







 
   
     
       
         A translation of the sixth book of Mr. Cowley's Plantarum being a poem upon the late rebellion, the happy restoration of His Sacred Majesty, and the Dutch war ensuing.
         Plantarum libri sex. Book 6. English
         Cowley, Abraham, 1618-1667.
      
       
         
           1680
        
      
       Approx. 49 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 26 1-bit group-IV TIFF page images.
       
         Text Creation Partnership,
         Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) :
         2003-03 (EEBO-TCP Phase 1).
         A34832
         Wing C6692
         ESTC R17196
         11736146
         ocm 11736146
         48464
         
           
            This keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above is co-owned by the institutions providing financial support to the Early English Books Online Text Creation Partnership. This Phase I text is available for reuse, according to the terms of
             Creative Commons 0 1.0 Universal
            . The text can be copied, modified, distributed and performed, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission.
          
        
      
       
         Early English books online.
      
       
         (EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A34832)
         Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 48464)
         Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1641-1700 ; 487:15)
      
       
         
           
             A translation of the sixth book of Mr. Cowley's Plantarum being a poem upon the late rebellion, the happy restoration of His Sacred Majesty, and the Dutch war ensuing.
             Plantarum libri sex. Book 6. English
             Cowley, Abraham, 1618-1667.
          
           [4], 45 p.
           
             Printed for Samuel Walsall,
             London :
             1680.
          
           
             Reproduction of original in Huntington Library.
          
        
      
    
     
       
         Created by converting TCP files to TEI P5 using tcp2tei.xsl, TEI @ Oxford.
         Re-processed by University of Nebraska-Lincoln and Northwestern, with changes to facilitate morpho-syntactic tagging. Gap elements of known extent have been transformed into placeholder characters or elements to simplify the filling in of gaps by user contributors.
      
       
         EEBO-TCP is a partnership between the Universities of Michigan and Oxford and the publisher ProQuest to create accurately transcribed and encoded texts based on the image sets published by ProQuest via their Early English Books Online (EEBO) database (http://eebo.chadwyck.com). The general aim of EEBO-TCP is to encode one copy (usually the first edition) of every monographic English-language title published between 1473 and 1700 available in EEBO.
         EEBO-TCP aimed to produce large quantities of textual data within the usual project restraints of time and funding, and therefore chose to create diplomatic transcriptions (as opposed to critical editions) with light-touch, mainly structural encoding based on the Text Encoding Initiative (http://www.tei-c.org).
         The EEBO-TCP project was divided into two phases. The 25,363 texts created during Phase 1 of the project have been released into the public domain as of 1 January 2015. Anyone can now take and use these texts for their own purposes, but we respectfully request that due credit and attribution is given to their original source.
         Users should be aware of the process of creating the TCP texts, and therefore of any assumptions that can be made about the data.
         Text selection was based on the New Cambridge Bibliography of English Literature (NCBEL). If an author (or for an anonymous work, the title) appears in NCBEL, then their works are eligible for inclusion. Selection was intended to range over a wide variety of subject areas, to reflect the true nature of the print record of the period. In general, first editions of a works in English were prioritized, although there are a number of works in other languages, notably Latin and Welsh, included and sometimes a second or later edition of a work was chosen if there was a compelling reason to do so.
         Image sets were sent to external keying companies for transcription and basic encoding. Quality assurance was then carried out by editorial teams in Oxford and Michigan. 5% (or 5 pages, whichever is the greater) of each text was proofread for accuracy and those which did not meet QA standards were returned to the keyers to be redone. After proofreading, the encoding was enhanced and/or corrected and characters marked as illegible were corrected where possible up to a limit of 100 instances per text. Any remaining illegibles were encoded as <gap>s. Understanding these processes should make clear that, while the overall quality of TCP data is very good, some errors will remain and some readable characters will be marked as illegible. Users should bear in mind that in all likelihood such instances will never have been looked at by a TCP editor.
         The texts were encoded and linked to page images in accordance with level 4 of the TEI in Libraries guidelines.
         Copies of the texts have been issued variously as SGML (TCP schema; ASCII text with mnemonic sdata character entities); displayable XML (TCP schema; characters represented either as UTF-8 Unicode or text strings within braces); or lossless XML (TEI P5, characters represented either as UTF-8 Unicode or TEI g elements).
         
          Keying and markup guidelines are available at the
           Text Creation Partnership web site
          .
        
      
       
         
         
      
    
     
       
         eng
      
       
         
           Dutch War, 1672-1678 -- Poetry.
           Great Britain -- History -- Restoration, 1660-1688 -- Poetry.
        
      
    
     
        2002-10 TCP
        Assigned for keying and markup
      
        2002-11 SPi Global
        Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images
      
        2003-01 Judith Siefring
        Sampled and proofread
      
        2003-01 Judith Siefring
        Text and markup reviewed and edited
      
        2003-02 pfs
        Batch review (QC) and XML conversion
      
    
  
   
     
       
         
         
           A
           TRANSLATION
           Of
           the
           Sixth
           Book
           of
           Mr.
           Cowley's
           PLANTARUM
           .
           BEING
           A
           Poem
           upon
           the
           late
           Rebellion
           ,
           the
           Happy
           Restoration
           of
           His
           Sacred
           Majesty
           ,
           and
           the
           Dutch
           War
           Ensuing
           .
        
         
           
             Bella
             per
             Angliacos
             plusquam
             Civilia
             Campos
          
           
             Iusque
             datum
             sceleri
             canimus
             —
          
           
             Lucan
             .
          
        
         
           
             —
             Crimine
             ab
             uno
          
           
             Disce
             omnes
             —
          
           
             Virg.
             
          
        
         
           LONDON
           ,
           Printed
           for
           
             Samuel
             Walsall
          
           ,
           at
           the
           
             Golden
             Frying-Pan
          
           in
           Leaden-Hall-Street
           ,
           1680.
           
        
      
       
         
         
         
           The
           Preface
           .
        
         
           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
           :
           
             
               Non
               verbum
               verbo
               reddere
               sidus
            
             
               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
          
           here
           translated
           :
           
             
             
               Tergeminique
               eâdem
               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
           Iudge
           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
           .
        
      
    
     
       
         
         
           
             1.
             
          
           
             WHen
             Charles
             the
             Pious
             ,
             Son
             of
             Iames
             the
             Wise
             ,
          
           
             In
             Peace
             and
             Plenty
             Britain's
             Scepter
             sway'd
             ,
          
           
             His
             Subjects
             happy
             (
             if
             they
             knew
             to
             prize
          
           
             Their
             happiness
             )
             by
             his
             just
             Reign
             were
             made
             .
          
        
         
           
             2.
             
          
           
             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
             .
          
        
         
           
             3.
             
          
           
             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
            
             .
          
        
         
           
             4.
             
          
           
             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
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             5.
             
          
           
             Such
             I
             believe
             was
             Saturn's
             Golden
             Reign
             .
          
           
             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
             :
          
        
         
           
             6.
             
          
           
             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
            
             .
          
        
         
           
             7.
             
          
           
             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
             :
          
        
         
           
             8.
             
          
           
             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
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             9.
             
          
           
             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
             .
          
        
         
           
             10.
             
          
           
             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
             .
          
        
         
           
             11.
             
          
           
             The
             Heavens
             (
             which
             I
             tremble
             but
             to
             tell
             )
          
           
             Which
             a
             bright
             
               Fiery
               Tempest
            
             did
             infold
             ,
          
           
             Did
             
               represent
               the
               Burning
               Face
               of
               Hell
               ,
            
          
           
             And
             about
             waves
             of
             Flaming
             Sulphur
             roll'd
             .
          
        
         
           
             12.
             
          
           
             Strait
             then
             appear'd
             within
             a
             broken
             Cloud
          
           
             A
             horrid
             beauteous
             Scene
             ,
             two
             Armies
             plac't
          
           
             And
             Marshall'd
             in
             rare
             Order
             ,
             ready
             stood
          
           
             For
             Fight
             ,
             with
             shining
             Armour
             nobly
             grac't
             :
          
        
         
         
         
         
         
           
           
             13.
             
          
           
             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
             :
          
        
         
           
             14.
             
          
           
             Who
             perhaps
             in
             some
             Figure
             then
             express't
          
           
             In
             the
             Coelestial
             Army
             fiercely
             rode
             ,
          
           
             High
             mounted
             on
             a
             Noble
             ,
             Fiery
             Beast
             ,
          
           
             Gracing
             the
             Heavens
             ,
             looking
             like
             a
             God
             :
          
        
         
           
             15.
             
          
           
             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
             ,
          
        
         
           
             16.
             
          
           
             They
             from
             aetherial
             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
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             17.
             
          
           
             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
             .
          
        
         
           
             18.
             
          
           
             At
             length
             the
             Army
             which
             the
             better
             shew'd
             ,
          
           
             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
             .
          
        
         
           
             19.
             
          
           
             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
             ;
          
        
         
           
             20.
             
          
           
             Who
             then
             the
             Murmurs
             of
             the
             foolish
             Croud
             ,
          
           
             Or
             hidden
             Seeds
             of
             
               Zeal
               Phanatic
            
             ,
             fear'd
             ?
          
           
             Or
             Monsters
             of
             the
             
               Caledonian
               Wood
            
             ?
          
           
             And
             impious
             Cromwell
             had
             not
             then
             appear'd
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             21.
             
          
           
             First
             rose
             a
             Cloud
             from
             Caledonian
             ground
          
           
             Which
             did
             the
             North
             and
             gentle
             Tweed
             invade
             ,
          
           
             Forgetting
             once
             he
             did
             two
             Kingdoms
             bound
          
           
             He
             thinks
             of
             one
             he
             is
             the
             Center
             made
             :
          
        
         
           
             22.
             
          
           
             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
             .
          
        
         
           
             23.
             
          
           
             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.
             
          
        
         
           
             24.
             
          
           
             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
             :
          
        
         
           
           
             25.
             
          
           
             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
             .
          
        
         
           
             26.
             
          
           
             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
          
           
             Must
             expiate
             ,
             which
             Miseries
             will
             bring
          
           
             Both
             to
             the
             guilty
             People
             and
             the
             guiltless
             King
             :
          
        
         
           
             27.
             
          
           
             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
             ;
          
        
         
           
             28.
             
          
           
             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
             ;
          
        
         
           
           
             29.
             
          
           
             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
             .
          
        
         
           
             30.
             
          
           
             What
             a
             prodigious
             Harvest
             through
             the
             Field
          
           
             Is
             reap't
             by
             Fiery
             Rupert's
             conquering
             Sword
             ?
          
           
             What
             heaps
             are
             by
             the
             
               Pious
               Monarch
            
             kill'd
             ?
          
           
             A
             mourning
             Conqu'rour
             :
             If
             the
             Fates
             afford
          
        
         
           
             31.
             
          
           
             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
          
           
             Fell
             e're
             it
             had
             the
             Neighbouring
             Goal
             attain'd
             .
          
        
         
           
             32.
             
          
           
             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
             the
             Ruine
             run
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             33.
             
          
           
             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
             .
          
        
         
           
             34.
             
          
           
             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
             :
          
        
         
           
             35.
             
          
           
             Long
             was
             the
             Ballance
             even
             held
             by
             Fate
             ,
          
           
             Who
             did
             of
             Both
             the
             nodding
             Ruin
             poise
          
           
             VVith
             mutual
             Slaughter
             ,
             and
             alternate
             Weight
          
           
             Of
             damage
             ;
             Equal
             were
             their
             Griefs
             and
             Joys
             .
          
        
         
           
             36.
             
          
           
             First
             Yorkshire's
             cruel
             Fight
             severely
             shakes
          
           
             And
             turns
             the
             Scales
             of
             VVar
             ,
             and
             
               Naseby's
               Field
            
          
           
             At
             last
             a
             VVound
             profound
             and
             mortal
             makes
          
           
             Never
             by
             Art
             or
             Fortune
             to
             be
             heal'd
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             37.
             
          
           
             The
             rest
             (
             ye
             Gods
             )
             permir
             me
             not
             to
             write
             ;
          
           
             But
             Lo
             !
             a
             wondrous
             and
             deformed
             Heap
          
           
             Of
             Miseries
             at
             once
             invade
             my
             sight
             ;
          
           
             What
             Spoiles
             of
             War
             the
             Impious
             Victors
             reap
             .
          
        
         
           
             38.
             
          
           
             The
             King
             in
             a
             Poor
             rustic
             Habit
             dress't
          
           
             (
             
               'T
               was
               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
             .
          
        
         
           
             39.
             
          
           
             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
             !
          
        
         
           
             40.
             
          
           
             So
             do's
             the
             self-wrack't
             Pilot
             freely
             leap
          
           
             Into
             the
             threatning
             Waves
             he
             fear'd
             before
             ,
          
           
             From
             out
             the
             fierce
             Flames
             of
             his
             burning
             Ship
             ,
          
           
             Whom
             cruel
             Waves
             again
             to
             Flames
             restore
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             41.
             
          
           
             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
             .
          
        
         
           
             42.
             
          
           
             No
             less
             the
             Scots
             their
             zealous
             Love
             declare
             ,
          
           
             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
             ,
          
        
         
           
             43.
             
          
           
             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.
             
          
        
         
           
             44.
             
          
           
             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
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             45.
             
          
           
             Scarce
             did
             the
             Arms
             hung
             up
             in
             houses
             rest
          
           
             But
             a
             long
             Course
             of
             Civil
             war
             return'd
             ;
          
           
             VVho
             by
             base
             Tyrants
             saw
             the
             King
             oppress
             't
             ,
          
           
             And
             made
             a
             Prisoner
             ,
             but
             with
             Anger
             burn'd
             ?
          
        
         
           
             46.
             
          
           
             Scotland
             ,
             though
             late
             it
             did
             thy
             Anger
             move
             ,
          
           
             And
             the
             just
             Rage
             of
             
               Generous
               Kent
            
             inflame
          
           
             VVhich
             above
             life
             it self
             do's
             Freedom
             love
             ;
          
           
             And
             Wales
             which
             still
             maintains
             the
             Britains
             Fame
             .
          
        
         
           
             47.
             
          
           
             VVhy
             should
             I
             mention
             the
             unhappy
             Fights
             ,
          
           
             The
             trembling
             Ribla
             stain'd
             with
             humane
             Blood
             ,
          
           
             Or
             routed
             Scots
             who
             in
             their
             hasty
             Flights
          
           
             Did
             stop
             the
             very
             Current
             of
             the
             Flood
             ?
          
        
         
           
             48.
             
          
           
             VVhy
             should
             I
             Medway
             swell'd
             with
             Slaughter
             name
          
           
             Or
             Colchester's
             long
             cruel
             Seige
             relate
             ,
          
           
             VVhose
             Courage
             greatest
             Mis'ries
             ne're
             could
             tame
          
           
             And
             who
             deserv'd
             a
             more
             propitious
             Fate
             ?
          
        
         
           
           
             49.
             
          
           
             VVhy
             should
             I
             recollect
             the
             Glorious
             Fate
          
           
             Of
             Lords
             who
             bravely
             fighting
             dy'd
             in
             Field
             ?
          
           
             Or
             their
             sad
             ignominious
             Death
             relate
          
           
             VVho
             to
             the
             cruel
             Victors
             Mercy
             yield
             ?
          
        
         
           
             50.
             
          
           
             After
             such
             Ruins
             ,
             and
             such
             Miseries
             ,
          
           
             So
             many
             VVounds
             by
             advers
             Fortune
             given
             ,
          
           
             So
             much
             the
             
               Pious
               King
            
             did
             Life
             despise
             ,
          
           
             That
             he
             thought
             Death
             the
             greatest
             gift
             of
             Heaven
             .
          
        
         
           
             51.
             
          
           
             But
             Oh!
             the
             impious
             and
             tremendous
             Deed
          
           
             Can
             n're
             be
             curs't
             enough
             by
             after-times
             ;
          
           
             It
             Hells
             most
             sharp
             Invention
             do's
             exceed
          
           
             To
             find
             a
             Torment
             equal
             to
             their
             Crimes
             .
          
        
         
           
             52.
             
          
           
             I'
             th'
             Peoples
             sight
             ,
             the
             King
             from
             Prison
             led
             ,
          
           
             
               On
               a
               High
               Scaffold
            
             ,
             just
             before
             the
             Gate
          
           
             Of
             his
             cheif
             Palace
             ,
             bows
             his
             
               Sacred
               Head
            
          
           
             To
             the
             
               Hangmans
               hands
            
             —
          
        
         
           
           
             53.
             
          
           
             Wounded
             on
             all
             sides
             now
             poor
             Britan
             dyes
          
           
             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
             .
          
        
         
           
             54.
             
          
           
             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
             .
          
        
         
           
             55.
             
          
           
             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.
             
          
        
         
           
             56.
             
          
           
             A
             noisom
             Odor's
             through
             the
             World
             diffus'd
             .
          
           
             Sin
             and
             Injustice
             Justice
             then
             became
             ,
          
           
             No
             Rains
             
               Impiety
               now
               Reigning
            
             us'd
          
           
             To
             Fury
             ,
             having
             pass't
             the
             Bounds
             of
             Shame
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             57.
             
          
           
             'T
             was
             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
             .
          
        
         
           
             58.
             
          
           
             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
             ;
          
        
         
           
             59.
             
          
           
             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
             .
          
        
         
           
             60.
             
          
           
             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
             ;
          
        
         
           
           
             61.
             
          
           
             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
             ;
          
        
         
           
             62.
             
          
           
             And
             those
             whoe're
             of
             Loyalty
             and
             Lands
          
           
             Were
             Guilty
             found
             ,
             O
             wretched
             Avarice
             !
          
           
             Not
             all
             these
             Riches
             could
             the
             Harpy-hands
          
           
             Of
             the
             Tyrannic
             Sons
             of
             Earth
             suffice
             .
          
        
         
           
             63.
             
          
           
             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.
             
          
        
         
           
             64.
             
          
           
             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
             :
          
        
         
           
           
             65.
             
          
           
             Timber
             ,
             which
             had
             been
             bury'd
             many
             Years
          
           
             Under
             high
             Royal
             Towers
             ,
             they
             invade
             .
          
           
             'T
             is
             sure
             that
             Hand
             the
             Living
             never
             spares
          
           
             Which
             is
             so
             wicked
             to
             disturb
             the
             Dead
             .
          
        
         
           
             66.
             
          
           
             Then
             all
             the
             Woods
             the
             barbarous
             Victors
             seize
             ,
          
           
             (
             The
             noble
             Nursery
             of
             the
             Fleet
             and
             Town
             ,
          
           
             The
             hopes
             of
             War
             and
             Ornaments
             of
             Peace
             )
          
           
             Which
             once
             Religion
             did
             as
             Sacred
             own
             .
          
        
         
           
             67.
             
          
           
             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
             .
          
        
         
           
             68.
             
          
           
             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
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             69.
             
          
           
             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
             she
             all
             night
             repeats
          
        
         
           
             70.
             
          
           
             Let
             them
             the
             Woods
             and
             Forrests
             burn
             and
             wast
             ,
          
           
             There
             will
             be
             Trees
             to
             hang
             the
             Slaves
             at
             last
             ;
          
           
             And
             God
             ,
             who
             such
             Infernal
             men
             disclaims
             ,
          
           
             Will
             root
             'em
             out
             and
             throw
             'em
             〈…〉
             es
             .
          
        
         
           
             71.
             
          
           
             Mean
             while
             expell'd
             his
             cruel
             Country's
             Shores
          
           
             The
             great
             Carolides
             through
             foreign
             Lands
          
           
             Wanders
             ,
             and
             Aid
             ,
             alas
             !
             in
             vain
             implores
             ;
          
           
             Still
             cruel
             Fate
             his
             Happiness
             withstands
             .
          
        
         
           
             72.
             
          
           
             How
             did
             he
             suffer
             both
             by
             Sea
             and
             Land
             ,
          
           
             That
             
               Pious
               Son
            
             of
             an
             immortal
             Saint
             !
          
           
             Chearful
             he
             bears
             the
             troubles
             Fates
             command
          
           
             Till
             they
             grew
             weary
             ,
             though
             he
             ne're
             did
             faint
             :
          
        
         
           
           
             73.
             
          
           
             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
             .
          
        
         
           
             74.
             
          
           
             But
             before
             Fate
             the
             happy
             Signal
             makes
             ,
          
           
             Fierce
             and
             impatient
             unto
             Arms
             he
             flyes
             ,
          
           
             Despising
             Life
             ,
             and
             courting
             Fame
             ,
             he
             breaks
          
           
             Through
             Seas
             block't
             up
             with
             hostile
             Ships
             and
             Ice
             .
          
        
         
           
             75.
             
          
           
             To
             a
             late
             hostile
             ,
             still
             suspected
             Land
          
           
             He
             goes
             ;
             
               The
               Oliverian
               Powers
               of
               Hell
            
          
           
             
               And
               Furies
            
             trembling
             and
             confounded
             stand
             ,
          
           
             To
             see
             great
             Charles
             to
             his
             own
             Kingdoms
             sail
             :
          
        
         
           
             74.
             
          
           
             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
             :
          
        
         
           
           
             77.
             
          
           
             Vain
             is
             their
             Fear
             ,
             since
             Caesar
             it
             Conveys
          
           
             Safely
             conducted
             by
             the
             Almighties
             Hand
             ,
          
           
             But
             yet
             not
             
               Caesars
               Fortune
            
             ;
             which
             to
             raise
          
           
             Do's
             other
             Arm
             's
             (
             and
             yet
             scarce
             Arms
             )
             demand
             .
          
        
         
           
             78.
             
          
           
             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
             .
          
        
         
           
             79.
             
          
           
             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
             ,
          
        
         
           
             80.
             
          
           
             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
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             81.
             
          
           
             But
             now
             his
             Royal
             Father's
             Murder
             fires
          
           
             Charles
             with
             
               Revenge
               ,
               Iust
               Indignation
            
             stings
          
           
             His
             Breast
             ,
             Virtue
             incens't
             a
             Soul
             inspires
          
           
             Worthy
             the
             Off-spring
             of
             a
             hundred
             Kings
             .
          
        
         
           
             82.
             
          
           
             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
             .
          
        
         
           
             83.
             
          
           
             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
             .
          
        
         
           
             84.
             
          
           
             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
             :
          
        
         
           
           
             85.
             
          
           
             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
          
           
             On
             Severn's
             Banks
             with
             a
             good
             Army
             stood
             ;
          
        
         
           
             86.
             
          
           
             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
             .
          
        
         
           
             87.
             
          
           
             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
             .
          
        
         
           
             88.
             
          
           
             
               England's
               ill
               Genius
            
             now
             alarm'd
             with
             Fears
             ,
          
           
             Who
             on
             the
             Ruin
             of
             Good
             men
             did
             dwell
             ,
          
           
             More
             vigilant
             than
             Cromwells
             self
             ,
             prepares
          
           
             A
             Cruel
             Poison
             by
             the
             Arts
             of
             Hell
             ;
          
        
         
           
           
             89.
             
          
           
             One
             of
             the
             sleepy
             ,
             cold
             ,
             and
             fearful
             Snakes
             ,
          
           
             Sloaths
             Opium
             ,
             which
             binds
             the
             Nerves
             with
             Cold
             ,
          
           
             Poison
             of
             griping
             Avarice
             he
             takes
             ,
          
           
             Which
             close
             (
             
             Torpedo-like
             )
             the
             Hand
             do's
             hold
             :
          
        
         
           
             90.
             
          
           
             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
             .
          
        
         
           
             91.
             
          
           
             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
             ;
          
        
         
           
             92.
             
          
           
             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
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             93.
             
          
           
             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
             ▪
          
        
         
           
             94.
             
          
           
             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
             :
          
        
         
           
             95.
             
          
           
             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
             .
          
        
         
           
             96.
             
          
           
             Buckingham
             Valiant
             ,
             Beautiful
             and
             Young
             ,
          
           
             A
             benign
             Star
             at
             home
             ,
             and
             in
             the
             Field
          
           
             Like
             violent
             Lightning
             ,
             an
             Achates
             strong
          
           
             Worthy
             to
             bear
             his
             great
             Aeneas
             Shield
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             97.
             
          
           
             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
             Arm
          
        
         
           
             98.
             
          
           
             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
             :
          
           
             The
             rest
             such
             Noble
             Knowledge
             could
             not
             move
             ;
          
        
         
           
             99.
             
          
           
             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
             :
          
        
         
           
             100.
             
          
           
             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
             ?
          
        
         
           
           
             101.
             
          
           
             Yes
             ,
             this
             great
             Miracle
             to
             Charles
             the
             Saint
          
           
             The
             Eternal
             God
             who
             is
             Omnipotent
          
           
             As
             a
             Reward
             for
             Martyrdom
             will
             grant
             ,
          
           
             And
             ev'n
             his
             
               Pray'rs
               for
               Mortal
               Charles
            
             prevent
             .
          
        
         
           
             102.
             
          
           
             There
             stands
             in
             th'
             utmost
             limits
             of
             the
             East
          
           
             
               Of
               rich
               Salopia
            
             ,
             a
             
               Wood
               fair
            
             by
             Name
             ;
          
           
             Now
             (
             though
             't
             was
             once
             obscure
             and
             humbly
             blest
             )
          
           
             No
             place
             is
             Brighter
             with
             the
             Beams
             of
             Fame
             :
          
        
         
           
             103.
             
          
           
             Hard
             by
             ,
             a
             sacred
             and
             auspicious
             Pile
             ,
          
           
             
               White
               Ladies
            
             call'd
             ,
             did
             the
             poor
             King
             invite
          
           
             To
             Bread
             and
             Refuge
             (
             mighty
             gifts
             !
             )
             a
             while
             ,
          
           
             And
             here
             his
             growing
             Fate
             became
             more
             Bright
             .
          
        
         
           
             104.
             
          
           
             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
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             105.
             
          
           
             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
             .
          
        
         
           
             106.
             
          
           
             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
             .
          
        
         
           
             107.
             
          
           
             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
             ,
          
           
             He
             cuts
             his
             Hair
             ,
             of
             Friends
             sad
             leave
             he
             takes
             .
          
        
         
           
             108.
             
          
           
             Now
             he
             's
             a
             Monk
             ;
             soon
             after
             cruel
             Fate
          
           
             Not
             ev'n
             a
             House
             to
             cover
             him
             allows
             ;
          
           
             Then
             he
             's
             a
             Hermite
             ;
             in
             a
             wretched
             State
             ,
          
           
             Alone
             ,
             he
             hides
             among
             the
             shady
             Boughs
             ;
          
        
         
           
           
             109.
             
          
           
             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
             .
          
        
         
           
             110.
             
          
           
             Under
             a
             cruel
             Sky
             in
             Wind
             and
             Rain
             ,
          
           
             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
             ;
          
        
         
           
             111.
             
          
           
             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
             .
          
        
         
           
             112.
             
          
           
             Some
             body
             comes
             ,
             ye
             Gods
             ,
             preserve
             the
             King
             ;
          
           
             O
             all
             is
             well
             !
             the
             Gods
             to
             men
             are
             just
             ,
          
           
             No
             Traytor
             ,
             but
             a
             Royalist
             they
             bring
             ,
          
           
             The
             valiant
             Carlos
             ,
             faithful
             in
             his
             Trust
             ;
          
        
         
           
           
             113.
             
          
           
             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't
             !
          
        
         
           
             114.
             
          
           
             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
             ;
          
        
         
           
             115.
             
          
           
             What
             should
             they
             do
             ?
             They
             from
             the
             Danger
             ta
          
           
             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
             .
          
        
         
           
             116.
             
          
           
             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
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             117.
             
          
           
             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
             :
          
        
         
           
             118.
             
          
           
             Hail
             ,
             Heaven's
             
               Care
               ,
               and
               greatest
               now
               of
               Kings
               ,
            
          
           
             A
             horrid
             Croud
             of
             saddest
             Miseries
          
           
             From
             Thee
             no
             undecent
             Tears
             or
             Sorrow
             brings
             ,
          
           
             Or
             makes
             thy
             Reason
             Captive
             by
             Surprise
             .
          
        
         
           
             119.
             
          
           
             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
             .
          
        
         
           
             120.
             
          
           
             If
             Fortune
             did
             your
             Kingdom
             basely
             seize
             ,
          
           
             You
             Fortunes
             Kingdom
             from
             her
             Nobly
             gain
             .
          
           
             
               A
               Iust
               Revenger
            
             :
             she
             will
             now
             have
             Peace
          
           
             With
             him
             who
             conquer'd
             Triumphs
             do's
             obtain
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             121.
             
          
           
             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
             t'
             will
             shine
          
           
             Lighting
             with
             happy
             Stars
             the
             peaceful
             Earth
             .
          
        
         
           
             122.
             
          
           
             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.
             
          
        
         
           
             123.
             
          
           
             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
             Phoebus
             himself
             oppose
             .
          
        
         
           
             124.
             
          
           
             Now
             once
             again
             with
             wondrous
             Light
             adorn
          
           
             The
             Heavens
             ,
             rise
             at
             noon
             ,
             
               Auspicious
               Star
            
             ,
          
           
             Behold
             !
             your
             Royal
             Charles
             again
             is
             born
          
           
             To
             vital
             Life
             ,
             and
             to
             a
             pleasant
             Air.
             
          
        
         
           
           
             125.
             
          
           
             Behold
             !
             how
             gently
             
             Monck'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
             .
          
        
         
           
             126.
             
          
           
             Great
             generous
             Prince
             ,
             return
             to
             life
             again
             ,
          
           
             The
             beauteous
             golden
             May
             do's
             now
             arrive
          
           
             And
             your
             Birth-day
             ,
             so
             long
             desir'd
             in
             vain
             ;
          
           
             Live
             ,
             Generous
             Prince
             ;
             again
             ,
             Great
             Monarch
             ,
             Live.
             
          
        
         
           
             127.
             
          
           
             O
             Joyful
             ,
             Charming
             ,
             and
             Propitious
             Day
             !
          
           
             Triumph
             of
             conquering
             Peace
             !
             when
             you
             most
             blest
          
           
             
               Of
               Kings
               ,
               through
               London
            
             made
             your
             glorious
             Way
             ,
          
           
             Mids't
             of
             three
             great
             Heroic
             Brothers
             plac't
             ,
          
        
         
           
             128.
             
          
           
             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
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             129.
             
          
           
             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
             vent
             )
          
           
             In
             Whirlwinds
             drove
             ,
             should
             Forreign
             Lands
             surprize
             .
          
        
         
           
             130.
             
          
           
             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
             ,
          
        
         
           
             131.
             
          
           
             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
             .
          
        
         
           
             132.
             
          
           
             I
             omit
             the
             Peoples
             Banquets
             ,
             Songs
             and
             Sports
          
           
             Their
             boundless
             Laughter
             and
             their
             Tears
             to
             write
             ,
          
           
             For
             extreme
             Joy
             ,
             which
             not
             it self
             supports
             ,
          
           
             VVith
             Pleasure
             gently
             sheds
             Tears
             sweet
             and
             white
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             133.
             
          
           
             The
             Wines
             which
             from
             the
             Conduits
             freely
             run
          
           
             Why
             should
             I
             name
             ?
             Rivers
             themselves
             should
             pour
          
           
             (
             Since
             the
             true
             golden
             Age
             is
             now
             begun
             )
          
           
             God
             Wine
             ,
             far
             richer
             than
             Iove's
             golden
             Show'r
             .
          
        
         
           
             134.
             
          
           
             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
             ,
          
        
         
           
             135.
             
          
           
             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
             Iustice
             ,
             which
             did
             Britain
             long
             disclaim
             ,
          
        
         
           
             136.
             
          
           
             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
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             137.
             
          
           
             
               Great
               Mary
            
             comes
             after
             a
             Banishment
          
           
             In
             her
             own
             Country
             long
             and
             sad
             ,
             't
             is
             strange
             ;
          
           
             Love
             to
             her
             Husband
             was
             the
             Crime
             they
             mean't
             ,
          
           
             Now
             Heav'n
             do's
             Her
             reward
             ,
             and
             Him
             revenge
             .
          
        
         
           
             138.
             
          
           
             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
             ,
          
        
         
           
             139.
             
          
           
             Your
             Husband
             Charles
             alone
             they
             envy
             ,
             Heav'n
          
           
             Thinks
             him
             to
             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
             .
          
        
         
           
             140.
             
          
           
             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
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             141.
             
          
           
             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
            
             :
          
        
         
           
             142.
             
          
           
             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
             :
          
        
         
           
             143.
             
          
           
             He
             the
             Dejected
             raises
             and
             sustains
             ,
          
           
             Much
             sets
             ,
             and
             much
             extirpates
             ,
             all
             's
             redress't
             ,
          
           
             Vast
             is
             the
             Work
             ,
             but
             sweet
             ;
             for
             all
             his
             Pains
          
           
             By
             growing
             Beauties
             are
             repaid
             and
             blest
             .
          
        
         
           
             144.
             
          
           
             
               Great
               King
            
             ,
             your
             Gardens
             ,
             Towns
             and
             Cities
             are
             ,
          
           
             To
             these
             you
             good
             and
             artful
             Culture
             give
             ,
          
           
             All
             in
             fair
             Order
             you
             dispose
             with
             Care
             ,
          
           
             And
             ev'n
             the
             Woods
             your
             Favour
             too
             receive
             :
          
        
         
           
           
             145.
             
          
           
             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
             .
          
        
         
           
             146.
             
          
           
             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
             .
          
        
         
           
             147.
             
          
           
             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
             .
          
        
         
           
             148.
             
          
           
             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
          
           
             Your
             Britains
             ,
             then
             from
             night
             exempt
             ,
             shall
             lead
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             149.
             
          
           
             You
             shall
             the
             Watry
             World
             command
             ,
             the
             Mild
          
           
             And
             Quiet
             loose
             ,
             and
             bind
             the
             raging
             Sea
             ,
          
           
             By
             the
             whole
             World
             the
             
             Ocean's
             Neptune
             stil'd
             ,
          
           
             And
             your
             three
             Kingdoms
             shall
             your
             Trident
             be
             .
          
        
         
           
             150.
             
          
           
             What
             Madness
             is
             it
             ,
             Holland
             ,
             to
             contend
          
           
             With
             England
             for
             the
             Watry
             VVorld's
             Command
             ?
          
           
             That
             Scepter
             nature
             did
             to
             her
             commend
             ,
          
           
             In
             vain
             you
             strive
             to
             wrest
             it
             from
             her
             Hand
             .
          
        
         
           
             151.
             
          
           
             VVith
             VVaves
             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
             .
          
        
         
           
             152.
             
          
           
             Can
             you
             to
             th'
             Empire
             of
             the
             Sea
             pretend
          
           
             VVho
             scarce
             with
             artificial
             Banks
             resist
          
           
             Th'
             insulting
             Ocean's
             Fury
             ,
             and
             defend
          
           
             Your
             Towns
             ,
             with
             his
             continual
             Siege
             oppress
             't
             ?
          
        
         
           
           
             153.
             
          
           
             The
             High
             and
             
               Mighty
               Lords
               of
               Bogs
            
             and
             Fenns
          
           
             (
             See
             how
             Ambitions
             foolish
             Hopes
             aspire
             !
             )
          
           
             Would
             on
             the
             Sea
             impose
             ,
             but
             this
             Pretence
          
           
             The
             brave
             Carolides
             with
             Rage
             do's
             fire
             .
          
        
         
           
             154.
             
          
           
             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
          
           
             That
             you
             rejoyc't
             ,
             you
             to
             your
             Grief
             will
             know
             .
          
        
         
           
             155.
             
          
           
             No
             sooner
             did
             swift
             Fame
             the
             rumour
             raise
          
           
             But
             
               Valiant
               Iames
            
             to
             Sea
             the
             Navy
             led
             ,
          
           
             (
             Profuse
             of
             Life
             ,
             and
             only
             fond
             of
             Praise
             )
          
           
             With
             as
             much
             Hast
             as
             after
             Fight
             they
             fled
             .
          
        
         
           
             156.
             
          
           
             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
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             157.
             
          
           
             The
             foremost
             squadron
             with
             a
             prosperous
             gale
          
           
             Brave
             Rupert
             led
             ,
             (
             his
             Valour
             long
             had
             won
          
           
             Renown
             by
             Sea
             and
             Land
             )
             who
             did
             prevail
          
           
             And
             break
             the
             Naval
             Horns
             o'
             th'
             Belgic
             Moon
             .
          
        
         
           
             158.
             
          
           
             Strait
             Iames
             opposes
             to
             his
             trembling
             Foes
          
           
             The
             middle
             Squadron
             ,
             standing
             high
             in
             Sight
          
           
             I'
             th'
             
               Royal
               Charles
            
             ,
             a
             round
             his
             Head
             he
             throws
          
           
             His
             naked
             Sword
             ,
             and
             Opdam
             calls
             to
             Fight
             ;
          
        
         
           
             159.
             
          
           
             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
             .
          
        
         
           
             160.
             
          
           
             VVhy
             do
             you
             ,
             Opdam
             ,
             to
             your
             Ruin
             run
             ?
          
           
             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
             ?
          
        
         
           
           
             161.
             
          
           
             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
             .
          
        
         
           
             162.
             
          
           
             The
             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.
             
          
        
         
           
             163.
             
          
           
             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
             ;
          
        
         
           
             164.
             
          
           
             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
               .
            
          
        
         
           
           
             165.
             
          
           
             
               A
               Burning
               Shipwrack
            
             in
             the
             Sea
             do's
             float
             ,
          
           
             Terrible
             even
             to
             a
             pious
             Foe
             ,
          
           
             And
             to
             be
             pity'd
             ;
             but
             they
             can
             denote
          
           
             But
             little
             time
             to
             tender
             Pity
             now
             ;
          
        
         
           
             166.
             
          
           
             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
               Iames.
            
             
          
        
         
           
             167.
             
          
           
             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
             .
          
        
         
           
             168.
             
          
           
             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
             ;
          
        
         
           
           
             169.
             
          
           
             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
          
        
         
           
             170.
             
          
           
             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
             .
          
        
         
           
             171.
             
          
           
             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.
             
          
        
         
           
             172.
             
          
           
             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
             ;
          
        
         
           
           
             173.
             
          
           
             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
             :
          
        
         
           
             174.
             
          
           
             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
             ;
          
        
         
           
             175.
             
          
           
             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
             ?
          
        
         
           
             176.
             
          
           
             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
             ?
          
        
         
           
           
             137.
             
          
           
             With
             greater
             Vigour
             he
             the
             Foe
             pursues
          
           
             Burning
             with
             Grief
             and
             new-excited
             Rage
             ,
          
           
             At
             length
             the
             Dutch
             though
             truly
             brave
             ,
             refuse
          
           
             The
             English
             ,
             with
             just
             Fury
             fir'd
             ,
             to
             '
             engage
             .
          
        
         
           
             138.
             
          
           
             The
             broken
             Remnants
             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
             :
          
        
         
           FINIS
           .
        
      
    
     
       
         
           An
           Erratum
           .
        
         
           PAge
           the
           
           23d
           .
           For
           
             Sloaths
             Opium
          
           ,
           read
           
             Opium
             of
             Sloath.
          
           
        
      
    
  

