The heroick-lover, or, The infanta of Spain by George Cartwright ...

UPON Hells High-Commission Court, set to Judge the King. Ian. 1648.

JUst as I enter'd that Majestick Hall, Where Gog and M••gog, must be Judge and all, Upon the Person, of a King so good, His only fault was, he was not understood. Where to my view, the first thing did present (With such excess of sad astonishment) Just at the upper end, a scarlet Throne, Dy'd with the blood, of many a loyal one. Oh horrid▪ I cannot go no f••rther, Their intent is, his Majestie to m••rther.

UPON The horrid, and unheard of Murther, of CHARLES the First, King of England, Scotland, France and Ireland, the 30^th of Ianu. 1648.

WHy how now George? where is thy Muse become? Or is't thy sorrow▪ mak'st thee thus so dumb? Shall Heav'n, and Earth, the Death of Charles deplore, And thou as unconcern'd, not say no more? Or is the matter, of so high a strain, Thou can'st not reach it, with thy weaker brain? Then sigh it out, and with a lusty tear, Threaten a Flood, to this unlucky year: Insatiate men! insatiate did I say? Blood-thirsty men I meant, to take away The best of men, the best of Kings e're raign'd, VVho liv'd a life unspotted, and unstain'd. VVhose vertue was his fall: for had he bin, In love with any thing but like a sin, He had escaped, their Tyrannique Laws, 'Cause he'was bad, and for no other cause. But he was good, nay Goodness it self he was, And why they murther'd him, that was the cause▪

TO CHARLES the Second, King of England, Scotland, France and Ireland, upon his thrice happy return into England, after twelve years Banishment.

AS in a tedious Winter, ev'ry Plant, Seems dead, and out of life, and all for want Of the Suns presence; so Great Charles did we, Like dead men seem, and all for want of thee. But when the Winter's over, and the Sun, Returns again, to this our Horizon, How ev'ry thing revives, which we call Spring, Ev'n such is the return, of Charles our King! But Heav'n is kinder to these Plants below, 'Cause innocence, is all that they do know: Their Winter therefore, is but short to ours, We having had dayes, unto their howers: Which is no less a wonder that we live, Wanting so long that influence, that shoo'd give Us life, and vigour, lying in the Root, Which was grub'd up, 'cause we no more shoo'd shoot. But as it happens, oftentimes we see, In taking up of Roots, that there will be, An off-set, two, or three, left in the ground, Which by some skilful, honest hand, if found, And planted carefully, from thence may spring, Stock sufficient, as may from Charles our King. Which Heav'n we supplicate, that 〈◊〉〈◊〉 may raign, He, and his Off-spring, till Shilo com••s again.

UPON King CHARLES the Second, His Birth-day, and his happy return in May, 1660.

THrice happy day, and happy Moneth to be, Thus twice, so great a friend to Monarchi••. The very Moneth, that gave Great Charles his breath, Gave breath to us, redeeming us from Death. From Death said I? from dying ev'ry day, And yet to die, coo'd not find out the way. Grim Death compar'd, to what we suffer'd then, So great a kindness was, Those Tyrant-men Woo'd not allow us, but by little, and little, T'increase our pain, and so consume our mettle. This was th' Egyptian bondage, we lay under, Which made the Lord come in, with such a wonder: That, without one drop of blood, or one tear, Has re-inthron'd, our lawful Prince this year. So great a mercy, that we may deserve, From Heav'n, nor him, in du••y may we swerve.

TO MY Lord General MONCK, Upon his opportune coming into England.

THou great Restorer of our antient Laws, To whom we cannot give, too great applause: Ride on victorious, in thy great design, Gods real foes, and ours, to undermine. Where had we been by this time, hadst not thou, Just in the nick of time come in? I vow We had been lost, and utterly undone, And which is worse, Religion had been gone. But Heav'n be praised, for this happy change, Though to fanatique men, it seemeth strange. Well; do the rest, that we expect from thee, And second of this Kingdom, thou shalt be: Which will more honour be, unto thy name, So for to live, then die with dirty fame.

UPON The Death of the most Illustrious, and unparallel'd Prince, HENRY Duke of Glocester.

THou that hast been my Companion all my life, Leave me not now, I prethee in my grief. Leave me not now, in this great time of need, To help t'express the Cause that makes us bleed. No wonder that the Court, is now so sad, And that the Country everywhere is clad With Sighs and Tears, the cause thereof being known, Is able to dissolve the hardest stone. Hard Fate! you might have well forborn this spight, And not have rob'd us of so great a Light. A lesser might as well have serv'd your turn, But that you had a mind, to make us mourn; But that you had a mind, to make us grieve, And all our expectations, to deceive. For one, so young, so wise, was never known, So grave in carriage sure, but he alone. So sound in judgement, and so great a reach In State-affairs, the wisest he might teach. So humble too withall, so well did pla••e What e're he said, and spake with such a grace, He took his Hearers, with a double band, Of Love, and Reason, and so amaz'd, woo'd stand. This is our grief, our sorrow, and sad loss, Pray Heaven his Death, prove not to us a cross.

Upon the just Judgement, of His Majesties unjust JUDGES.

BUT now they're come to Judgement, Heav'n is just, And tho't be long, before he questions Dust, They shall not go unpunish't, for that thing, That horrid thing, of murthering their King. 'Tw••s bad enoug••, against the••r King to rise, But ten times worse, their King to sacrifise; But worst of all, under a shew of Zeal, To rob the Church, and spoyl the Common-weal: And so make God, the Author of their ill, Pretending 'twas his pleasure, and his will. Thus, how from sin, to sin, the Devil draws Ambitious spirits, to infringe Gods Laws; Still prompting them, from what is bad, to worse, Until they're fitted, for his heavy Curse. Mercy is an Attribute, it is true, VVhich properly to Heav'n, belongs unto: And he that shews it, shews himself like God, Yet God is said, to have an Iron Rod. VVhen he vouchsafes to pardon, 'tis to those Will never more offend him, which he knows: And yet some sins, he will not pardon neither, That 'gainst the Holy-Ghost, and Abels brother▪ Nor those that shall so eas'ly pardon those, That still continue, his obdurate foes. Blood requires blood, but oh! holy murther, Is that which Heav'n it self, will never smurther▪ Nor can we hope a blessing f••om above, So long as one alive, among us move.

UPON Her Majesties, the Queen MOTHER Return into England, in October, 1660.

GReat Queen of vertue, and of all that's good, VVho never yet was rightly understood: Can you the wrongs you have receiv'd, forget? You must be more then woman, to do it: Nay if such sins by you, can be fo giv'n, 'Tis more Great soul, then we can hope from Heav'n. And yet we've mo••e then hopes, you can and will, Or else in France, you woo'd have stayed still: And not have ventur'd, o're this Ocean more, But that you had a mind, to clear our score: And wipe away, all sorrow from our eyes, As fogs do vanish, when the Sun does rise. Great Star! which from th' East and by South dost come, How much are we engaged to thy womb! Thy fruitful womb, that with no little pain, Hast stockt our Iland, with no little gain. Three Princes, which the world so much admire, And we at last, with Reason do desire. Two Beauties too; they must not be forgot, VVhom Christendom admires, the like has not. Welcome Great Queen, welcome to our shore, I fear to make amends, we shall adore Your sacred Presence, since that ever since, We have been curst, that you were forced hence.

FINIS▪