Monumentum Regale or a tombe, erected for that incomparable and glorious monarch, Charles the First, King of Great Britane, France and Ireland, &c. In select elegies, epitaphs, and poems.

EPITAPH.

BEhold the Mirror of a Prince Pourtraid! The living Emblem of glorious shade. Whose Chair of State was late a Scaffold made.

One, then whom never any did professe More Zeal to th' Publique, and received lesse; Of more desert, and brought to more distresse.

That reall lustre to our Royall Garter; That late inlarger of our Cities Charter; Whose Crown the Crime that made this Monarch-Martyr!

Adien Dear Prince; Death, like a loving friend Hath Crown'd thy sufferings with a peacefull end, While headlesse we our ruine must attend.

Nor can we lesse expect, Judgement's at hand To scourge the follies of a sinfull Land▪ "What Brightman wrote we would not understand.

"From th' fatall period of a Charlemain, "Wain should a Kingdom in her Charles-wain: "But Prayers nor tears might call him back again.

"Lords should resign their Patents to the Sword, "Lurdane should equall any English Lord. O brave Platonick Levell! Martiall Boord!

CHRONOSTICHON Decollationis CAROLI Regis, &c. tricessimo die Januarii, secunda hora Pomeridiana, Anno Dom. MDCXLVIII.

Ter Deno IanI Labens ReX SoLe CaDente CaroLVs eXVtVs SoLIo SCeptroqVe SeCVre.

CHARLES!—ah forbear, forbear! lest Mortals prize His name too dearly; and Idolatrize. His Name! Our Losse! Thrice cursed and forlorn Be that Black Night, which usher'd in this Morn.

CHARLES our Dread-Soveraign!—hold! lest Out-law'd Sense Bribe, and seduce tame Reason to dispense With those Celestial Powers; and distrust Heav'n can Behold such Treason, and prove Just.

CHARLES our Dread-Sveraign's murther'd!—Tremble! and View what Convulsions Shoulder-shake this Land, Court, Citty, Country, nay three Kingdoms run To their last stage, and Set with Him their Sun.

CHARLES our Dread-Soveraign's murther'd at His Gate! Fell Feinds! dire Hydra's of a Stiff-neck't-State! Strange Body-Politick! whose Members spread, And, Monster-like, swell bigger then their HEAD.

CHARLES of Great Britain! Hee! who was the known King of three Realms, lie's murther'd in his Own. Hee! Hee! who liv'd, and Faith's Defender stood, Die'd here to re-Baptize it in His Blood.

No more, no more. Fame's Trumpe shall Eccho all The Rest in dreadfull Thunder. Such a Fall Great Christendomene're Pattern'd; and 'twas strange Earth's Center reel'd not as this dismal Change.

The Blow struck Britain blind, each well-set Limbe By Dislocation was lop't off in HIM. And though Shee yet live's, Shee live's but to condole Three Bleeding Bodies left without a Soul.

RELIGION put's on Black. Sad LOYALTY Bulshe's and Mourn's to see bright-Majesty Butcher'd by such Assassinates; nay both 'Gainst GOD, 'gainst LAW, ALLEGIANCE, and their OATH.

Farewell sad Isle! Farewell! Thy fatal Glory Is Summ'd, Cast up, and Cancell'd in this Story.

AN ELEGIE On

• ...The Meekest of Men,
• ...The most glorious of Princes,
• ...The most Constant of Martyrs,

CHARLES the I. &c.

Most cruell Men,

CAn you a winged souls swift flight restrain, and lure her to her widowed home again? Or bound the wanderings of the floating blood? And to his purple channell charm his flood? Can you a gasping hearts faln heat repair, And into breath coyne the unfashion'd ayer? Can you unweave the Nerves, then twist their thred And to th'unravell'd corps re-fit the head?

Who can doe lesse then this, should feare to kill: Best pulling down is by a Builder still. But coole debates you can embrace no more Then Cesars Lion, who his Teacher tore.

From meaner gore, and Subjects courser flood, Your curious Treason thirsts your Princes blood: And flesht in under-slaughter, boldly brings Rais'd appetite to diet on your Kings.

No Epicure like thriving Murder's found: Her Stream tasts foul, unles her Spring be crown'd. But though who Thrones and Majesty betray, As largest guilt, so reap the largest prey, And sage projecting Hell her snares might fear, But that she bids, high pay, and damnes some dear: Yet few have levell'd at a Princes fall, But such whose claim did for succession call: Whose bordering title tyr'd to be kept down, Cast trains lesse for his ruine, then his Crown. But here the desperate Rebell strikes at sway, Not for who shall succeed, but that none may: Deeming the crimelesse daring, of lesse hight To ravish Scepters, then to break them quite: As if an ampler beam of pow'r were hurl'd To hatch a Chaos, then create a world.

No shie concealment leads this murder in; That were too much the Modesty of sin,

No closet-ambush, unsuspected pill, No mingled cup, no secret drug must kill, Successe hath rais'd them up to opner crimes, Rolfe was an Instrument for doubtfull times. A mock Tribunal's built, a pageant Court, Which but for matchlesse crimes, might passe for sport, So frail and lawlesse; Faith hath no defence To credit, 'tis at all but insolence. No fond Romance, no fam'd Arcadia treats, Of such Eutopian, frantick Judgement Seats: At whose dire black decrees, we wondering stand, As some pale Ghoasts dim taper, and cold hand Did waftus through the shades, untill he brings

Where Fairie Traytors murder aery Kings: While slumbring we invoke the mornings light; To chase the Legend-vision from our sight.

High in this dream, in this phantastick Bench, Bold apparition Bradshaw doth intrench. One whom the genuine Bar did seldome see, Whose obscure tongue scarce boasts a seven years Fee. Whose Lungs are all his Law, whose pleading noise And silence, dearer then discreeter voice. Whose conscience wears a face for every dresse; Religion justifies the Savages. Faction'd, and byas'd, for who gives most fair, Camelion through, onely not hir'd with Aire. Whose insolence no presence can relaxe, Whose carriage wounds his King worse then the Axe.

This needy Oratour, now richer drest, And higher plac'd, is Image still at best: VVho though from hell, he his glib dictates hold, As Satan talk't i'th' Idols tongues of old; Yet the close drift of this bright pomp and shrine, Is nor the Devill, nor He, but worse design.

The Ephesian work-men great Diana made, Not for Diana's sake, but their own trade. Our Soveraigns sighs, the Peoples louder groan Is not black Incense burnt to Bell alone; But strow their Altars round, and we shall meet An undistinguisht rapines numerous feet.

The Bloudy Rebells conscious of their slain, Like the first murderer, the guilty Cain. Though just Remorse lookes nobler then offence, Prefer continuance to penitence.

VVeigh crimes gainst mercies, down the Balance bear, Much with their sins, but most with their despair. Their own pale fears arm to this desperate thrust, their King can pardon, but they cannot trust.

The haughty Tygers dare the Lyons spight, And force bold inrodes through their Soveraigns right; But if retireing from incroaching pride, They make their proper confines bound their tide: A faithfull truce is struck, peace shuts in warres, And fresh assurance springs ev'n from their jarres; One equall desert shrowds their pastime still, And each intrust their slumbers to one hill.

But jealous guilt, nor fence, nor safety hath: A Rebell is a Tiger without faith. But though stung conscience presse to be secure, And would be wary when she can't be sure; Yet oft she most encounters what she flies, And all her ruine in her Refuge lies. For had their Foes conspir'd, and fram'd a pit. Whose train, whose deepest artifice should hit: They none so speeding, none so fleet could bring, As what themselves have shap'd, their slaughter'd King.

By this, they naked lie to weakest eyes, And quit their ablest guard, their long disguise; Whose strength like mens in ambush, still hath been Not frō their strength, but cause their strength's un∣seen.

Whō shal they combat now in's own defence, And whom bring home onely by driving hence? Whom shall they disobey to serve his will? Whom shall their Canon court, and humbly kill? Whose omnipresence space shall reconcile;

Be here, and yet be hence a hundred mile? Whose doubtfull seal shall, while it is betwain, And burnt from phenix cinders bud again?

They, whose thick vows, exalted hearts and eyes, High as the skies, and stable as the skies; Who know their lives are frail, short recompence, And cheap oblation weigh'd with conscience: Will now no longer gorge their venomous pils, Nor by elusions steer enlightned wils; Nor prize the shame of finding former sin At the sad rate of wading farther in. But haste returns as vigorous as mistake, And hate the gastly dream the more they wake: No longer brook a Tyler or a Cade, Those Dung-hill Tyrants whom themselves have made: Which like dire comets mounted in the aire, Rain plagues on earth, whose vapours plac't them there.

They find this hot impatience 'gainst the throne, Is by its embers but to light their own. Like him, who rais'd his Gods adored head, To make his own blaspheme it in the stead.

Hence their Agreement, chains and shackles throws As not what we Agree, but they impose; Gilding the peircing'st flames with specious smoak, Glossing in our consent, which is their yoak.

Were their dark arts soft as their glistering shews, Did their throng'd chapplets scatter nought but Rose: Did they a Freedome give, was ours before, Which the Kings slaughter were but to restore, Yet the Acceptance ought to prove ours still, And none obtrude a blisse against our will:

'Tis not a Liberty we needs must have, And he is onely free, who may be slave.

Nay, were't our keen request, and eager cry, It might so fall, 'twere nobler to deny; Their bounty, us might to our ruine arm, And better not bestow, then give to harm: Who weapons one, who seeks himself to kill, Bestows a murder, and a Liberall Ill.

And such is theirs, and worse, for they afford. Not onely means to kill, but prompt the Sword. Mens phrensie bated now, and could endure To hear of physick, though 'twere far from cure; When cruell they break in, and crying, save, Intombe the Nation in their Soveraigns grave.

The Heathen Brutus did at murder stay, Who, though he durst eject, he durst not slay: His bare deposing too, no shelter brings, But that it fastned on the worst of Kings: The Publick curse had blasted all his praise, Had his attempt been up ere Tarquins dayes.

Where shall they build their plea, who at once do Destroy the best of Men, and Princes too? Whose rooted Thrones fair growth did lesse improve From clear unenvied claim, then Subjects love, Whose boundlesse worth, and rate had given Him sway, Though His descent and title were away.

And now, since virtue vice doth best descrie, As straight shews straightnesse and obliquity; His prudent sway, her beauty best affords, Drawn out, and shadowed by usurping Lords. Whose early first decree so loath'd hath stood,

By framers guilt, and injur'd Straffords Blood. Who suppled Laws, and gag'd them to their wills, Not to support their Rights, but strengthen Ills. No resolves steady, no vote tumult strong, But ratified, or cancell'd by th' next throng: Such floating levities their coin disgrac't, Till cheap irreverence the mint defac't. Whence poorly conscious of their ticklish sway, They sweat to husband and improve their day; Working to steer their low designs about, Ere the next Faction shake their title out: They lease their interest, each suffrage rent, As the two Houses were their Tenement: Who chaffers best, buyes mercenary throats, Reaps plenteous harvest in the next dayes votes: They shear the People, bear their fleece away, Not as their Orphan-wards, but happier prey; Place and preferments passe their market-curse, Not to the worthiest men, but strongest purse Succeed by families, relations scale, Make Patriots not our choice, but their Intail Desert, or hold their stations with the Tide: Ruine, or ruined, as Factions side. Nere acting right, now suffering this alone, Their Ʋsurpation fell with CHARLES His Throne.

Who Antidote to all the ills of these, And all their poisons strict Antipodes, Who when his crowns soar'd highest, did ev'n then Remember still he was a King of men, Made their advantage to compasse to his own, And rankt their freedome equall with his throne.

Ne'r checkt their Liberty till't license stood, Nor askt their goods, but for their greater good. Who i'th'loud prejudice five Members sin, (Which hung Reforming out, but Ruine in) Arm'd with the Guards of unoffended State, Like one that would not crush it, but debate: Like Titus tamely wish'd confederates leave, Ask (bate his Empire) and they should receive, Which fertile showres of grace so thick exprest, They fell too weighty on their narrowed breast: And as the clamorous channells shallow wombe VVould force the bounteous Sea her streams resume And from his banks doth foul contractions take, And for a Chrystal-flood re-payes a Lake: So their unsound receipt his bounty slew, Return'd in Poyson, what He shed in Dew.

Nor did a happier arm His gifts dispence, VVhich private threw but vast munificence: VVhen hands Himself had rais'd would reach Him down, And nerves His Alms had strengthned, shake His Crown. The Vultur's Rapine doth at Bounty stand; VVho though she gorge the prey, she spares the hand, The Gyant Elephant obeyes for bread; And can forgo his rage where he is fed.

VVhere shall unthankfull men for place intrude? Nor Aire nor Desert shrowds Ingratitude. Yet as the equall Sun ore all doth tend, Though some use light onely to see t'offend: And both the barren Bramble and the Flow'r Partake the juice o'th'undistinguisht showr: Because the teeming Clouds descending flood

Designes the many onely, not the good: So His impartiall bountie Blessings threw, Nor did the Recompence, but Gift persue.

His Temperance might an Anchorite, rigour tell▪ And make the Pallace Standard to the Cell. Not that its Laws from the thin board proceed, VVhere to abstaine is Avarice or Nèed; Or that the coursenesse of the Cates might please, Like the great Consull caught a parching pease, But from the strict chastising Plenties wings, And the severest use of highest things. His Table grasp'd the seas, the earth, the aire. Yet ne'r His surfet was, nor others snare. His Bowels massacred none, nor did in inrage, Till Subjects blood the Princes wine asswage. No Orphans swam about his riotous cup, Like his who kill'd, but first dranke Clytus up,

Unbatter'd Chastity his reines and law, Firme 'gainst the lustre of all threating thaw, Which though it want the checks of mean restraint, Where charge chills sin, and makes the goatish faint; VVhere Continence is dread lest Vice succeed, And trembles at the issue, not the deed: Nay though't seem fortfy'd with plea, and they VVho sin with Him, might seeme but to obey, At least the guilt might large allayes indure, Since few deny where Scepters doe allure: Or stand the vigour of a storme or rape, VVhere He was King, as by descent, so shape: For He their title had to back his owne, VVho to the goodly feature give the throne.

Yet all was fraile to Him, and soone supprest, VVho set His Scepter first ore his owne breast: And that His Crowns be in full square combin'd, He made His fourth Dominion be His mind.

Not like that Romans ch••st, but timerous care, VVhere to be chast, was not to see the faire: VVho found his breast not proof against the flames, But to escape, did bid remove the Dames. But as firme-sighted Eagles range the skies, And eye the Sun when stro••gest lustre flies; So His keene manag'd view severely sees, Not frailty to corrupt, but Judge the piece. And could i'th' dazeling round securely stay, To blesse the potter, not abuse the clay.

Wise Iustice, such as mercy might dispence, To spare the Men, but punish the offence. Not to indanger Law, but temper doome, To kill despair, and yet make none presume.

And here to match the births of strictest wills. Where naked virtues are but glistering ills, He layes His ballance at the Temple gates, The Sanctuary Shekles are His weights. He quarters all His day with constant prayers, No businesse shall dispence, no pleasure dares. Limnes Copies to His Court: doth rein and hold By Constancie the carelesse, Zeal the cold. His intent thoughts do their perplext decry, His bent knees, stiffe, His fixt, the wandring eye. Humble, the arrogant; His vigorous, dead; His awe, irreverence; affiance, dread: Makes all His practice dictate this alone,

They had two Kings t'obey, Himself had one.

But Calm and Sun-shine, undistracted ease, Yeeld but the Trophies of well-order'd peace; But He was furnisht through, and had a stock, As for Fates fawn and courtship, so their shock.

And though some c••ses make the task as great To manage temper, as to master heat, Though a sound prudence may deserve as well, To wave assaults, as courage to repell; Yet, here the generous lustre justly springs, Lesse from the Scepter, then the Sufferings. For as the rage of these tempestuous times VVas His Misfortune onely, not His crimes, ('Lesse Socrates the Lightnings blame must bear, Because it Lightned when he took the Aire: Or 'lesse the drought lies still at th' Christians gate, 'Cause Drought and Christians were contemporate) So His harsh draught had some ingredients mixt, VVhich ne'r on Prince or Man till now were fixt. No Agonie so temper'd, no such Cup, Unlesse when God help'd Man to drink it up. VVhere though the sufferings, rival none endure, 'Cause one so sound receiv'd so sharp a cure; Yet we may safely give Perswasion this, Those Jews then these lesse knew they did amisse. His first affliction from rude Tumults came, From them the fuell, but elsewhere the flame, Their trunk and boughs build the instructed pile, But worse men light and fan the flames the while.

That waves and winds should mix united stocks To bruise, and threaten Ships with shelves & rocks,

Provokes our wonder lesse then moves our grief, Because they want the sense of our relief. Nay, were their rage, design, and ship-wracks, spleen, Yet there might clear pretence, and plea be seen, Since our incroachments they but pay with spight, And do but check usurpers of their right: For words we to commerce and traffick melt, By them is inrode and invasion felt. But should this sea, these winds conduct their threats, To th' awfull palace, where great Neptune sets, Should their swell'd surge make his bent Trident grone, And dash their foaming billows 'gainst his Throne: Then might they pattern us, then we might see, That winds and waves at least are wild as we.

Nor was our phrensie, fit, our uproares, blasts, Or cloud that outs not light, but overcasts; But, like that fatall inauspicious day, When all the lesse and larger birds of prey, Conspir'd to force the Eagle from her throne, Because her eyes were clearer then their own: When the vast aire seem'd to th' throng'd muster scant And with oppressing load the Element pant. The injur'd Eagle girt in this distresse, When reason nothing could, and force could lesse, She arms her active plumes with swiftest spring, Darts through their ranks, & saves her self by wing.

But Eagles they are well when freed from rape, And need no reparation but th' escape: Re-view the sun with undishonourd eye, And build again their towring nests as high.

But Princes scape not, though they are not slain. They may the wound, but cannot flie the stain.

Yet hath our mischief father arts, and can Distresse Him both at once, as King and Man. Our sharp alarmes forbid his shortest stay, He may advise for gone, but not which way. We set His maz'd resolves at gaze, and start, Else t'were not to drive hence, but bid Depart. Else had our fury lessen'd of its spight, W' had forc▪d Him to a progresse, not a flight. But like a pilot huddled up i'th' dark, Himself surpris'd, and His unfurnish't bark, Whom unexpected tempests do constrain, And from His harbour drive into the main: No tackle tight, no anchor weather proof, But waves invade below, and winds aloof; Distract and tost, not bound for any road, Nor can return, nor can hold out abroad. Such was His mixt distresse; how, what, or where, Uncertain all, but dangers certain were.

By this self-pregnant sin improves to th' full. Affront at London, Treason growes at Hull: A bold repulse succeeds perplext abode, Despis'd at home, thrives to refus'd abroad: Place tutors Place, on Cities Cities call, He may not here be safe, not there at all. When loe the spreading mischief not content To force up breaches in one element, Invades His Navy, doth insulting stand O're the joynt Trophees both of Sea and Land.

To gild this rapine for the vulgar eyes, They chase Him through all His capacities; Shift lights and distances, untill they see Another self in Him, which is not He. Vex stills, and Crucibles, the furnace ply, To sift and drain a Chymick Majesty. At last their carefull sweats auspicious how'r, Drops Him apart, distinguish't from His pow'r.

But the afflicted quill, whose penance lies Through all His thorns, must stories martyr rise: What hardy plume dares register His cares? When forraign close, to sow'r His home affaires; When Ireland charitable fame untells, Adopts the vvorst of ven'mous beasts; Rebells. When Edenburg out-villain'd Carthage hath, And Scotch more slippery proves then Punick Faith, When they can trade their King, and beat a price For's Bloud, to ingrain their crimson Avarice. Whilst we un-king His Fame, dethrone's repute Word our artillery, and libells shoot. Shift His restraints, and bound him with new hedge, Not for enlargement, but fresh pawn and pledge To now prevailing Gaol; snare Him with Shapes Of neerer ills, to prompt him to escapes. So the close practis'd foulers treacherous gin, Already seiz'd of prey, the lost bird in; Yet hath attendant dogs, whose disciplin'd throat, And busie roavings aid their threatning note; Till th' feather'd pris'ner scar'd with mixt mishap, Un-skill'd i'th' guil of the industrious trap,

Struggles and flings with unsuccessefull coyl, Till motion weaves inevitable toyl.

When varied bondages some beames afford, To checker plots, dissembling some accord; Which though smooth-phras'd rough sense doth still controul T' un-crown his head, or else un-king His soul.

When all of Meniall trust, whose cares expence Hearty with long experienc'd confidence, Pay'd diligent homage to his justest will, Must see their desolate ranks, and courses fill By rough unpractis'd home-spun Colonies Of Russet Courtiers, and instructed spies, VVhose treacherous attendance, and slie drift, Makes all their servi••e but Officious shrift. VVhen the pure Altars sacred sons must flee His reverent approach, when single He Must both His Priest, and Congregation stand, Or some rash Korahs foul unhallowed hand Corrupt His virgin gums, and raise a smoak, Not to appease His deity, but choak.

VVhen the revolted C••ssocks plum their darts, VVith crooked Sophistry's perverted arts: To reason down His faith with studied pow'r, And drown His soul in that confederate show'r.

To heighten these, when some, whose nobler name In His declining Banner arms their fame; VVhom yet ignoble envy bent awry, Or Faint Devotion, cool'd to Indifferencie, Conspir'd the Churches battery; His weights,

Took ballance from her cause, not from their hates; He pois'd thin calumny, by ponderous good; Her sole, and yet unconquer'd champion stood.

VVhen warmer onsets, like the searching ploughs, More fertile wounds on natures yielding brows: VVere not the scar, but tillage of his heart, Cares thriving husbandry, and fruitfull smart, VVhere what was sown a Crosse, sprung upon a sheaf, And Virtue, Harvest, though the Furrow grief. His glorious own Record gave this presage, VVhich next to hallowed writ, and sacred page, Shall busie pious wonder, and abide To Christian pilgrimage the second guid: VVhich reconciles (till now) the eternall hates 'Twixt simple piety, and fraudulent States. Shews how all Michiavell in Solomon lies, And Cunning makes men wilely, but not wise. Bottomes a stable Throne, whose secure chance Shall steady sit, or in her fall advance.

When gastly Death's astonishing Arrest In all her terrors, and grim wardrobe drest, From a green Treaty nipt ere fully blown, And soft amusements of a restored throne, He meets with cheerfull combat, and arm'd breath, A vigorous Resignation, not a Death.

When His unlimited forgivenesse flies High as His Blood's shrill voice, and towring cryes, Not spun in scanty half denying prayers, But Legacie obliging to His Heirs.

CAROLI 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉.

I Come, but come with trembling, lest I prove Th' unequall Greete of Semele and Jove. As She was too obscure, and He too bright, My Theam's too heavy, and my Pen too light. And whilst, like Midas, I presume to sit In wise Apollo's Chair, without HIS wit, Is it not just t'expect, that He, who dares Higher then Midas, should wear longer Eares? May I not fear Patroclus Fate, and feel The dangerous honour of Achilles steel? Just like that busie Elf, whose vent'rous Pride Found none but Titan Titan's Coach could guide? Why; Hee'l not stand in Verse. Can I enclose Him, whom the greatest Libertie of Prose Wants room to hold? And whose unweildy Name Is big enough to fill the Trump of Fame? An Individuall species? like the Sun, At once a Multitude, and yet but One? One of such vast Importance, that He fell The Festivall of Heav'n, and England's Hell? One, who for Eminence was these two things, * 1.1 The last of Christians, and the first of Kings?

One so diffusive, that he liv'd to all, And One that dy'd the whole world's Funeral? For Charles being thus dismounted, and the Swain High shoo'd Bootes leapt into the Wain, Is not old Beldame Nature truly said T'advance her Heeles, and stand upon her Head? Does not the Judge, and Law too for a need, The Stirrop hold, whilst Treason mounts the Steed? Is not Gods Word, and's Providence besides Us'd as a Laquy, whilst th' white Devil rides! Sure all things thus into Confusion hurld Make, though an universe, yet not a World. And so our Soveraign's, like our Saviours Passion, Becomes a kind of Doomsday to the Nation.

If Dead men did not walk, 'twould be admir'd (The Breath of all our Nostrils thus expir'd) What 't is that gives us motion. And can I, Who want my self, write Him an Elegie?

Though Virgil turnd Evangelist, and wrote, Not from his Tripod, but Gods Altar taught; Though all the Poets of the Age should sit In Inquest of Invention, and club wit, To make words Epigrams; should they combine To crowd whole stock of Fancie in each line; Sell the Fee-simple to advance one summe, (As Eglis spake but once, and then liv'd dumb) 'Twere all as inarticulate, and weak, As when those men make signes, that cannot speak.

But where the Theme confounds us, * 1.2 'tis a sort

Of glorious Merit, proudly to fall short. Despair sometimes gives courage; any one May lisp him out, who can be spoke by none; None but a King; No King, unlesse He be As Wise, as Just, as Good, as Great as He.

When Late Posterity shall run t'advise With Times impartiall Register, how Wise This Great-one was, they'l find it there inroll'd That He was ne'r in's Nonage, but born old. View hm whilst Prince of Wales, and it appears His wisdome did so antedate his years. That He was Ful i'th' Bud, and's Soul divine, Nestor, might be Great Grandfather to thine. View him agen, where he so ripe was grown, As not to rise, but drop into a Throne. How did those rayes of Majestie, which were Scatter'd in other Kings, concenter here? As if h'ad got King Sapors sphere, and prov'd How each Intelligence his Orbe had mov'd: Wise Charles, like them, sate steering at two Helmes, King of himself, but Father of his Realms: And just as if old Trismegistus Cup Had by his thirsty Soul been all drunk up, His understanding did begirt this All, As t'were Ecliptick or Meridionall. Supp••se a Dyet of all Christian Kings And Bish••ps too, conven'd to weigh the things Of Church and State: Nay adde Inferiour men, Those of the Sword, the pensil, and the pen.

From th' Scepter to the Sheep-hook, Charles in all Must have been Ʋmpire Oecumenicall. He liv'd a Perpendicular; The Thread His Wisdome was; Humility the Lead, By which he measur'd Men and Things; took aim At actions crooked, and at actions plain. He and all from him into Cubes did fall, And yet as perfect as the Circle, all. 'Twas He took Nature's Bredth, & Depth, and Hight, Knew the just difference 'twixt Wrong, and Right. He saw the points of things, could justly hit, What must be done, what may; what's just, what fit. As if, like Moses he had had resort Unto Gods Councell, ere he was of's Court. Hence his Religion was his choice, not Fate, Rul'd by Gods Word, not Interest of State. Others may thank their stars, He his inquest, Who, sounding all sides, anchor'd in the best. His Crown contain'd a Miter; He did twist Moses and Aaron, King and Casuist. When the Mahumetan or Pope shall look On his Soul's best Interpreter, his Book; His Book, his Life, his Death, will henceforth be The Church of England's best Apologie.

Thus Dove and Serpent kiss'd, as if they meant To render him as wise, so innocent. His own good Genius knew not, whether were His Heart more single, or his Head more clear. Virtue was his Prerogative; and thus Charles rul'd the King, before the King rul'd Ʋs.

He knew that to command, his onely way Was first to teach his Passions to obey. And his incessant waiting on God's Throne Gave him such meek reflections on his own, That, being forc't to censure, he exprest A Judges Office with a Mothers breast. And when some sturdie violence began T'unsheath his sword, unwilling to be drawn He but destroy'd (and so soft mercy can) The malefactor, to preserve the Man. Even Hell's blind Journey-men, those Sons of Night Who look on scarlet murder, and think't white, Unwillingly confess'd, The onely thing Which made him guiltie was, That He was King. He was Incarnate Justice, and 'tis said Astraea liv'd in him, yet dy'd a Maid.

We want an Emblem for him: Phoebus must Stand still in Libra, to speak Charles the Just. And yet though he were such, that nothing lesse Then Virtue's mean stretcht to a just Excesse Flew from his Soul; He, like the Sun, was known To see all excellence, except his own. His Modesty was such, that All which He 'Ere spake or thought os's self, was Calumny; But yet so mixt with state, that one might see It made him not lesse Kingly, but more free. He was not like those Princes, whot' expresse A learned surfeit, a sublime excesse, Send to dispeople all the Sea of Fish. Depopulate the Aire to make one dish,

(Such skilfull' luxuries, as onely serve To make their minds more plentifully sterve) Whatever Dainties fill'd his Board by chance, His onely constant Dish was a 1.3 Temperance. His Virtue did so limit him, his Court Implied his Cloyster; and his very sport Was Self-deniall. Nay, though he were seen So roab'd in purple, and so macht t' a Queen, As made him glitter like a Noon-day Sun, Yet still his Soul wore sackcloth, and liv'd Nun. b 1.4 Simeon the Stylite in his Pillar pent Might live more strict, but not more innocent.

So wise, so just, so good, so great and all, What is't could set him higher, but his fal? When he caught up by a Celestiall Train Began his second, and more solid Raign. How to that Heaven did this Pilot steer Twixt th' Independent, and the Presbyter, Plac'd in the confines of two shipwracks? thus The Greeks are seated 'twixt the Turks and Ʋs. Whom did By zantium free, Rome would condemn; And freed from Rome, they are enslaved by them. So plac'd betwixt a Precipice and Wolf, There the Aegaean, here the Venice gulf, What with the rising and the setting Sun, By these th'are hated, and by those undon.

Thus virtues hemm'd with vices, and though either Solicites her consent, she yields to neither. Nay thus our Saviour, to enhance his grief, Was hung betwixt a Murderer, and a Thief.

Now Charles as King, and as a good King too Being Christs adopted self, was both to do And suffer like him; both to live and die So much more humble, as he was more high Then his own Subjects. He was thus to tread In the same footsteps, and submit his Head To the same thorns: when spit upon, and beat, To make his Conscience serve for his retreat, And overcome by suffering: To take up His Saviours Crosse, and pledge him in his Cup.

Since then our Soveraign, by just account, Liv'd o're our Saviours Sermon in the Mount, And did all Christian Precepts so reduce, That's Life the Doctrine was, his Death the Use; Posterity will say, he should have dy'd No other Death, then by being Crucifi'd. And their renownedst Epocha will be Great Charles his Death, next Christ's Nativity. Thus Treason's grown most Orthodox; who since They said they'd [make him the most glorious Prince In all the Christian World] 'tis plain, this way They onely promis'd, what they meant to pay. For now (besides that beatisick Vision Where all desire is lost into fruition) The stones, they hurled at him, with intent To crush his fame, have prov'd his monument.

Their Libels his best Obeliske; To have A fit Mausóle, were to want a Grave; His Scaffold, like mount Tabor, will in story Become the proudest Theater of Glory, Next to the blessed Crosse: and thus 'tis sense, T'affirm him murder'd in his own Defence. For though all Hells Artillery and skill Combin'd together to besiege his Will; And when their malice could not bring't about To hurt God's Image, they raz'd Adam's out, (Like men repuls'd, whose Choler think's it witty To burn the Suburbs, when they can't the City) Howe're they storm'd his walls, and draind his blood, Which moted round his Soul; yet still he stood Defender of the Faith, (and that which He Found sweeter then revenge) his Charity.

This then the utmost was their rage could do, [It shew'd him King of his afflictions too.] Ʋntempted Virtue is but coldly good, (As she's scarce chaste, that's so but in cold blood) To scorn base Quarter is the best escape, (As Lucrece dy'd the chaster for her rape) These two did Charles his Virtue most befriend, His glorious hardships first, and then his end. Death we forgive thee, and thy Bourreaux too, Since what did seem thy rape, proves but his due. For how could he be said to fall too soon, Whose green was mellow, & whose dawn was noon? Since Charles was onely by thy curteous knife Redeemd from this great injury of life

To one so lasting, that 'tis truly said Not He, but his mortality is dead— To weep his Death's the treason of our eyes; Our Sun did onely set, that he might rise.

But we do mock, not cheat our grief, and sit Onely at best t' upbraid our selves in wit, And want him learnedly: such colours do Disguise disasters, not delude them too. For though, I must confesse, a Poet can Fancy things better then another man, He can but fancy'um; and all his pains Is but to fill his belly with his brains. He may both Petrify'd and famisht sit, That wears his thoughts, and onely dine's on wit. Were I a Polypus, and could go on To be those very things I think upon, I would not then complain: but since I know To call things thus, is not to make them so, Great Charles is slain: and say we what we will, Yet we shall find, judgements are judgements still.

For though 'tis true, that his now-immense So •• Doth hold commensuration with each Pole; Though he doth shine a Star more fixt and bright Then where the year makes but one day and night; And, least he fill the Zodiack, doth appear Not in the Eighth, but Empyraean Sphere; Yet we his Rise may our Descension call, As Libra's mounting is poore Aries fall. He was the onely Moses that could stand

Betwixt the sinnes and judgements of the Land. And what can we expect, our Lot being gon, But that a Hell from Heav'n should tumble down On our more sinfull Sodom? (unlesse we Are damn'd yet worse, to an impunity.) Kings are Gods once remov'd. It hence appears No Court but Heav'ns can trie them by their Peers. So that for Charles the good to have been try'd And cast by mortall Votes, was Deicide. No Sinne, except the first, hath ever past So black as this; no Judgement, but the last. How does our Delos, which so lately stood Unmov'd, lie floating in her Pilots blood? And can vve hope to Anchor, vvho discern Nought but the tempest ruling at the stern; Whil'st Pluto's Rival, with his Saints by's side, Drawn by the Spirit of avarice and pride, Being fairly placed in the Chair of scorn Sits brewing Tears for Infants yet unborn? Vast stocks of misery, which his Guardian-rage Does husband for them till they come to age?

When future times shall look what Plagues befell. Aegypt and us, by way of Parallel, They'l find at once▪ presented to their view The Frogs and Lice, and Independents too. Onely this signal difference will be known 'Twixt those Aegyptian judgements and our own, Those were Gods Armies; but th' effect doth tell That these our Vermin are the Host of Hell.

Pausanias and Herostratus will look

Like Pygmy-Sinners writ in Times black-book. The Spanish Fleet, and Powder-plot will lack Their usuall mentions in our Almanack. —Nay, vvhich is more, c 1.5 Alaricus his name Will scarce be legible 'th' leaves of fame, When Cromwel shall be read. Nature was ne're So blessedly reform'd, since Lucifer.

O for a Jeremy to lament our woe! From whom such tragick Rhetorick might flow, As would become our misery, and dresse Our sorrows with a dreadfull gaudinesse! For next those hovering judgements, which the fall Of One so great, so good, makes Verticall. (And rushing down, may onely be vvithstood. If Charles his prayers crie louder then his blood) I say next that, It is our second Crosse We can't grieve worthy of so great a Losse. To weep upon this subject, and weep sense, Requires we should be born ten Ages hence. The greater are the hights an Artist's hand Designs to take, the farther he must stand. And as vvhen Sol's in's Zenith, He imply's His dazling glory best, that shuts his eyes, So, where the Theme's ineffable, the way To speak it is, d 1.6 Not to know what to say.

A DEEP GROAN, FETCH'D At the Funerall of that incomparable and Glorious Monarch, CHARLES * THE FIRST, King of Great Britain, France and Ireland, &c.

TO speak our Griefs at full over thy Tombe (Great Soul) we should be Thunder-struck and dumbe; The triviall Off'rings of our bubling eyes Are but fair Libels at such Obsequies. When Grief bleeds inward, not to sense, 'tis deep; W'have lost so much, that t'were a sinne to weep. The wretched Bankrupt counts not up his summes, When his inevitable▪ ruine comes: Our losse is finite when we can compute; But that strike speechlesse, which is past recruit. W'are sunk to sense; and on the Ruine gaze, As on a curled Commets firie blaze: And Earth-quakes fright us, when the teeming earth Rends ope her bowels for a fatall birth; As Inundations seize our trembling eyes;

Whose rowling billowes over Kingdomes rise. Alas! our Ruines are cast up, and sped In that black Totall—Charles is Murthered. Rebellious Gyant hands have broak that Pole, On which our Orbe did long in Glory roule. That Roman Monsters wish in act we see, Three Kingdoms necks have felt the Axe in Thee, The Butcherie is such, as when by Cain, The fourth Devision of the world was slain▪ The mangled Church is on the shambles l••y'd, Her Massacre is on thy Block display'd, Thine is thy peoples epidemick Tombe, Thy Sacrifice a num'rous Hecatombe. The Powder-mine's now fi••'d; we were not freed, But respited by Traytours thus to bleed. Novembers plots are brew'd and broach'd in worse, And January now compleats the Curse. Our Lives, Estates, Laws, and Religion, All Lie crush'd, and gashing in this dismall fall.

Accursed day that blotted'st out our Light! May'st thou be ever muffled up in Night. At thy return may sables hang the skie; And tears, not beams, distill from Heavens Eye. Curs'd be that smile that guilds a Face on thee, The Mother of prodigious Villanie. Let not a breath be wofted, but in moans; And all our words be but articulate groans. May all thy Rubrick be this dismall Brand; Now comes the miscreant Doomes-day of the Land. Good-Friday wretchedly transcrib'd; and such As Horrour brings alike, though not so much.

May Dread still fill thy minutes, and we sit Frighted to think, what others durst cōmmit.

A Fact that copies Angels when they fell, And justly might create another Hell. Above the scale of Crimes; Treason sublim'd, That cannot by a parallell be rim'd. Raviliack's was but under-graduate sinne, And Goury here a Pupill Assassin. Infidell wickednesse, without the Pale; Yet such as justifies the Canniball. Ryot Apochyphall of Legend breed; Above the Canon of a Jesuites Creed. Spirits of witch-craft; quintessentiall guilt; Hells Pyramid; another Babell built. Monstrous in bulk; above our Fancies span; A Behemoth; a Crime Leviathan. So desperately damnable, that here Ev'n Wild smels Treason, and will not appear. That Murdering-peece of the new Tyrant-State, By whom't hath Shot black Destinies of late; He that belched forth the Loyall Burleighs doom, Recoyles at this so dreadfull Martyrdome. What depth of Terrour lies in that Offence, That thus can grind a seared Conscience?

Hellish Complotment! which a League renews, Lesse with the men, then th' actions of the Jews. Such was their Bedlane Rabble, and the Cry Of Justice now, 'mongst them was Crucifie: Pilates Consent is Bradshawes Sentence here; The Judgement hall's remov'd to Westminster. Hayle to the Reeden Scepture the Head, and knee

Act o're again that Cursed Pageantrie. The Caitiffe crew in solemn pomp guard on Mock'd Majestie as not to th' Block, but Throne, The Belch agrees of those envenom'd Lyes; There a Blasphemer, here a Murd'rer dyes. If that go first in horrour, this comes next, A pregnant Comment on that gastly Text. The Heav'ns ne're saw, but in that Tragick howre, Slaughter'd so great an Innocence, and Power.

Bloud-thirsty Tygers! could no stream fuffise T'allay that Hell within your Breasts but this? Must you needs swill in Cleopatra's Cup, And drink the price of Kingdomes in a sup? Cisterns of Loyalty have deeply bled, And now y'have damm'd the Royall Fountain Head. Cruell Phlebotomie! at once to drain The Median, and the rich Basilick vein: The tinctures great that popular murther brings, 'Tis scarlet deep, that's dy'd in bloud of Kings.

But what could Israel find no other way To their wish'd Canaan then through the Red Sea? Must God have here his deading Fire and Cloud, And he be th' Guide to this outragious Crowd? Shall the black Conclave counterfeit his hand, And superscribe their Guilt, Divine Command? Doth th'ugly Fiend usurp a Saint-like grace? And Holy-water wash the Devils face! Shall Dagons Temple the mock'd Ark inclose? Can Esau's hands agree with Jacob's voyce? Must Molech's Fire now on the Altar burn? And Abel's bloud to Expiation turn?

Is Righteousnesse so lewd a Bawd? and can The Bibles Cover serve the Alcoran? Thus when Hel's meant, Religion's bid to shine As Faux his Lantern lights him to his Mine. Here, here is sins non ultra, when one Lie Kils this, and stabs at Majesty. And though his sleepie Arm suspend the scourge, Nor doth loud Bloud in winged Vengeance urge, Though the soft houres a while in pleasures flie, And conquering Treason sing her Lullabie. The guilt at length in fury he'l inroul With barbed Arrows on the trayt'rous Soul. Time may be when that John-a-Leyden King His Quarters to this Tombe an Offring bring, And that Be-Munster'd Rabble may have eyes To read the Price of their dear Butcheries▪ Yet if just Providence reprieve the Fate, The Judgement will be deeper, though't be late. And After times shal feel the curse enhanc'd, vanc'd. But how much They've the Sinne bequeath'd, ad-

Mean time (most blessed shade) the Loyall Eye Shall pay her Tribute to thy Memory. Thy Aromatick Name shall feast our sense, 'Bove balmie Spiknard's fragrant Redolence, Whilst on thy loathsome Murderers shall dwell A plague-sore, blayn, and rotten ulcers smell. Wonder of Men and Goodnesse! stamp'd to be The Pride, and Flourish of all Historie. Thou hast undone the Annals, and engrossd All th' Heroes Glory which the Earth e're lost. Thy Priviledge 'tis onely to commence.

Laureate in Sufferings, and in Patience. Thy wrongs were 'bove all sweetnesse to digest; And yet thy sweetnesse conquer'd the sharp test: Both so immense, and infinitely vast, The first could not be reach'd, but by the last. Mean Massacres are but in death begun; But Thou hast Liv'd an Execution. Close coffin'd up in a deceased Life; Had Orphan-Children, and a Widow-Wife. Friends not t'approach, or comfort, but to mourn And weep their unheard plaints, as at thy urn? Such black Attendants Colonied thy Cell, But for thy Presence, Car'sbrook had been Hell. Thus basely to Be Dungeon'd, would enrage Great Bajazet beyond and Iron Cage. That deep indignity might have layn Something the lighter from a Tamerlain. But here Sidonian Slaves usurp the Reins, And lock the Scepter-bearing Arms in chains. The spew'd-up surfeit of the glut'nous Land: Honour'd by scorn, and clean beneath all brand. For such a Varlet-Brood to tear all down, And make a common Foot-ball of the Crown, T'insult on wounded Majesty, and broach, The bloud of Honour by their vile reproach. What royall eye but thine could sober see, Bowing so low, yet bearing up so high? What an unbroken sweetnesse grac'd thy Soul, Beyond the world, proud conquest, or controul? Maugre grim cruelty, thou keepst thy hold; Thy Thornie Crown was still a Crown of Gold.

Chast Honour, Might enrag'd could ne're deflour, Though others th' Use, Thou claim'dst the Right of Power. The brave Athenian thus (with lopp'd-off Hands) A stop to swelling sayles by's mouth commands. New Vigour rouz'd Thee still in thy Embroyles, Antaeus-like, recruiting from the Foyles. Victorious fury could not terrour bring. Enough to quell a captivated King. So did that Roman Miracle withstand Hetrurian shoals, but with a single hand. The Church in thee had still her Armies; thus The World once fought with Athanasius. The Gantlet thus upheld; It is decreed, (No safety else for Treason) Charles must bleed. Traytour and Soveraign now inverted meet; The wealthy Olive's dragg'd to th' Brambles feet. The Throne is Metamorphiz'd to the Barre, And despicable Batts the Eagle dare. Astonishment! yet still we must admire Thy courage growing with thy conflicts high'r. No palsied hands or trembling knees betray That Cause, on which thy souls sure bottom'd lay. So free and undisturbed flew thy Breath, Not as condemn'd, but purchasing a death. Those early Martyrs in their funerall pile, Embrac'd their Flames with such a quiet smile. Brave Coeur-de-Lyon Soul, that would'st not vayle In one base syllable to beg thy Bayl! How didst thou blush to live at such a price, As ask'd thy People for a sacrifice?

Th' Althenian Prince in such a pitch of zeal, Redeem'd his destin'd Hoast, and Common-weal; Who brib'd his cheated Enemies to kill, And both their Conquest, and their Conqueror fell. Thus thou our Martyr died'st: but oh! we stand A Ransome for another Charles his Hand. One that will write thy Chronicle in Red, And dip his Pen in what thy Foes have bled. Shall Treas'nous Heads in purple Caldrons drench, And with such veines the Flames of Kingdomes quench. Then thou art least at Westminster, shall't be Fil'd in the Pompous List of Majestie. Thy Mausalaeum shall in glory rise, And Tears, and wonder force from Nephews Eyes. Till when (though black-mouth'd Miscreants en∣grave No Epitaph, but Tyrant, on thy Grave. A Vault of Loyalty shall keep thy Name, An orient, and bright Olibian flame. On which, when times succeeding foot shall tread, Such Characters as these shall there be read.

Here CHARLES the best of Monarchs, but∣cher'd lies; The Glory of all Martyrologies. Bulwark of Law; the Churches Cittadell; In whom they triumph'd once, with whom they fell: An English Solomon, a Constantine; Pandect of Knowledge, Humane and Divine. Meek ev'n to wonder, yet of stoutest Grace. To sweeten Majesty, but not debase. So whole made up of clemency, the Throne

And Mercy-seat to Him were alwayes one. Inviting Treason with a pardoning look, Instead of Gratitude, a stab He took. With passion lov'd; that when He murd'red lay, Heav'n conquered seem'd, and Hell to bear the sway. A Prince so richly good, so blest a Reign. The world ne're saw but one, nor can again.

—Humano genere Nature benigni Nil dedit, aut tribuet moderato hoc principe major In quo vera dei, vivénsque eluxit imago: Hunc quoniam sceleratacohors violavit, acerbas Sacrilego Deus ipse ••etet de Sanguine poenas Contemptúm{que} sin Simulachri haudlinquet inultum. Parodia ex Buchanani Geneth: Jacobi sexti.

AN ELEGIE Ʋpon KING CHARLES the First, Murthered publickly by His Subjects.

WEre not my Faith boy'd up by sacred bloud, It might be drown'd in this prodigious floud; Which reasons highest ground doth so exceed, It leaves my Soul no Anch'rage, but my Creed; Where my Faith resting on th' Originall, Supports it self in this the Copies fall; So while my faith floats on that Bloudy wood, My reasons cast away in this Red floud, Which ne'r o'reflowes us all: Those showers past Made but Land-flouds, which did some vallies wast; This stroke hath cut the only neck of land, Which between us, and this Red Sea did stand, That covers now our world, which cursed lies At once with two of Aegypts prodigies; O'recast with darknesse, and with bloud o'rerun, And justly, since our hearts have theirs out-done; Th' inchanter led them to a lesse known ill, To act his sin, then 'twas their King to kill: Which crime hath widdowed our whole Nation, Voided all Formes, left but privation In Church and State; inverting ev'ry right; Brought in Hels State, of fire without light:

No wonder then, if all good eyes look red, Washing their Loyall hearts from bloud so shed; The which deserves, each pore should turn an eye, To weep out, even a bloudy Agony. Let nought then passe for Musick, but sad cries; For Beauty, bloud-les cheeks, and bloud-shot eyes. All colours soil, but black; all odours have Ill sent, but Myrrh, incens'd upon this Grave: It notes a Jew, not to believe us much The cleanerm ade, by a Religious touch Of this Dead Body; whom to judge to die Seemes the Judaicall impiety. To kill the King, the Spirit Legion paints His rage with Law, the Temple and the Saints: But the truth is, He fear'd, and did repine, To be cast out, and back into the Swine; And the case holds, in that the Spirit bends His Malice in this Act, against his ends: For it is like, the sooner hee'l be sent Out of that body, He would still torment: Let Christians then use otherwise this bloud, Detest the Act, yet turn it to their good; Thinking how like a King of death He dies; We eas'ly may the world and death despise: Death had no sting for Him, and its sharp arm, Onely of all the troop, meant Him no harm. And so He look'd upon the Axe, as one Weapon yet left, to guard Him to His Throne; In His great Name, then may His Subjects cry, Death thou art swallowed up in Victory; If this our losse a comfort can admit, Tis that his narrowed Crown was grown unfit, For

For his enlarged Head, since his distress•• Had greatned this, as it made that the lesse; His Crown was falne unto too low a thing For Him, who was become so great a King: So the same hands enthron'd him in that Crown They had exalted from him, not pull'd down. And thus Gods Truth by them hath rendred more, Then ere mens falshood promis'd to restore; Which, since by death alone, he could attain, Was yet exempt from weaknesse, and from pain; Death was enjoyn'd by God, to touch a part, Might make His passage quick, ne're move His heart Which ev'n expiring, was so far from death, It seem'd but to command away His breath. And thus His Soul, of this her triumph proud, Broke, like a flash of lightning, through the cloud Of flesh and bloud; and from the highest line Of humane virtue, pass'd to be Divine: Nor is't much lesse His virtues to relate, Then the high glories of His present state; Since both then passe all Acts, but of belief; Silence may praise the one, the other grief. And since, upon the Diamond, no lesse Then Diamonds, will serve us to impresse: I'le onely wish, that for His Elegie, This our Josias, had a Jeremie.

AN ELEGIE

On

• ...The best of Men,
• ...And meekest of Martyrs,
• CHARLES the I. &c.

DOes not the Sun call in his light? and Day Like a thin Exhalation melt away? Both wrapping up their Beams in Clouds to bee Themselves close Mourners at the Obsequie Of this Great Monarch? does his Royall Bloud, Which th' Earth late drunk in so profuse a Flood Not shoot through her affrighted wombe, & make All her Convulsed Arteries to shake So long, till all those Hinges that sustain, Like Nerves, the Frame of Nature shrink again Into a shuffled Chaos? Does the Sun Nut suck it from its liquid Mansion, And still it into vap'rous Clouds? which May, Themselves in bearded Meteors display, Whose shaggie and dissheveld Beams may bee, The Tapers at this black Solemnitie?

You Seed of Marble in the Wombe accurst, Rock'd by some storm, or by some Tigresse nurst. Fed by some Plague, which in blind Mists was hurl•• To Strew Infection on the tainted World. What Fury charm'd your hands to Act a Deed, Tyrants to think on would not weep but bleed? And Rocks by Instinct so risent this Fact, They'ld into Springs of easie Tears bee slack'd. Say Sons of Tumult since you thought it good, Still to keep up the Trade and bath in Blood. Your guilty Hands, why did you then not State, Your slaughters at some cheap and common Rate? Your gluttonous and lavish Blades might have, Devoted Myriads to one publick Grave. And lop'd off Thousands of some base Allay, Whilst the same Sexton that enter'd their Clay. In the same Urne their Names too might entombe, But when on Him you fixt your fatall Doom. You gave a Blow to Nature, since even all, The Stock of Man now bleeds too in his Fall. Could not Religion which you oft have made, A specious Glosse your black Designs to shade. Teach you that we come nearest Heaven when we, Are suppled into Acts of Clemencie. And Copie out the Deitie agen, When we Distill our Mercies upon Men? But why do I deplore this Ruine? Hee Onely shook off his frail Humanitie. And with such Calmnesse fell, he seem'd to be, Even lesse unmov'd and unconcern'd then we.

And forc'd us from our Throes of Grief to say, Wee only Died, He onely liv'd that Day. So that his Tombe is now his Throne become T' invest him with the Crown of Martyrdome▪ And Death the Shade of Nature did not shroud His Soul in Mists, but its clear Beams uncloud, That who a Star in our Meridian shone In Heaven might shine a Constellation.

AN EPITAPH.

VVIthin this sacred VAULT doth lie The Quintessence of MAJESTIE; Which being Set, more Glorious shines, The Best of KINGS, best of Divines; Britains shame, and Britains glory, Mirrour of Princes, complete Story Of ROYALTY; One so exact That th' Elixirs of Praise detract: These are faint Shadows; But t'endure, Hee's drawn to th' Life in's POƲRTRACTƲRE: If such another PIECE youl'd see, Angels must Limn it out, or HEE; Where Wisdom, Grace, and Eloquence, Are Centred in their Eminence. Martyr'd HEE was to save His Laws, Religion, People, from the Jaws Of ASSASINES; whose weal HEE sought, Even then when they His MURDER wrought With Horrid Plots, that HEADLESS He (And in HIM Church and State) might be. Then since Correlatives They were, Three Kingdoms in One KING lies here.

A. B.

FINIS.

Notes

• * 1.1

  De Catone vetus dictum, Ultimus Romanorum, Primus Hominum.
• * 1.2

  〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉. Longin.
• a 1.3

  Evagr. l. 1. c. 21. de Monachis quibusdam, 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉.
• b 1.4

  Evagr. l. 1. c. 13 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉.
• c 1.5

  Socrat. l. 7. c. 10. hoc Alarichi responsum recitat. 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉
• d 1.6

  Herodor. l. 3. Psammeti∣chus ad Cambysem, cùm Amicorum vicem lacrymis lugeret, suam verò silentio, 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 &c.