A poem upon His Sacred Majesties distresses, and late happy restauration Bernard, James. This text is an enriched version of the TCP digital transcription A27484 of text R6335 in the English Short Title Catalog (Wing B1995). Textual changes and metadata enrichments aim at making the text more computationally tractable, easier to read, and suitable for network-based collaborative curation by amateur and professional end users from many walks of life. The text has been tokenized and linguistically annotated with MorphAdorner. The annotation includes standard spellings that support the display of a text in a standardized format that preserves archaic forms ('loveth', 'seekest'). Textual changes aim at restoring the text the author or stationer meant to publish. This text has not been fully proofread Approx. 12 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 6 1-bit group-IV TIFF page images. EarlyPrint Project Evanston,IL, Notre Dame, IN, St. Louis, MO 2017 A27484 Wing B1995 ESTC R6335 12271244 ocm 12271244 58261 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. A27484) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 58261) Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1641-1700 ; 858:2) A poem upon His Sacred Majesties distresses, and late happy restauration Bernard, James. [2], 6 p. Printed for R. Marriot, and are to be sold at his shop ..., London : 1660. Reproduction of original in Huntington Library. P. 6 signed: James Bernard. eng England and Wales. -- Sovereign (1660-1685 : Charles II) A27484 R6335 (Wing B1995). civilwar no A poem upon His sacred Majesties distresses, and late happy restauration. Bernard, James 1660 1736 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 A This text has no known defects that were recorded as gap elements at the time of transcription. 2006-04 TCP Assigned for keying and markup 2006-05 Apex CoVantage Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2006-06 Derek Lee Sampled and proofread 2006-06 Derek Lee Text and markup reviewed and edited 2006-09 pfs Batch review (QC) and XML conversion A POEM UPON HIS SACRED MAJESTIES DISTRESSES , AND LATE HAPPY RESTAVRATION . LONDON , Printed for R. Marriot , and are to be sold at his shop in St. Dunstans Church-yard Fleetstreet 1660 UPON HIS SACRED MAJESTIES DISTRESSES , AND LATE Happy Restauration . CEase , Phancie , cease , thus to disturb my Muse With strange Chymera's , not for any use But barren subjects , or some aiery theam , The issue of A Nonens , or a Dream , Which scrued up to the most tow ring strain . It s former nothing strait resumes again : My Muse denies to bate one scruples right , Back forty foot , for thou 'rt a grain too light . Armes , and the Prince , I sing , whose generous vain , Pregnant with sacred purple , knows no stain But that he 's Albions Prince , which may put on A title more significant , Rubicon . Nor can the factious Rhetorick of the Times Nose forth a Canting glosse , t' excuse the Crimes , The horrid treason of a vip'rous Brood That slue their Countries Father , who then stood The Pilot of their Faith ; but since he fell Their Faith was shipwreckt , and they sunk to Hell . Just so a sturdie Oake , which climb'd so high , It s vertex seem'd to gore the azure skie , Through the complaint of an ambitious Brier , Humbl'd upon the Earth , doth there expire : But blustring Boreas through distended Cheeks Empties his Belching lungs , the bramble seeks For shelter , as before , but cannot find Its spatious Friend to fan away the wind . What Phlegra 's this , whose Typhon scales the skies ? Will not such crimes awake heaven's Deities Hath Ganimedes ( Nectar not profuse ) Sophisticated Jove with Lethe's juice ? Sure jealous Vulcan , searching for his Dame , Doth difappoint the Gods , and lets his flame Faint for a new supplie . But , harke what sound ! What horrid object 's this ! see how the Ground Blusheth with scarlet , whilst the thundering Gun Disputes the Businesse , and th' affrighted Sun Sweats to drive up his steeds : But , Muse , declare What high-sould Prince is that , who , thus , doth dare Doe wonders at each motion : have ye heard Niles Deep-base Cataracts ? or the crackling beard Of domineering flames ? heard ye the winds Break from Eolian Caves , whilst Boreas finds Resistance from the foaming brine ? his steel So stormes at every passe , till his foes reel : Since wonders are so cheap , that every blow Must be so prodigall , Let Heaven bestow One on my trembling Muse , that she may see Her Prince's miracles in a simile . — Have ye ' ere seen A roaring Lion , big with rage , whose spleen Durst venture on the Gods , when his proud foe On solitarie Cliffs , presumes his Bow With his dividing steel , sufficient force To beard his highnesse with , whose voice is hoarce Already with his boyling rage , whose eyes Shootforth contracted flame , his shag doth rise , His tallons all unsheath , whilst a deep groan ( Like Gorgons head , ) would fright hisfoe to stone ; But yet the generous Archer speeds amain His well-taught shasts , though still they light in vain Upon his Royall fur : The Rampant King Unites his furie 'cause he faild a spring , With open mouth receives the bolder Dart , First spits it forth , and then his generous heart Kindles a double flame ; his spirits rise , Dart naught but vengeance from his blazing eyes , Seizeth his foe , and then his rending paw Teares up his bosome , for his grinding jaw To craunch his vanquisht heart : So , just so Our Royall Lion doth entreat his foe , With equall courage and with equall flame , But with unequall stars , which seems to shame And make Olympus blush : But Atlas frownd , Swore Heaven should sink for him to th' Stygian sound , If its more favouring aspect did not look Upon the just designs ; then Phebus took The deep-divining rowles of Fate , and read As great deliverance on my Soveraign's head , As ever cop'd with danger : thus appeas'd , Thick-shouldred Atlas was again well pleas'd : Had you been there you might have heard a shout , A suddain tempest , loud enough to rout Joves thunder to a whisper ; Th' army flyes , And Save-the-King runs Clambering up the skies : But he , brave soul , rather then think of save , Incircled by the dead , doth court his grave ; Yet is preserv'd , and gone , Jove best knows how , But , by Joves favour , I 'l goe beat the bough . A stately Pallace 't is , 't is large and tall , My Leidge hath turn'd his White to a Green hall ! His father purpl'd it ! the Phancie's rare , Since Purple , White and Green his Colours are . But lo the Crescent-crowned Queen of Night Spangles the double Poles with borrowed light , And decks with wanton rayes her gamesome hair , Whilst shooting stars run trick about the Aire ; And wonder much to see the sisters loome Spin a long thread within the structing womb Of a comsumptive Oake , which had not teem'd An hundred years before : but yet it seem'd Latona must be fetcht , though 't be in vain , For now my King 's secured by a Lane : A raritie indeed , since when , I 'm sure The via Regia nere was thought secure . — But heark , the Capering brine Doth call my Muse , to frisk a nimble twine With it , for joy my Soveraign doth daine T' accept the service of the prouder maine , Whilst Zephir ' whispers-forth a softer gail , Whose wanton sporting swells the pregnant sail ; The furrow break in silver foam all o're , And straight , the stout Keel plows the Norman shore ; Which Ecchoeth welcome , and , repleat with joy , Doth storm Olympus with a viv ' le Roy : But fortune still , as various as before , ventures to dally with his stars once more ; And , as an Ignis Fatuus doth climbe Sometimes aloft , then courts its mother-slime : So she unconstant paces foots amaine , First wantons with her flattery , then disdain ; And 'cause the French , of all men , sympathize Her most transcendent rare varieties , She makes them be the racket that must toss My Soveraign ( like a ball , ) into a loss , Or band ' him to an hazard , whilst his foes Are courted for a league , A rebell nose Makes them forget their honour , and their blood , For fear it should take snuffe ; thus , in the bud My Princes hopes are nipt , whilst Fiends , not men ; First entertain , then turn him out agen . So have I often seen a greedy Cur To cramb his spacious gut make a great stir , With eager haste swallow the pleasing bit , And then at length his paunch disgorged it . But now the storm is past , the Day is fair , French complements evaporate to aire , While th' Austrian Prince exceedeth France as far As substance doth a shadow , Sol a star , Yet still there doth some chequer'd clouds appear , Like beautie-spots , within his hemisphear ; But are dispersed ; and a Monck , whose hood Vaild his design , prevents a purple stood ; And by a Labyrinth of windings , brings Phanatick Custos up to rellish Kings : But now the stars with better aspects crown'd Distill rich influence , and forget they fround , The whilst our Prince doth gradually scale Up Fortunes wheel by steps , that doe not fail . So have I seen Apollo's radient eye , Peeping through sable Curtains of the skie ; First powder it with Argent , Or it next , And after comment largely on the text . But then arose a grand dispute , what Fee The Senat held by ; some would have it be Fee-simple , but the greater vogue prevail , And all conclude at last it was Fee-tail . At whose decease no issue did succeed , So the Reversion , as is due , must need Fall to my Soveraign . But , methinks , I hear That Charlemaine moves in his proper sphear ; Whose harmonie exceeds Apollo's lire , Or Orpheus crystall sphears , though all conspire To ravish with these sceents . Plato's true , Th' old Realme of England is become a new ; 'T is its Platonick year , then let my soul Extract the spirits of joy , and crown my bowle Brimfull with wishes , whilst the Sun keeps time , And ecchoing shouts do foot the measured time . Melpomene no more , come , come , and twine About our , Olive merriest of the nine , And , when thy jolly store is emptied , then Its quintescence extract , and that agen . Europa's Bull went wading by degrees , First dipt his golden hoofes , anon his knees ; So hath our Soveraign done , yet still we see He is to us , as Jove to Semele . Thus have we seen a swelling Cloud arise , Whose spacious bulk did Lord it o're the skies , And golden Phebus did a Prisoner doom To the black conclave of it's sooty womb , But thanks to Heaven , a more refulgent beam Turn'd the Usurper to it's former steam . And since our glittering Sun ; with rayes full grown , On high Olympus top hath fixt his Throne , If any ambitious meteors shall appear , Let them prove falling-stars in 's hemisphear . By James Bernard .