A collection of 86 loyal poems all of them written upon the two late plots viz, the horrid Salamanca plot in 1687, and the present fanatical conspiracy in 1683 : to which is added, advice to the carver : written on the death of the late L. Stafford : with several poems on their majesties coronation, never before published / collected by N.T.

Funeral Tears to the Sacred Memory of our late Soveraign King CHARLES the Second.

THe Noon-day Star, that once out-fac'd the Sun, Charles his bright Phosphor, has its period ••un: And resting Charles, with more six'd Glories crown'd, Has past his mighty finish'd Circle roun••. All th' untired race of Prodigies, the late Continued shame of this Stupendious sate, Which once his Restoration Lawrels bore; Those never-sleeping Pores, now move no more. Myriads of Gardian Angels all disband; And Wonders wait no more on his Right Hand. Whilst Truth invincible, unbyast Right, Goodness unbounded, Mercy Infinite; Honour Unsullyed; All the brightest Train Of Ministring Graces t' his Illustrious Raign, Their Royal Robes to Funeral Sables turn All Mourners o're their Sacred Masters Urn: But'midst the Tears our streaming Sorrows pour Three Wailing Kingdoms in one Loyal Show•• How feebly does our Voice of Mourning sound, Whilst Royal Eyes in deeper Griefs lie drown'd

No Heart like James with killing Loads o're prest Kindest of Brothers and of Friends the best. So sad the pangs of parting Friendship prove, Immoderate C••ief, and ever burning Love R••••d His Great Soul, and their keen passage sorce. Methink•• I see Him at the Dire Divorce; Whilst the Gr•••••• James like Great Telesia stands, With 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Cryes, and with up-lifted Hands, With rended Garments, and a flowing Show•• Of bitt▪ rest Tears deplores the dismal Hour. Till from above behold the grining Sky; The Fiery Steeds, and Flaming Chariot fly. Th' Ascending Saint, 'midst shouting Angels round, With purer Joys, & brighter Diadems Crown'd. Here with sad Tyes he took His last Farewell. And grasp'd the Wondrous Mantle as it fell. With Prime Transmigrating Glories sir'd, Fill'd with the Mounting God, with the whole Charles inspir'd.

O Mighty Charles, what have not only We Three Kingdoms but even Empire lost in Thee? Founder of Monarchy, for Thou alone ••••ood'••t the unshaken Bulwark of the Throne. When the old Storm yawn'd for th' Imperial wrack, Th•• Hand ••••one beat the sierce Torrent back: ••••ction & 〈◊〉〈◊〉 by Thy strong Arm o'rethrown Whil•••• •• 〈◊〉〈◊〉 World was Thy great work alone.

Glory and Peace but in Thy Sun-beams play, Whilst thou'rt the God of our long Halcyon day. The Old Fanatick Fiend, so late before Drunk with a Martyr'd Monarchs Purple Gore. Whilst with th' Old Poyson, and th' Old Rage he stood. All Thirsting for new Draughts of Royal Blood, The Crowns long Foe, and Blackest Imp of Hell, His Sting just Fastning, Thou alone couldst quell. Thy Book of Fame with this last Glory fill'd: What shall Great James on thy Foundations build? Strike Royal Heir, th' half Conquer'd Serpent dead, Charles bruis'd his Teeth, and Thou shalt crush his Head.

Peace, Ʋnion, Concord, all so well begun; Tho' Thou, Great Charles, thy Race like Moses run; Thy People led by Thy Miraculous Hand To th' Milk and Honey of a Blessed Land; Call'd hence too soon by the Almighty Voice: Saw'st but the Borders of the Promis'd Joys: That God-like Joshua sills Thy Royal Seat, Who Thy unfinish'd Wonders shall compleat.

Translated Saint, now thy ••ull Honours seize Blest with thy own Eternal Handmaid, Peace Around thy Head Immortal Honours play, Brighter thy own Restoration Day,

Like thy own Mercy soft be thy Repose; Whilst on thy Brow that Perfum'd Fragrance flows, Sweeter than the Odours even of that Rich Fame That shall Embalm Thy Everlasting Name.