion stands for discipline.
We fall in such promiscuous heaps, none can
Put any diff'rence 'twixt thy Rear or Van;
Since oft the youngest lead thy Files. For this
The grieved world here thy accuser is,
And I a Plaintiff, 'mongst those many ones
Who wet this Ladies Urn with zealous moanes;
As if her ashes quick'ning into years
Might be again embody'd by our tears
But all in vain; the moisture we bestow
Shall make assoon her curled Marble grow,
As render heat, or motion to that blood,
Which through her veins branch't like an azure flood;
Whose now still Current in the grave is lost,
Lock't up, and fetter'd by eternal frost.
Desist from hence, doting Astrology!
To search for hidden wonders in the sky;
Or from the concourse of malignant starres
Foretel diseases gen'ral as our warres:
What barren droughts, forerunners of lean dearth:
Threaten to starve the plenty of the earth:
What horrid forms of darkness must affright
The sickly world, hast'ning to that long night
Where it must end. If there no Portents are,
No black eclipses for the Kalendar,
Our times sad Annals will remembred be
Ith' loss of bright Northumberland and Thee:
Two Starres of Court, who in one fatal year
By most untimely set dropt from their Sphear.
Shee in the winter took her flight, and soon
As her perfections reach't the point of Noon,
Wrapt in a cloud, contracted her wisht stay
Unto the measure of a short-liv'd day.
But Thou in Summer, like an early Rose
By Deaths cold hand nipp'd as Thou didst disclose,
Took'st a long day to run that narrow stage,
Which in two gasping minutes summ'd thy age.
And, as the fading Rose, when the leaves shed
Lies in its native sweetness buried,
Thou in thy vertues bedded and inherst
Sleep'st with those odours thy pure fame disperst.
Where till that Rising Morn thou must remain,
In which thy wither'd flowres shall spring again.
And greater beauties thy wak't body vest
Then were at thy departure here possest.
So with full eyes we close thy vault. Content
(With what thy loss bequeaths us) to lament,
And make that use of thy griev'd funerall,
As of a Chrystall broken in the fall;
Whose pitti'd fractures gather'd up, and set,
May smaller Mirrours for Thy Sex beget;
There let them view themselves, untill they see
The end of all their glories shew'n in Thee.
Whil'st in the truth of this sad tribute, I
Thus strive to Canonize thy Memory.

1 Accept, thou shrine of my dead saint,
2 Instead of dirges, this complaint;
3 And for sweet flow'rs to crown thy hearse,
4 From thy griev'd friend, whom thou might'st see
5 Quite melted into tears for thee.
6 Dear loss! since thy untimely fate
7 My task hath been to meditate
8 On thee, on thee; thou art the book,
9 The library whereon I look,
10 Though almost blind. For thee (lov'd clay)
11 I languish out, not live, the day,
12 Using no other exercise
13 But what I practise with mine eyes;
14 By which wet glasses I find out
15 How lazily time creeps about
16 To one that mourns; this, only this,
17 My exercise and bus'ness is.
18 So I compute the weary hours
19 With sighs dissolved into showers.


20 Nor wonder if my time go thus
21 Backward and most preposterous;
22 Thou hast benighted me; thy set
23 This eve of blackness did beget,
24 Who wast my day (though overcast
25 Before thou hadst thy noon-tide past)
26 And I remember must in tears,
27 Thou scarce hadst seen so many years
28 As day tells hours. By thy clear sun
29 My love and fortune first did run;
30 But thou wilt never more appear
31 Folded within my hemisphere,
32 Since both thy light and mot{"i}on
33 Like a fled star is fall'n and gone;
34 And 'twixt me and my soul's dear wish
35 An earth now interposed is,
36 Which such a strange eclipse doth make
37 As ne'er was read in almanac.


38 I could allow thee for a time
39 To darken me and my sad clime;
40 Were it a month, a year, or ten,
41 I would thy exile live till then,
42 And all that space my mirth adjourn,
43 So thou wouldst promise to return,
44 And putting off thy ashy shroud,
45 At length disperse this sorrow's cloud.


46 But woe is me! the longest date
47 Too narrow is to calculate
48 These empty hopes; never shall I
49 Be so much blest as to descry
50 A glimpse of thee, till that day come
51 Which shall the earth to cinders doom,
52 And a fierce fever must calcine
53 The body of this world like thine,
54 (My little world!). That fit of fire
55 Once off, our bodies shall aspire
56 To our souls' bliss; then we shall rise
57 And view ourselves with clearer eyes
58 In that calm region where no night
59 Can hide us from each other's sight.


60 Meantime, thou hast her, earth; much good
61 May my harm do thee. Since it stood
62 With heaven's will I might not call
63 Her longer mine, I give thee all
64 My short-liv'd right and interest
65 In her whom living I lov'd best;
66 With a most free and bounteous grief,
67 I give thee what I could not keep.
68 Be kind to her, and prithee look
69 Thou write into thy doomsday book
70 Each parcel of this rarity
71 Which in thy casket shrin'd doth lie.
72 See that thou make thy reck'ning straight,
73 And yield her back again by weight;
74 For thou must audit on thy trust
75 Each grain and atom of this dust,
76 As thou wilt answer Him that lent,
77 Not gave thee, my dear monument.


78 So close the ground, and 'bout her shade
79 Black curtains draw, my bride is laid.


80 Sleep on my love in thy cold bed
81 Never to be disquieted!
82 My last good-night! Thou wilt not wake
83 Till I thy fate shall overtake;
84 Till age, or grief, or sickness must
85 Marry my body to that dust
86 It so much loves, and fill the room
87 My heart keeps empty in thy tomb.
88 Stay for me there, I will not fail
89 To meet thee in that hollow vale.
90 And think not much of my delay;
91 I am already on the way,
92 And follow thee with all the speed
93 Desire can make, or sorrows breed.
94 Each minute is a short degree,
95 And ev'ry hour a step towards thee.
96 At night when I betake to rest,
97 Next morn I rise nearer my west
98 Of life, almost by eight hours' sail,
99 Than when sleep breath'd his drowsy gale.


100 Thus from the sun my bottom steers,
101 And my day's compass downward bears;
102 Nor labour I to stem the tide
103 Through which to thee I swiftly glide.
104 'Tis true, with shame and grief I yield,
105 Thou like the van first took'st the field,
106 And gotten hath the victory
107 In thus adventuring to die
108 Before me, whose more years might crave
109 A just precedence in the grave.
110 But hark! my pulse like a soft drum
111 Beats my approach, tells thee I come;
112 And slow howe'er my marches be,
113 I shall at last sit down by thee.


114 The thought of this bids me go on,
115 And wait my dissolut{"i}on
116 With hope and comfort. Dear (forgive
117 The crime) I am content to live
118 Divided, with but half a heart,
119 Till we shall meet and never part.

It is, Sir, a confest intrusion here
That I before your labours do appear,
Which no loud Herald need, that may proclaim
Or seek acceptance, but the Authors fame.
Much less that should this happy work commend,
Whose subject is its licence, and doth send
It to the world to be receiv'd and read,
Far as the glorious beams of truth are spread.
Nor let it be imagin'd that I look
Onely with Customes eye upon your book;
Or in this service that 'twas my intent
T'exclude your person from your argument:
I shall profess much of the love I ow,
Doth from the root of our extraction grow;
To which though I can little contribute,
Yet with a naturall joy I must impute
To our Tribes honour, what by you is done
Worthy the title of a Prelates son.
And scarcely have two brothers farther borne
A Fathers name, or with more value worne
Their own, then two of you; whose pens and feet
Have made the distant Points of Heav'n to meet;
He by exact discoveries of the West,
Your self by painful travels in the East.
Some more like you might pow'rfully confute
Th' opposers of Priests marriage by the fruit.
And (since tis known for all their streight vow'd life,
They like the sex in any style but wife)
Cause them to change their Cloyster for that State
Which keeps men chaste by vowes legitimate:
Nor shame to father their relations,
Or under Nephews names disguise their sons.
This Child of yours born without spurious blot,
And fairly Midwiv'd as it was begot,
Doth so much of the Parents goodness wear,
You may be proud to own it for your Heir.
Whose choice acquits you from the common sin
Of such, who finish worse then they begin:
You mend upon your self, and your last strain
Does of your first the start in judgment gain;
Since what in curious travel was begun,
You here conclude in a devotion.
Where in delightful raptures we descry
As in a Map, Sions Chorography
Laid out in so direct and smooth a line,
Men need not go about through Palestine:
Who seek Christ here will the streight Rode prefer,
As neerer much then by the Sepulchre.
For not a limb growes here, but is a path;
Which in Gods City the blest Center hath:
And doth so sweetly on each passion strike,
The most fantastick taste will somewhat like.
To the unquiet soul Job still from hence
Pleads in th' example of his patience.
The mortify'd may hear the wise King preach,
When his repentance made him fit to teach.
Nor shall the singing Sisters be content
To chant at home the Act of Parliament,
Turn'd out of reason into rhime by one
Free of his trade, though not of Helicon,
Who did in his Poetick zeal contend
Others edition by a worse to mend.
Here are choice Hymnes and Carolls for the glad,
With melancholy Dirges for the sad:
And David (as he could his skill transfer)
Speaks like himself by an interpreter.
Your Muse rekindled hath the Prophets fire,
And tun'd the strings of his neglected Lyre;
Making the Note and Ditty so agree,
They now become a perfect harmonie.
I must confess, I have long wisht to see
The Psalmes reduc'd to this conformity:
Grieving the songs of Sion should be sung
In phrase not diff'ring from a barbarous tongue.
As if, by custome warranted, we may
Sing that to God we would be loth to say.
Far be it from my purpose to upbraid
Their honest meaning, who first offer made
That book in Meeter to compile, which you
Have mended in the form, and built anew:
And it was well, considering the time,
Which hardly could distinguish verse and rhime.
But now the language, like the Church, hath won
More lustre since the Reformation;
None can condemn the wish or labour spent
Good matter in good words to represent.
Yet in this jealous age some such there be,
So without cause afraid of novelty,
They would not (were it in their pow'r to choose)
An old ill practise for a better lose.
Men who a rustick plainnesse so affect,
They think God served best by their neglect.
Holding the cause would be profan'd by it,
Were they at charge of learning or of wit.
And therefore bluntly (what comes next) they bring
Course and unstudy'd stuffs for offering;
Which like th' old Tabernacles cov'ring are,
Made up of Badgers skins, and of Goats haire.
But these are Paradoxes they must use
Their sloth and bolder ignorance t'excuse.
Who would not laugh at one will naked go,
'Cause in old hangings truth is pictur'd so?
Though plainness be reputed honours note,
They mantles use to beautify the coat;
So that a curious (unaffected) dress
Addes much unto the bodies comeliness:
And wheresoere the subjects best, the sence
Is better'd by the speakers eloquence.
But, Sir, to you I shall no trophee raise
From other mens detraction or dispraise:
That Jewel never had inherent worth,
Which askt such foils as these to set it forth.
If any quarrel your attempt or style,
Forgive them; their own folly they revile.
Since, 'gainst themselves, their factious envy shall
Allow this work of yours Canonicall.
Nor may you fear the Poets common lot,
Read, and commended, and then quite forgot:
The brazen Mines and Marble Rocks shall wast,
When your foundation will unshaken last.
'Tis fames best pay, that you your labours see
By their immortal subject crowned be.
For nere was writer in oblivion hid
Who firm'd his name on such a Pyramid.

Call for amazed thoughts, a wounded sense
And bleeding Hearts at our Intelligence.
Call for that Trump of Death the Mandrakes Groan
Which kills the Hearers: This befits alone
Our Story which through times vast Kalendar
Must stand without Example or Repair.
What spowts of melting Clowds what endless springs
Powr'd in the Oceans lapp for offerings
Shall feed the hungry torrent of our grief
Too mighty for expression or belief?
Though all those moistures which the brain attracts
Ran from our eyes like gushing Cataracts,
Or our sad accents could out-tongue the Cryes
Which did from mournful Hadadrimmon rise
Since that remembrance of Josiah slain
In our King's murther is reviv'd again.
O pardon me that but from Holy Writ
Our losse allowes no Parallel to it:
Nor call it bold presumption that I dare
Charles with the best of Judah's Kings compare:
The vertues of whose life did I prefer
The Text acquits me for no Flatterer.
For He like David perfect in his trust,
Was never stayn'd like Him, with Blood or Lust.
One who with Solomon in Judgement try'd,
Was quick to comprehend, Wise to decide,
(That even his Judges stood amaz'd to hear
A more transcendent Moover in their Sphear)
Though more Religious: for when doting Love
A while made Solomon Apostate proove
Charles nev'r endur'd the Truth which he profest
To be unfixt by Bosome interest.
Bold as Jehosaphat, yet forc'd to Fight,
And for his own, no unconcerned Right.
Should I recount His constant time of Pray'r
Each rising Morn and Ev'ning Regular
You'ld say his practice preach'd They ought not Eat
Who by devotion first not earn'd their Meat.
Thus Hezekiah He exceeds in Zeal,
Though not (like him) So facile to reveal
The Treasures of Gods House, or His own Heart
To be supplanted by some forcin art.
And that he might in fame with Joash share
When he the ruin'd Temple did repair,
His cost on Paules late ragged Fabrick spent
Must (if no other) be His Monument.
From this Survey the Kingdom may conclude
His Merits, and her Losses Magnitude.
Nor think he flatters or blasphemes, who tells
That Charls exceeds Judea's Parallels,
In whom all Vertues we concentred see
Which 'mongst the best of them divided be.
O weak built Glories! which those Tempests feel
To force you from your firmest bases reel,
What from the stroaks of Chance shall you secure,
When Rocks of Innocence are so unsure?
When the World's only mirror slaughter'd lies,
Envies and Treasons bleeding sacrifize?
As if His stock of Goodnesse could become
No Kalendar, but that of Martyrdom.
See now ye cursed Mountebanks of State,
Who have Eight years for Reformation sate;
You who dire Alva's Counsels did transfer
To Act his Scenes on England's Theater;
You who did pawn your Selves in Publick Faith
To slave the Kingdome by your Pride and Wrath;
Call the whole World to witnesse now, how just,
How well you are responsive to your trust,
How to your King the promise you perform,
With Fasts, and Sermons, and long Prayers sworn,
That you intended Peace and Truth to bring
To make your Charls Europes most Glorious King.
Did you for this Lift up your Hands on high,
To Kill the King, and pluck down Monarchy?
These are the Fruits by your vvild Faction sown,
Which not Imputed are, but Born your own.
For though you wisely seem to wash your Hands,
The Guilt on every Vote and Order stands.
So that convinc'd from all you did before,
Justice must lay the Murther at your Door.
Mark if the Body does not Bleed anew,
In any Circumstance approach'd by You,
From whose each motion we might plain descry
The black Ostents of this late Tragedy.
For when the King through Storms in Scotland bred
To his Great Councel for his shelter fled,
When in that meeting every Error gain'd
Redresses sooner granted, than Complain'd:
Not all those frank Concessions or Amends
Did suit the then too Powerfull Faction's ends,
No Acts of Grace at present would Content,
Nor Promise of Triennial Parl'ament,
Till by a formal Law the King had past
This Session should at Your pleasure last.
So having got the Bitt, and that 'twas known
No power could dissolve You but Your own,
Your gracelesse Junto make such use of this,
As once was practis'd by Semiramis;
Who striving by a subtile Sute to prove
The largenesse of her Husbands Trust and Love,
Did from the much abused King obtain
That for three dayes She might sole Empresse reign:
Before which time expir'd, the bloody Wife
Depriv'd her Lord both of his Crown and Life.
There needs no Comment when your deeds apply
The Demonstration of her Treachery.
Which to effect by Absolon's foul wile
You of the Peoples Heart your Prince beguile;
Urging what Eases they might reap by it
Did you their Legislative Judges sit.
How did you fawn upon, and Court the Rout,
Whose Clamour carry'd your whole Plot about?
How did you thank Seditious men that came
To bring Petitions which your selves did frame?
And lest they wanted Hands to set them on,
You lead the way by throwing the first stone.
For in that Libel after Midnight born,
Wherewith your Faction labour'd till the Morn,
That famous Lye, you a Remonstrance name;
Were not Reproaches your malitious aim?
Was not the King's dishonour your intent
By Slanders to traduce his Government?
All which your spightful Cunning did contrive
Men must receive through your false Perspective,
In which the smallest Spots improved were,
And every Mote a Mountain did appear.
Thus Cæsar by th'ungrateful Senate found
His Life assaulted through his Honor's Wound.
And now to make Him hopelesse to resist,
You guide His Sword by Vote, which as you list
Must Strike or Spare (for so you did enforce
His Hand against His Reason to divorce
Brave Strafford's Life) then wring it quite away
By your usurping Each Militia:
Then seize His Magazines, of which possest
You turn the Weapons 'gainst their Master's Breast.
This done, th'unkennell'd crew of Lawless men
Led down by Watkins, Pennington, and Ven,
Did with confused noise the Court invade;
Then all Dissenters in Both Houses Bay'd.
At which the King amaz'd is forc'd to flye,
The whilst your Mouth's laid on maintain the Cry.
The Royal Game dislodg'd and under Chase,
Your hot Pursute dogs Him from place to place:
Not Saul with greater fury or disdain
Did flying David from Jeshimon's plain
Unto the barren Wildernesse pursue,
Than Cours'd and Hunted is the King by you.
The Mountain Partridge or the Chased Roe
Might now for Emblemes of His Fortune go.
And since all other May-games of the Town
(Save those your selves should make) were Voted down,
The Clam'rous Pu'pit Hollaes in resort,
Inviting men to your King-catching Sport.
Where as the Foyl grows cold you mend the Sent
By crying Privilege of Parliament,
Whose fair Pretensions the first sparkles are,
Which by your breath blown up enflame the War,
And Ireland (bleeding by design) the Stale
Wherewith for Men and Mony you prevail.
Yet doubting that Imposture could not last,
When all the Kingdoms Mines of Treasure waste,
You now tear down Religion's sacred Hedge
To carry on the Work by Sacriledge;
Reputing it Rebellions fittest Pay
To take both God's and Cesar's dues away.
The tenor of which execrable Vote
Your over-active Zelots so promote,
That neither Tomb nor Temple could escape,
Nor Dead nor Living your Licentious Rape.
Statues and Grave-stones o're men buried
Rob'd of their Brass, the Coffins of their Led;
Not the Seventh Henry's gilt and curious Skreen,
Nor those which 'mongst our Rarities were seen,
The Chests wherein the Saxon Monarchs lay,
But must be basely sold or thrown away.
May in succeeding times forgotten be
Those bold Examples of Impiety,
Which were the Ages wonder and discourse,
You have Their greatest ills improv'd by worse.
No more be mention'd Dionysius Theft,
Who of their Gold the Heathen Shrines bereft;
For who with Yours His Robberies confer,
Must him repute a petty Pilferer.
Nor Julian's Scoff, who when he view'd the State
Of Antioch's Church, the Ornaments and Plate,
Cry'd, Meaner Vessels would serve turn, or None
Might well become the birth of Mary's Sonn
Nor how that spightfull Atheist did in scorn
Pisse on God's Table, which so oft had born
The hallow'd Elements his death present:
Nor he that fould it with his Excrement,
Then turn'd the Cloth unto that act of shame,
Which without trembling Christians should not name.
Nor John of Leyden, who the pillag'd Quires
Employ'd in Munster for his own attires;
His pranks by Hazlerig exceeded be,
A wretch more wicked and as mad as he,
Who once in triumph led his Sumpter Moil
Proudly bedecked with the Altar's spoil.
Nor at Bizantium's sack how Mahomet
In St. Sophia's Church his Horses set.
Nor how Belshazzar at his drunken Feasts
Carows'd in holy Vessels to his Guests:
Nor he that did the Books and Anthems tear,
Which in the daily Stations used were.
These were poor Essayes of imperfect Crimes,
Fit for beginners in unlearned times,
Siz'd onely for that dull Meridian
Which knew no Jesuit nor Puritan,
(Before whose fatal Birth were no such things
As Doctrines to Depose and Murther Kings.)
But since Your prudent care Enacted well,
That there should be no King in Israel,
England must write such Annals of Your Reign
Which all Records of elder mischiefs stain.
Churches unbuilt by order, others burn'd;
Whilst Pauls and Lincoln are to Stables turn'd;
And at God's Table you might Horses see
By (those more Beasts) their Riders manger'd be.
Some Kitchins and some Slaughter-houses made,
Communion-boards and Cloths for Dressers laid:
Some turn'd to loathsome Gaols, so by you brought
Unto the Curse of Baal's House, a Draught.
The Common-Prayers with the Bibles torn,
The Coaps in Antick Moorish-Dances worn,
And sometimes for the wearers greater mock,
The Surplice is converted to a Frock.
Some bringing Dogs the Sacrament revile,
Some with Copronimus the Font defile.
O God! canst Thou these prophanations like?
If not, why is thy Thunder slow to strike
The cursed Authors? who dare think that Thou
Dost, when not punish them, their acts allow.
All which outragious Crimes, though your pretence
Would fasten on the Soldiers insolence,
We must believe that what by them was done
Came licens'd forth by your probation.
For, as your selves with Athaliah's Brood
In strong contention for precedence stood,
You robb'd Two Royall Chapels of their Plate,
Which Kings and Queens to God did dedicate;
Then by a Vote more sordid than the Stealth,
Melt down and Coin it for the Common-wealth;
That is, give't up to the devouring jaws
Of your great Idol Bell, new styl'd The Cause.
And though this Monster you did well devise
To feed by Plunder, Taxes, Loans, Excise;
(All which Provisions You the People tell
Scarce serve to diet Your Pantagruel.)
We no strew'd Ashes need to trace the Cheat,
Who plainly see what Mouthes the Messes eat.
Brave Reformation! and a through one too,
Which to enrich Your selves must All undo.
Pray tell us (those that can) What fruits have grown
From all Your Seeds in Blood and Treasure sown?
What would you mend? when Your Projected State
Doth from the Best in Form degenerate?
Or why should You (of All) attempt the Cure,
Whose Facts nor Gospels Test nor Laws endure?
But like unwholsome Exhalations met
From Your Conjunction onely Plagues beget,
And in Your Circle, as Imposthumes fill
Which by their venome the whole Body kill;
For never had You Pow'r but to Destroy,
Nor Will, but where You Conquer'd to Enjoy.
This was Your Master-prize, who did intend
To make both Churhch and Kingdom's prey Your End.
'Gainst which the King (plac'd in the Gap) did strive
By His (till then unquestion'd) Negative,
Which finding You lack'd Reason to perswade,
Your Arguments are into Weapons made;
So to compell him by main force to yield,
You had a Formed Army in the Field
Before his Reared Standard could invite
Ten men upon his Righteous Cause to fight.
Yet ere those raised Forces did advance,
Your malice struck him dead by Ordinance,
When your Commissions the whole Kingdom swept
With Blood and Slaughter, Not the King Except.
Now hardned in Revolt, You next proceed
By Pacts to strengthen each Rebellious Deed,
New Oaths, and Vows, and Covenants advance,
All contradicting your Allegiance,
Whose Sacred knot you plainly did unty,
When you with Essex swore to Live and Die.
These were your Calves in Bethel and in Dan,
Which Jeroboam's Treason stablish can,
Who by strange Pacts and Altars did seduce
The People to their Laws and and King's abuse;
All which but serve like Soibboleth to try
Those who pronounc'd not your Conspiracy;
That when your other Trains defective are,
Forc'd Oaths might bring Refusers to the Snare.
And lest those men your Counsels did pervert,
Might when your Fraud was seen the Cause desert,
A fierce Decree is through the Kingdom sent,
Which made it Death for any to Repent.
What strange Dilemmaes doth Rebellion make?
'Tis mortal to Deny, or to Partake:
Some Hang who would not aid your Traiterous Act,
Others engag'd are Hang'd if they Retract.
So Witches who their Contracts have unsworn,
By their own Devils are in pieces torn.
Thus still the rageing Tempest higher grows,
Which in Extreams the Kings Resolving throws.
The face of Ruine every where appears,
And Acts of Outrage multiply our fears;
Whilst blind Ambition by Successes fed
Hath You beyond the bound of Subjects led,
Who tasting once the sweet of Regal Sway,
Resolved now no longer to obey.
For Presbyterian pride contests as high
As doth the Popedom for Supremacy.
Needs must you with unskilful Phaeton
Aspire to guide the Chariot of the Sun,
Though your ill-govern'd height with lightning be
Thrown headlong from his burning Axle-tree.
You will no more Petition or Debate,
But your desire in Propositions state,
Which by such Rules and Ties the King confine,
They in effect are Summons to Resign.
Therefore your War is manag'd with such sleight,
'Twas seen you more prevail'd by Purse than Might;
And those you could not purchase to your will,
You brib'd with sums of mony to sit still.
The King by this time hopelesse here of Peace,
Or to procure His wasted Peoples ease,
Which He in frequent Messages had try'd,
By you as oft as shamelesly deny'd;
Wearied by faithlesse Friends and restlesse Foes,
To certain hazard doth His Life Expose:
When through your Quarters in a mean disguise
He to His Country-men for succour flies,
Who met a brave occasion then to save
Their Native King from His untimely Grave:
Had he from them such fair reception gain'd,
Wherewith ev'n Achish David entertain'd.
But Faith to Him or hospitable Laws
In your Confederate Union were no Clause,
Which back to you their Rendred Master sends
To tell how He was us'd among his friends.
Far be it from my thoughts by this black Line
To measure all within that Warlick Clime;
The still admir'd Montross some Numbers lead
In his brave steps of Loyalty to tread.
I onely tax a furious Party There,
Who with our Native Pests Enleagued were.
Then 'twas you follow'd Him with Hue and Cry,
Made Midnight Searches in Each Liberty,
Voting it death to all without Reprieve,
Who should their Master Harbor or Relieve.
Ev'n in pure pitty of both Nations Fame,
I wish that Act in Story had no name.
When all your Mutual Stipulations are
Converted at Newcastle to a Fair,
Where (like His Lord) the King the Mart is made,
Bought with Your Mony, and by Them Betraid;
For both are guilty, They that did Contract,
And You that did the fatal Bargain Act.
Which who by equal Reason shall peruse,
Must yet conclude, They had the best Excuse:
For doubtlesse They (Good men) had never sold,
But that you tempted Them with English Gold;
And 'tis no wonder if with such a Sum
Our Brethrens frailty might be overcome.
What though hereafter it may prove Their Lot
To be compared with Iscariot?
Yet will the World perceive which was most wise,
And who the Nobler Traitor by the Price;
For though 'tis true Both did Themselves undo,
They made the better Bargain of the Two,
Which all may reckon who can difference
Two hundred thousand Pounds from Thirty Pence.
However something is in Justice due,
Which may be spoken in defence of You;
For in your Masters Purchase you gave more,
Than all your Jewish kindred paid before.
And had you wisely us'd what then you bought,
Your Act might be a Loyal Ransom thought,
To free from Bonds your Captive Soverain,
Restoring Him to his lost Crown again.
But You had other plots, you busie hate
Ply'd all advantage on His fallen State,
And shew'd You did not come to bring Him Bayl,
But to remove Him to a stricter Gaol,
To Holmby first, whence taken from His Bed,
He by an Army was in triumph led;
Till on pretence of safety Cromwel's wile
Had juggel'd Him into the Fatal Isle,
Where Hammond for his Jaylor is decreed,
And Murderous Rolf as Lieger-Hangman fee'd,
Who in one fatal Knot Two Counsels tye,
He must by Poison or by Pistol Die.
Here now deny'd all Comforts due to Life,
His Friends, His Children, and His Peerlesse Wife;
From Carisbrook He oft but vainly sends,
And though first Wrong'd, seeks to make you Amends;
For this He sues, and by His restlesse Pen
Importunes Your deaf Ears to Treat agen.
Whilst the proud Faction scorning to go lesse,
Return those Trait'rous Votes of Non Address,
Which follow'd were by th'Armies thundring
To Act without and quite against the King.
Yet when that Clowd remov'd, and the clear Light,
Drawn from His weighty Reasons, gave You sight
Of Your own dangers, had not Their Intents
Retarded been by some crosse Accidents;
Which for a while with fortunate Suspense
Check'd or diverted Their swoln Insolence:
When the whole Kingdom for a Treaty cry'd,
Which gave such credit to Your falling side,
That you Recall'd those Votes, and God once more
Your Power to save the Kingdom did restore,
Remember how Your peevish Treators sate,
Not to make Peace, but to prolong Debate;
How You that precious time at first delay'd,
And what ill use of Your advantage made,
As if from Your foul hands God had decreed
Nothing but War and Mischief should succeed.
For when by easie Grants the Kings Assent
Did your desires in greater things prevent,
When He did yield faster than You intreat,
And more than Modesty dares well repeat;
Yet not content with this, without all sense,
Or of His Honor or His Conscience,
Still you prest on, till you too late descry'd,
'Twas now lesse safe to stay than be deny'd.
For like a Flood broke loose the Armed Rout,
Then Shut Him closer up, And Shut You out,
Who by just vengeance are since Worryed
By those Hand-wolves You for His Ruine bred.
Thus like Two Smoaking Firebrands, You and They
Have in this Smother choak'd the Kingdom's Day.
And as you rais'd Them first, must share the Guilt,
With all the Blood in those Distractions spilt.
For though with Sampson's Foxes backward turn'd,
(When he Philistia's fruitful Harvest burn'd)
The face of your opinions stands averse,
All your Conclusions but one fire disperse;
And every Line which carries your Designes,
In the same Centre of Confusion joyns.
Though then the Independents end the Work,
'Tis known they took their Platform from the Kirk;
Though Pilate Bradshaw with his pack of Jews
God's High Vice-gerent at the Bar accuse,
They but reviv'd the Evidence and Charge
Your poys'nous Declarations laid at large;
Though they condemn'd or made his Life their Spoil,
You were the Setters forc'd him to the Toil:
For you whose fatal hand the Warrant writ,
The Prisoner did for Execution fit.
And if their Ax invade the Regal Throat,
Remember you first murther'd Him by Vote.
Thus They receive Your Tennis at the bound,
Take off that Head which you had first Un-crown'd;
Which shews the Texture of our Mischiefs Clew,
If ravel'd to the Top, begins in You,
Who have forever stain'd the brave Intents
And Credit of our English Parliaments:
And in this One caus'd greater Ills, and more,
Than all of theirs did Good that went before.
Yet have you kept your word against Your will,
Your King is Great indeed and Glorious still,
And you have made Him so. We must impute
That Lustre which His Sufferings contribute
To your preposterous Wisdoms, who have done
All your good Deeds by Contradiction:
For as to work His Peace you rais'd this Strife,
And often Shot at Him to Save His Life;
As you took from Him to Encrease His wealth,
And kept Him Pris'ner to secure His Health:
So in revenge of your dissembled Spight,
In this last Wrong you did Him greatest Right,
And (cross to all you meant) by Plucking down
Lifted Him up to His Eternal Crown.
With This encircled in that radiant Sphear,
Where Thy black Murtherers must ne'r appear,
Thou from th'enthroned Martyrs Blood-stain'd Line,
Dost in thy Vertues bright Example shine.
And when Thy darted Beam from the moist Sky
Nightly salutes Thy grieving Peoples Eye,
Thou like some Warning Light rais'd by our fears,
Shalt both provoke and still supply our Tears:
Til the Great Prophet wak'd from his long sleep
Again bids Sion for Josiah weep:
That all Successions by a firm Decree
May teach Their Children to lament for Thee.
Beyond these mournful Rites there is no Art
Or Cost can Thee preserve. Thy better Part
Lives in despight of Death, and will endure
Kept safe in Thy unpattern'd Portraicture:
Which though in Paper drawn by thine own Hand,
Shall longer than Corinthian-Marble stand,
Or Iron Sculptures: There Thy matchlesse Pen
Speaks Thee the Best of Kings as Best of Men:
Be this Thy Epitaph: for This alone
Deserves to carry Thy Inscription.
And 'tis but modest Truth: so may I thrive)
As not to please the Best of Thine Alive,
Of flatter my dead Master, here would I
Pay my last Duty in a Gloriovs Ly)
In that Admired Piece the world may read
Thy Vertues and Misfortunes Storied;
Which bear such curious Mixture, men must doubt
Whether Thou Wiser wert or more Devout.
There live Blest Relick of a Saint-like mind,
With Honors endlesse, as Thy Peace Enshrin'd.
Whilst we, divided by that Bloody Clowd,
Whose purple Mists Thy Murther'd Body shrowd,
Here stay behind at gaze: Apt for Thy sake
Unruly murmurs now 'gainst Heav'n to make,
Which binds us to Live well, yet gives no Fense
To guard her dearest Sons from Violence.
But He whose Trump proclaims, Revenge is Mine,
Bids us our Sorrow by our Hope confine,
And reconcile our Reason to our Faith,
Which in Thy Ruine such Concussions hath,
It dares Conclude, God does not keep His Word
If Zimri die in Peace that slew his Lord.

From my sad Retirement March 11. 1648. CaroLVs stVart reX angLIæ seCVre CoesVs VIta CessIt trICessIMo IanVarII.