Songs and poems of love and drollery by T.W.

The Isle of MAN.

FRom England, Scotland, Wales and Ireland, By equal Leagues divided there doth stand An Isle in circuit not so great as fame, To elder times known by Eubonia's name.

The Soil is not luxuriant nor ingrate, Being neither Natures fondness nor her hate: The Sugar canes, the Vine and Fig-tree there No Natives are, nor strangers; but what e're To sport mans nicer appetite is scant, Comes there the price of what he cannot want; Few ages since he that chief Rule did hold, Was thence a King: the same power, but less bold, In Title, whilst twelve Monarchs raign'd, Hath in the Noble Stanlies blood remain'd. But under none hath it enjoy'd a bliss More eminent then it does under this, Whose prudent care preserves it from the stain Of foul Rebellion 'gainst its Soveraign.

And as in Swounings, life, when it is gone From all parts else, stayes in the heart alone:

So in this place, which, if to our Kings sway You'l Members give, for its fit site, best may Express the heart; still breathing you may see All that's alive of his great Monarchy.

And though this Isle appear but as a Star Of the least magnitude 'mongst those that are In Charles his constellation, yet doth shee Keep motion stil in due conformity To th' Primum Mobile, nor is at all Seduc'd or forc'd by the Eccentrical Circumvolutions of the rest, but now Doth thence more regular and constant grow.

Just so a vigorous heat that closely is Besieg'd by an Antiparistasis Of hostile cold, conformes not to the same, But still growes more it self, and turnes to flame; Nor hath the King alone his old and due Observance here, but ev'n the Kings King too. Religious duties; which in other Lands Are cast by th' wanton strife of tongues and hands In new prodigious moulds, do in this place Retain their Prim'tive comeliness and Grace; Temples are Houses here (and they alone) Of publike Worship and Devotion, And such at the Altar wait as are endu'd With Science, and are call'd to't, not intrude.

So that sound Doctrine, clad in a rich sense Flowes from their Pulpits, which with Reverence The people heard, and to this giving due Respect, a thousand blessings more ensue.

The Husbandman buryes his seed 'th'out fear O'th'Sequestrators sickle, nor does e're Doubt who shall share the Flock, or milk the Kine He fosters, or shall eat the fruit of's Vine: (For though that Plant springs not in this cold clay, Yet where so fat a Peace dwels, we may say, (With Reverence to the Sacred Page) that now Grapes upon thornes, and figs on thistles grow.) Wives moan not their fled Husbands, who t'eschew Their enemies, forsake their best friends too: Their pregnant wombs by Times due Midwifry, Not by affrights or griefs, disburdned be, And their maturer Issues there escape The barbarous Souldiers sword and Lustfull rape.

But that which doth most happiness afford, Is the lov'd presence of their noble Lord And Lady, not more eminent in blood Then Vertue, and their Pledges fair and good. That spot, alas, is now their whole estate, Which was but an Appendix to't of late; Swelling great Derby's Title, more then's Rent. But 'twas by Providence that he was sent

From's Richer Territories, there to be The refuge of distressed Loyalty, Where now the good he doth with what remains, Comforts th'unequal losses he sustains: His sufferings he surveyes, as they express His Loyalty, not his unhappiness.

And may not they nor th'time be long till's eyes See his good deeds, his wrongs, and enemies Fully requited; and in the intrim May this small part of his Kings sway, by him Be still preserv'd, as it is now, in fit Obedience, till the rest conform to it.