his welcome home,
of all his loving Subiects in thanke∣fulnesse
to God for his Maiesties safe and
happie returne from Scotland,
By IOHN BOND, Cantabrid: Coll: St. Iohns.
London, Printed by F. L. for T. Bates, and F. Coules,
and are to be sold at their shops in the old Baily.
King Charles his
HAd I great Homer's sweet-Maeonian quill
Inspired from the double-fronted Hill
Of the thrice-three-Aganippa'an Nimphs,
Who guides the fancy with Nectarian Limphs
Of fluent eloquence, and Heroick lines:
Had I the pen of Maro, whose worth shines
bright in the lamp of Poetrie: had I
An Angels sweetnesse, and an Eagles ey
To view your Majestie: perhaps I might.
Respectively expresse the ioyfull sight
Of your returne: whose imperiall name
Is greater, then the barren Trumpe of Fame
Can farre enough proclaime with her shrill voyce;
In whom both men and Angels doe reioyce:
Or were my pen from Pegase-hoofe-borne spring
Distill'd; I might discribe thy welcome, King:
But stay retract that line, my Muse, for why?
Shoul'st thou presume upon his Maiestie
To gaze, least the bright splender of his name
Dazels the weaknesse of thy lines in shame.
(But as the Caesarian Parrat once did live)
To you great Charles my 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 I doe give.
Welcome thou Sun of glory, whose bright beames
Doe so illuminate those obscure dreames
Of adverse Fortune, unto which we were
Late incident, by our quotidian feare.
But the bright raies of your returne absolv'd
Vs from that passion, and sweelty dissolv'd
That cloud of feare into the glorious day
Of triumph: for unitly we may say,
That Sol's Heav'n-wandring steedes in their first light
And infancy of rising, (when the night
Had rob'd the earth of his bright lampe were not
More welcom to th'Pers'ans, who neere forgot
To worship his arising flames, then we
Triumph in your returned Maiestie:
Whose presence we adore, as a new Sun
Which in our Hemispheare most gloriously doe run.
Great Atlas of Religion, (whose rare brow
Embroydred with Religions branches, know—
The depth of wisedome) whose Maiesticke smile
Can reerect Religion, and defile
At once both Pope, and Antichrist, the Priests
Of Baall, Pontificians, Atheists
And the Hel-nourisht crew of Sectaries beside
Although puff'd up with the arrogant winde of pride
Yet know, great Charles, that by thy sacred frowne
They without question must all tumble downe.
Fountaine of peace! From thee doth daily spring
A concord, that doth decorate a King,
And most discreetly doth distill throughout
Three Kingdomes re-united round about.
Thou dost afford each subiect peace, and then
They like to rivers doe returne agen
To the great Ocean of their peace, and thus
Although thou dost diffuse to each of us
This blessing daily: yet we cannot see
The fountaine e're to be exhaust in Thee,
But rather more redundant, witnesse now
Thy care sollic'tous, when discreetly thou
Two Kingdomes did'st concatenate in one
Religious, firme, and sacred peace alone.
When as your ioyfull Subiects did revew
Your presence, how ev'ry one withdrew
Their former passion, and each single eye
Was so transfix't upon your Maiestie:
As if you were the Centur of their hope
Against the stratagems of th' wicked Pope.
For in your absence, (oh!) how ev'ry heart
Clog'd with great feare for you, did daily smart:
Here one did sigh, another there did weepe
He's heart did smart he's eye were drowned deepe
In the full streames of sorrow: this did pray
Both for your health and safety day by day:
Another prayes for your returne: and this
For your long life, that for your heav'nly blisse:
This feares, least our Religion should die,
That least we grow unto some Anarchie:
Thus you might see, great Monarch, that none were,
Idle in prayers, but all strucke with feare
In this your absence: till your blest returne
Did make our hearts in gladnesse more to burne
Then they in griefe oppressed were before
For now each man your presence doth adore.
Loe! what a concurse of thy subiects doe
Encompasse thee, as if they meant to woe
Your safe returne: this man's pleasant voyce
Doth Trumpet forth his ioy: that man reioyce
Rather in heart then words: anothers eye
Loaded with ioy, salutes your Maiestie.
The heads of others doe connive at you
The hands of others doe their triumph show:
Some doe frequent the Temple, and there praise
God for your safe returne, whose mortall Days
They wish were crown'd with immortality
That we on earth might to eternity
With the triumph: all people thou maist see
Thus cloath'd with ioy in their solemnitie.
Tis not the plots of th' Antichristian Pope
Can e're extenuate at once the hope
Which is impos'd in thee: whose splendent mind
Can all their owlish innovations blind.
Nor is it any Faction can oppose
Your peace-digested mind, or any foes
Disturbe your concord: let the Papists strive
In their Hel-forged plots, and let them drive
Their fury to the height of malice, while
We are protected under your blest smile.
So! let the wicked fume, and fome and fall
Starke-mad: still snarling in their frothy gall
Of tainted envie: Let them like the waves
Precipitate their mallice to their graves,
Well! Let them snarle like murmuring rivers, than
Rising, and rising to an Ocean:
Then swell into a Deluge, till they hide
The tops of Mountaines in their teeming pride;
Thou Charles shalt stand like Noahs Arke secure
Above those waves, and firmly shalt endure
While the tumultuous Billowes under Thee
Doe rage, and seeke their owne dire Destinie;
With Thee above the waves thou shalt protect
The Sonnes and daughters of th' Religious sect
And sacred Truth, whose ever-pious way
Vnder thy Tutele never shall decay.
Oh! how shall we expresse our flowing ioy
For thy returne, which griefe cannot annoy.
Yea ev'n the very City walles would come
And leave their seates, Thee now to welcome home
If nature did not them oppose: behold
The earth whereon thou treadest, doth unfold
Her barrennesse, and in those steps, whereon
Your sacred Maiestie hath lately gon
Least late posteritie should never heare
Of thy blest iourney) it doth now appeare
How the lacivious grasse doe forthwith strive
Which first should be emergent, and so live
Sprung up in honour of your blessed fame,
And be a monument to your great name.
Flora did emulate with her selfe, and trie
How to excell the sweet solemnitie
Of her best odours, whilst all then agreed
To concurre all in one, striving t' exceed
Her wouted-repercussive smell: That done
Abstracted all her beauty then in one,
Thus charm'd her flowers whose sweet benignitie
Ioyn'd in one faire Aspect doe welcome thee.
Ceres have dressed the corne-loaded earth
Against your comming, to produce a birth
Of heav'n-created ioy: and as 'tis seene
Did sweepe the earth's most fruitfull treasure cleane;
Into her swelling barnes: and thus made roome
For your blest Maiesties returning home:
The Earth she emptied, Thee t' entertaine:
Which otherwise she knew, could not contaiue
Your Alexandrian person. Me thinks I see
Wine-swelling Bacchus striving how to bee
Ambitiously your servant, who present
His pearlie coul'red grapes, all which he meant
To ripen only for your sake: Thus he
To you commends them with humilitie.
Bright Phaebus doth his rad'ant beames display
And with his great lustre guild this day:
And thinkes it great ambition to distend
His rayes transluent, which he now did lend
To you more then accustom'd light: while he
Will doe more service to your Maiestie
With his foure steeds: Then he who did farre worse
And gave your Maiestie an hundred horse.
While you and he shine both, none can define
Which is his splendor, Charles, or which is thine.
Puffe-mouthed Aeolus retract his winds
Which do tumultuously rage and findes
That the calme Zephyrus of your sweet breath
Doth pacifie their rage, which threatens death
And that your smile can keepe distraction back
That wallow with discention to their rack.
smiles at your returne, and he doth see
There his owne person in your Majestie.
Facetious Mercury's lodg'd in you tounge;
At your bright eyes doth Cupid without wronge
Warme his Caelestiall wings: and in your braine
Mellifluous Pallace doth discreetly raigne.
Thus all the Gods and Goddesses doe ioy
In your returne and call you their Vice-roy.
Loe! Constancie doth decorate your face
And true Religion sacredly doe grace
Your heav'nly mind: And in your better part
Firme faith is crowned in your pious heart.
But why doe I ennumerate (alas!)
Your vertues, which doe farre transcend, and passe
The intellect of man's capacity:
Which, one may sooner number in the sky
Each starre; or else distinguish everysand
Within the Ocean's shore, or in the Land
Each herbe; then he which can discribe in Thee
Each Charactar of your Divintiy
The Starres of honour in thee doe so shine
That thou art nothing earthly; but divine.
Which doe so meet in thee with variation
That they doe make a perfect constellation:
Which were they obvious but to every ey
Each severall Art would trune Astronomie:
Our Parliaments adjourn'd: and then we were
(Had you not come) subjected beene to feare
But since such vertues doe concurre in one
We have a Parliament in Thee alone.
Well! Live O King, for ever live I say
Live prosperously, and that beyond Doomes Day.
And although all other Poets doereply
A Vale in their Epilogue, yet I
In stead of Vale will presume t'allude
And with a Salve, Charles, to you conclude.