A poem on the coronation of our most illustrious sovereign K. James II. and His gracious consort Queen Mary who were crown'd at Westminster, on St. George's-Day, being the 23th. this instant April 1685 written by a Person of Quality.

A POEM on the CORONATION.

FLie Envious Time; why dost our Bliss delay? Repair Death's & Thy wrongs, & give Us Day; The Day which from our Woes must free us all, Whom Grief would else Martyr in CHARLES'S fall: That Ador'd Monarch, whose Illustrious Name Alone, speaks more, than all the Tongues of Fame. Whose Loss, levy'd a Tax of Sighs, and Moan, And forc'd the World t'an Universal Groan. Hold, hold my Muse-The Dawn new-gilds the Skies, See where Great JAMES our second Sun does rise, And quite exhales these Vapours from our Eyes. Tears, and the Sable signs of Grief, give way, Chac'd by the Beams of this most Glorious Day; A Day, doubly design'd by Destiny To remain Sacred to Posterity. Something for GEORGE's Birth was to It due, But now it is Three Kingdoms Birth-Day too, From this CORONATION We our Lives Renew. Each Loyal Heart is struck by'ts Sov'reign Rays, And's fill'd at once with Gratitude and Praise.

Hark! how the Streets with cheerful Shouts do Ring, Excessive Joys in ev'ry Bosom spring, And the whole Town do 10 PAEANS sing. While th' Air as loath such Loyal Sounds to lose, With thousand Ecchoes does prolong each close; Behold what heaps of Hatts, aloft there fly, Like thickn'd Clouds, they steal away the Sky.

T'attend this Earthly Jove, the World agrees, In landers leave their Homes, Sea-men the Seas; Both English born, and those that Neighbours are; With Exultation cleave the yielding Air. So in some Garden, deckt with Flora's Pride, Where all the Glories of the Spring reside, There near a Waxen Canopy we see, Thousands thus Bus about the Royal-Bee.

Nature, at this Solemnity Revives, And the glad Earth by JAMES's Infl'ence Thrives; Hills, Vallies, Woods, are drest to New Attire, April at its own Beauty does Admire. The wing'd Musicians Carol in the Air, The Spacious Meadows, Green-Plush Mantles wear, Nay, the pleas'd Heaven's without a Cloud appear. VVhile all the Flowers of the Spring do meet, And, than Arabian Spices, smell more sweet, The Mighty Pan, the Mighty Pan to Greet.

How sensible the Houses are, 'tis He! VVho but in Arras Gowas the King will see.

Walls, Windows, Roofs, Tow'rs, Steeples, all are set VVith several Eyes, but the least Glimpse to get. And lo, the Costly Pomp is now in view, VVhich claims our Wonder, and our Homage too. The like of this Day's State not Italy Sings, Consular Triumphs, were but petty Things: Rome too as short of this in Shows, you'll find, As her Now Glories, are from those declin'd.

Triumphant Sight! In this one Train we may Of all that's Noble, take a full Survey. Do Arms Delight ye? Surfeit here your View On Troops, as can th' Insulting World subdue.

Nay Learning here in its Perfection shines, And Athens now to Westminster Resigns. Religion, Law, each her best Charms displays, Chear'd by the Warmth of His Indulgent Rayes, VVho gave His Word, that He'll maintain their State, His Word, Unalterable as the Book of Fate.

VVho'll say, the City Brethren, Misers he, And but beholds, their this Days Bravery? None, none; and by their Gallantry, all guess, Their Loyalty's the Cause of this Excess.

VVhat Rich Attire the Spirit'al Lords array! VVhat Massie Coronets Adorn the Lay! Such Cloaths of Gold and Silver, Kill my Brain, My Opticks fail, and I grow Blind again.

Arch-Angels sure, leaving their Glorious sphere, Once more themselves have Bodify'd, and here Resolve, as English Nobles to appear.

Princes who've still been waited on, now wait, And Bowing Here, they count they sit in State.

But stay! — In this Terrestial Galary. A Glitt'ring Troop, of Beauties I descry, VVho Ravish with too Bright a Tyrany. Such Lustre ne're was seen in Thetis Train, VVhen Drest i'th' Native Jewels of the Main. At ev'ry Look I take new Charms arise, Bright are their Diamonds, Brighter are their Eyes. And in each Lovely Face, do plainly move, Un-number'd Signs of Beauty, Wit and Love. Shou'd Cold Diogenes these Fair Ones see. Pierc'd by their Darts he wou'd Enamour'd be.

But what Fresh Object's this Invades my Eye, And bids my Soul gaze there Eternally? Assur'd I am, our Climate never held Before a Beauty so unparallel'd. All Heavenly Features joyn themselves in one, To shew their Triumph in this Face alone; The Salvages, that Worship the Suns Rise, Wou'd hate their God, if they beheld these Eyes. The Wealth She wears about her, more does hide Than it Adorns, her Native Beauty's Pride.

Mirour of Heav'n! Wonder of the Earth! Oh! thou Bright Goddess of Caelestial Birth! Now Caesar's Glory Augmentable seems, Since You appear, and daign to mix your Beams, 'Tis She! 'Tis England's QUEEN whom thus we view, QUEEN long ago, and now Anointed too. The Crown, not Her, but She the Crown does Grace, Before She sway'd an Empire in Her Face. Had Virgil liv'd this MARY but to see, Dido had in Oblivion Slept, and She Had giv'n his Muse, Her best Eternity.

And now the Monarch of the Day's in sight, From whom, the rest receive their Borrow'd Light. Who giving way, His Brighter Splendour own, As Stars do vanish at th' approach o'th' Sun. Oh! what a Flood of Virtues from Him flows! How like a God Install'd on Earth He shows! Thus when the Thickest Darkness Phoebus Shrowds, VVith greater Fulgence he breaks through those Clouds: Look on His Face, his Royal Mein but mind, And to be Traytors now, we must be blind. Mankinds Delight! and Heavens chiefest Care, To Vict'ry, as to's Crown the Lawful Heir. The VVorld has always Shook at His Alarms, At Sea and Land Success still Crown'd His Arms.

Ye Bold Excluders, see your Injur'd Prince, And may this Sight you of your Crime convince, Crouch, Crouch, Rebellous Sirs, & own your Insolence Both how to Pardon, and Revenge, He knows, To Guard his Friends, and to Destroy his Foes. Down, down then at His Feet without delay, VVith double Loyalty His VVrongs repay; Lay, Iay Him in your Hearts, and beg of Fate, He long may Reign, though he is Crown'd, but late He shall; for th' thing that's slowly's sure done, And He whom heaven designs to fix on's Throne, It is the longer sitting Him thereon No more shall Law less, Hair brain'd Faction Rage, But may His Reign bring back the Golden Age. May from His Sacred Consort's VVombs Increase, Spring Present Joy, and Future Ages Peace. Let's keep that Path, which He, (a Subject) made, VVho still His King, Unmurmuring Obey'd. Let's think His Foes be Ours, as so They are, Think on His Martyr'd Father, and beware. And let this Sight, (though ended,) ne're be done, But let it still, and still be Thought upon, And Thought on, ev'n to Convert Rebellion.

FINIS.