On the sacred memory of our late sovereign, with a congratulation to His Present Majesty written by N. Tate. Tate, Nahum, 1652-1715. 1685 Approx. 7 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 5 1-bit group-IV TIFF page images. Text Creation Partnership, Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) : 2003-01 (EEBO-TCP Phase 1). A63031 Wing T200 ESTC R129 11940725 ocm 11940725 51272 This keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above is co-owned by the institutions providing financial support to the Early English Books Online Text Creation Partnership. This Phase I text is available for reuse, according to the terms of Creative Commons 0 1.0 Universal . The text can be copied, modified, distributed and performed, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission. Early English books online. (EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A63031) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 51272) Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1641-1700 ; 516:23) On the sacred memory of our late sovereign, with a congratulation to His Present Majesty written by N. Tate. Tate, Nahum, 1652-1715. [2], 6 p. Printed by J. Playford for Henry Playford ..., London : 1685. First edition. Reproduction of original in Huntington Library. Created by converting TCP files to TEI P5 using tcp2tei.xsl, TEI @ Oxford. Re-processed by University of Nebraska-Lincoln and Northwestern, with changes to facilitate morpho-syntactic tagging. Gap elements of known extent have been transformed into placeholder characters or elements to simplify the filling in of gaps by user contributors. 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Copies of the texts have been issued variously as SGML (TCP schema; ASCII text with mnemonic sdata character entities); displayable XML (TCP schema; characters represented either as UTF-8 Unicode or text strings within braces); or lossless XML (TEI P5, characters represented either as UTF-8 Unicode or TEI g elements). Keying and markup guidelines are available at the Text Creation Partnership web site . eng Charles -- II, -- King of England, 1630-1685 -- Poetry. 2002-02 TCP Assigned for keying and markup 2002-03 SPi Global Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2002-04 TCP Staff (Oxford) Sampled and proofread 2002-04 Emma (Leeson) Huber Text and markup reviewed and edited 2002-05 pfs Batch review (QC) and XML conversion ON THE SACRED Memory Of Our Late SOVEREIGN : WITH A CONGRATULATION TO HIS Present MAJESTY . — Non deficit Alter Aureus — Written by N. Tate . LONDON , Printed by I. Playford , for Henry Playford , near the Temple-Church : 1685. ON THE SACRED Memory Of Our Late SOVEREIGN : WITH A CONGRATULATION TO HIS Present MAJESTY . IF yet the Common Lethargy of Grief , And Nation 's Apoplex can bear Relief , Let now their Art condoling Muses show , And teach our Sorrows standing-Tide to flow : Not that their sweetest Numbers can redress , Or make our Agony of Grief the less ; Yet to indulge it , will some pleasure bring ; As Nightingals are saddest when they sing . But who can make the Nation 's Sorrow known ? Perish that Bard that can express his own ! With what Convulsion must we speak the Fate , Which yet distracted Looks alone relate ? How shall we Write , or how shall it be Read , The King , the King , Our Royal Master's Dead ! Weep Albion , rend with sighs thy rocky shore , A Prince more Sacred , thou did'st ne're deplore , Though thou hast mourn'd a Martyr-King before ! O Guardian Seraph ! CHARLES his Sacred Guide ! ( Whether the same that did the Seas divide , And wandring Tribes with Miracles supply'd , ) Behold the Close of all thy pious Care ; The Joy of Nations , now Mankind's Despair , Thy Charge , through Life's prodigious Mazes led , With Kings of common Providence lies Dead ! The Prince of Wonders has resign'd his Breath ; O Triumph of the Grave ! O Pomp of Death ! Let Saints exalted to their starry Seat , And Angel-Quires account his Years compleat ; ( Perfection they by Intuition know , ) But We must think 'em immature below ! The outmost Force of humane Art we try , Whole Kingdoms Pray'rs to Heav'n for succour fly , Yet all in Vain the Royal Life to Save ; O Pomp of Death ! O Triumph of the Grave ! Mourn Albany , joyn Albion's doleful Sound , 'Till to Hibernian Coasts your Plaints rebound , To farthest Lands let groaning Winds relate , And rowling Oceans roar their Master's Fate . Hast Muses , from your blasted Mountains come To stock your selves with Laurels at his Tomb. Unite your Beams in one compleated Verse , To flourish on your Royal Patron 's Hearse . Wake Britains Horace , wake from thy fresh Shroud , To tune our Sorrows and instruct the Crowd , Our CHARLES his Fame and Fate thy Numbers crave , Such Flame as thine methinks should warm the Grave . Less streins may well on common Shrines be worn , And meaner Muses meaner Theams Adorn , May suit some bloody Conquerour's Decease , But not the Arbiter of Europe's Peace . How well has Asaph's Muse our David stil'd ? His Form so God-like , and His Reign so mild . She Sung His Troubles , now His latest Breath Let Her record , and Constancy in Death . With what Heroick Soul , though Grief most deep , He saw His Speechless Subjects round him weep . How tenderly He did bequeath His Flock , To the next Shepherd of the Royal Stock . Let Her the Princely Brother's Pangs deplore , By Blood endear'd , by mutual Suffr'ings , more . Let IAMES his Sorrow add to the Dismay , And double the Confusion of the Day . Last , let Her close Our Dying Monarch's Eyes ; With which , eternal night seem'd to involve our Skies . Yet Noon-day Stars attending on His Birth , Spoke Him Immortal and a God on Earth , His Person and His Virtues spoke Him so ; For Kings so Just and Mild are Gods below . Yet in the cold Embrace of Death He lies ! Groan Britains , yield Him Souls for Sighs , weep Tears no more , but Eyes . Behold the Citizens of some fair Hive , How busie while their Ruler is alive , How cheerfully their Toil they do pursue , From distant Fields bear home the fragrant Dew ; How to the common Port they all repair , Build Tow'rs , and breed their young with pious care , While with their Colonies their Stores encrease , All then is Industry , all Wealth and Peace : But when their King by any Fate Expires , Their Musick ceases and their Labour tires : No more they make the flow'ry Sweets their Spoil , But in Despair they ruine their own Toil , Their Golden Fabricks on the ground are laid , And mad Confusion Reigns where Order sway'd . How then can We our wonted Peace possess ? Is our Devotion for our Monarch , less ? Our threatned Ruin , Who has then withstood ? What Chance , what Fate , or what descending God ? Behold a Present and auspicious Pow'r , Stands forth to turn the Fate of that dark Hour ! To cheer our Griefs , and Order to restore , Lest Empire dye , and Albion be no more ! From ev'ry Province grateful Hearts are sent , On Him Three suing Nations Eyes are bent ! Hail ! hail ! Your Hero-Prince , almost Divine , In whom with Valour , Justice do's Combine , And all the Mercies of the STVART's Line . Live Prince of Clemency , for ever Live ! Not All-forgiving CHARLES did more forgive . What e're blind Rage in frantick Faction strove , All now return , and now All find they Love. Live Prince of Clemency ! long condescend To sway those Realms , You did so oft Defend . While that August and most exalted Shade , That Heaven's White-hall has now his Pallace made , From those bright Seats sometimes shall not disdain To View the Triumphs of Your God-like Reign . Blest Prince ! by Heav'n and CHARLES Example led ! So may His Honours double on Your Head. The long-liv'd Heir of all His Blessings prove , On Earth succeeding to His Subjects Love , And to the same kind Angels Care Above . FINIS .