THE SEVERAL SPEECHES AND Songs, at the presentment of Mr BUSHELS ROCK TO THE QVEENES' Most Excellent Majesty.  
Aug. 23. 1636.  
HER HIGHNESS being Graciously Pleased to Honour the said ROCK, not only with HER ROYAL Presence; BUT COMMANDED THE SAME to be called after her own Princely name HENRIETTA.  
OXFORD, Printed by LEONARD LICHFIELD.  
M.DC.XXXVI.   

The Hermit's speech ascending out of the ground as the KING entered the Rock.  

WITH bended knees thus humbly do I pray,  
You blessed powers, that glorify this day,  
And to my frozen lips have utterance given,  
Speak, O speak the Commands you bring from heaven!  
For by times Emblem that since Noah's flood,  
I thus have grasped, my soul hath understood,  
The world no farther journey hath to sail  
Then is betwixt this Serpent's head, and tail. 
Hold Serpe hand   
If then before the Earth's great funeral,  
Most glorious SIR, you hither come to call  
The Inmates of this solitary place  
To strict account, for Heaven's sake deign the grace  
To lend your patience, and a gentle ear  
To what I ought to speak, and you may hear:  
A Prodigal profuse in vast expense,  
That nothing studied, but to please his sense,  
Trimming a glorious outside, whilst within  
He cherished nought, but propagating sin,  
That multiplied so fast, there was no place  
Allowed for virtue, or for saving grace;  
God of his mercy pleased was at last  
A gracious Eye upon his soul to cast,  
Which being so near a final rack as now  
His only care, his study is, but how  
He may redeem the years he lost in sin  
And live as he to live did now begin.  
What followed next must be conceived of course,  
Confession, contrition, and remorse,  
These guides to heaven he happily pursued,  
Viewed his past life, and that again reviewed:  
And to that end he purchased at a price  
This field, then sterile, now his Paradise;  
Where he as man of old, by God being bound  
With Adam, wrought, and digged, and dressed the ground.  
Here are no Rivers such as Eden had,  
Nor were these banks with trees or flowers clad  
T' invite a stay, the Owl, not Philomel  
Within this solitary place did dwell.  
And I, the Genius of this obscure Cave  
Since the great deluge, lived as in a grave,  
Chained to this ROCK, my Toumb-stone in despair  
Of freedom, or to view such beams, as are  
Shot from your Virtues: All my days were night,  
Until the humble Owner brought to light  
These eyes of mine, and forced great nature show  
This masterpiece, a grace she did not owe  
To any age before, and sooth to say,  
I think it was created 'gainst this day.  
If then you be the God of Britain's earth,  
And rule this I'll, (as sure you are by birth)  
Vouchsafe a blessing, such a one as may,  
Preserve this ROCK, my mansion from decay.  
For envy would expel me from my home,  
And sink me in the ruins of my own.  
But let the true Possessor, to whom heaven  
For pure devotion-sake this place hath given,  
Let him in peace enjoy it, that he may  
Build Altars here, and daily offerings pay  
For his preservers health grant this, and then  
I that lived long with stones, will live with men:  
And think the golden age is now begun,  
In which no injuries are meant or done:  
Such Innocents' as yet remain with us  
That do inhabit here, and humbly thus  
We mean to live, having no other fare  
Then uncurst water, uncorrupted air.  
Vouchsafe to enter, and you here shall find  
Nothing but what may please a displeased mind.  
My bold Commission's done, and I return  
Down to my humble grave, my peaceful urn.    

Mr BUSHEL his Contemplation upon the Rock.  

GReat nature, had I not a Soul, that spies  
A greater power enthroned above the skies,  
I should adore thee, and should Idolise  
This masterpiece of thine, and sacrifice  
The fat of Bullocks to thy memory,  
But we forbidden are to deify  
What may be seen; since that it is revealed  
The face of what's divine must be concealed  
From mortal eyes, until that greatest light  
Be quite put out that severs day from night.  
Where are the Muses, that were wont to sing  
Their well tuned note about Parnassus' spring?  
Where is that Masterpiece of Poets now  
That had a Laurel wreath to crown each brow?  
Where are those paper-spoylers, that can part  
With many sheets to paint out painted Art  
In praising faces, features such as be  
In beauty poor, if once compared to thee?  
Shall I not think the world on's deathbed lies,  
And summoned to his funeral obsequies,  
The souls departed hence, when thus I see  
Nature unlock her richest treasury.  
And in this doting age discover more  
Then in six thousand years that passed before.  
You, that can sequester yourselves from men,  
And buried be alive, in Cave, or den,  
In hollow ROCK, or in a desert grove,  
That the sad note of murmuring water love;  
I'll bring you to a ROCK, that for its pleasure,  
The Indies cannot purchase with their treasure,  
Where none but virgin silence liveth there  
And sweetest Music charms the chastest ear  
The fountains times do keep to birds that sing,  
And on the plain song uttered by each spring  
The airy Choristers division run;  
The solid ROCK that various streams hath spun  
Even into strings as small as smallest wire,  
Seems to consort, and so make up a choir  
Such as the holy virgins sweetly raise  
When their choice Hymns do sing on holy-days.  
So that devotion here is kept on wing,  
And rather raised, then checked by whispering  
Of springs with ROCKS, or ROCKS with light heeled streams  
Night swims away in rest, the day in dreams,  
So that the watchful HERMIT needs no clock,  
There are perpetual Chymes within this ROCK,  
That will not let his contemplation sleep,  
Would he be sad, there he may learn to weep  
Of every object offered to his eye;  
The humble pavement never shall be dry,  
But moistened still, with tears that there are shed,  
From the rich fountain of the ROCKS curled head.  
This my Prophetic soul foretells shall be,  
ENSTON, the honour, that shall dwell with thee.    

A Sonnet within the pillar of the Table at the Banquet.  

I.  
COme away blessed souls no more  
Feed your eyes with what is poor.  
'Tis enough that you have blessed  
What was rude; what was undressed,  
And created in a trice  
Out of Chaos paradise.  
Come away and cast your eyes  
On this humble sacrifice.   

2.  
We no golden apples give,  
Here's no Adam, here's no Eve:  
Not a Serpent dares appear,  
Whilst your Majesties stay here,  
Oh then sit, and take your due,  
Those the first fruits are that grew  
In this Eden, and are thrown  
On this Altar as your own   

3.  
Set a chair for earth's Jove.  
Bring another for his love.  
Come away, vouchsafe to taste  
What was gathered up in haste,  
If we live another year  
By your grace and favour here,  
Italy, and France, and Spain  
Of their fruits shall boast in vain.    

Mr BUSHEL presenting the Rock by an Echo sung to the KING and QVEENES' Majesty.  

The Echo.  
I charge thee answer me to what I ask, Echo: ask  
Hath aught presented to these Princes pleased? Echo: pleased  
Pleased? O gentle Echo speak that word again, Echo: again  
How have they liked our Rock, our Cave, our Well? Echo: well  
Well! proud would their Host be should I tell him Echo: tell him  
Tell him Echo, I will that he despair not Echo: Spare not  
What shall we give them by way of thankfulness? Echo: thankfulness  
That, like thee, is air; we would give what's real Echo: all  
All, why all that we have is but this Rock, Echo: this Rock  
Give them this poor Rock, Echo mean you so? Echo: so  
To which of them, toth' King or to the Queen? Echo: the Queen  
What to the King, if this be given the Queen? Echo: the Queen  
The Queen, there's nought more precious: 'tis true: Echo: true  
Can nothing more be added to his bliss? Echo: bliss  
Bliss, the bliss of Heaven Echo you mean sure; Echo: sure  
Sure be't to them both as this our blessing; Echo: sing  
Sing gentle Echo, is that thy desire? Echo: desire   

THen blessed be this pair  
On the earth, in the air,  
Blessed in their Girls, and Boys,  
Let them live to hear it told,  
Their grand-grandchildrens are grown old.  
Let her beauty ever last,  
And his vigour never waste.  
Let the sea, that bounds these Isles,  
Ebb at least ten thousand miles:  
And return no more, but leave  
New kingdoms for them to bequeath  
To the many heirs they get;  
And when they pay nature's debt,  
Let their bodies not be found  
Dwelling in the sluttish ground,  
But translated to those thrones,  
Only built for blessed ones.  
Echo let these prayers be  
Posted up to Heaven by thee  
And if granted let us know,  
Gentle Echo answer so Echo: so  
So, then 'tis agreed above Echo: above  
That this pair shall live, and love: Echo: and love  
And for ever happy be Echo: happy be  
In their blessed posterity. Echo: posterity  
Echo, for this news I'll give Echo: give  
Leave that thou shalt ever live Echo: live  
In this Paradise of theirs, Echo: their's  
Theirs Echo, 'tis no more mine, Echo: mine  
Theirs, and thine, Echo ever, Echo: ever  
Fates decrees altar never. Echo: never    

A Sonnet sung to the KING and QUEEN at Mr Bushels Rock.  

1.  
Hark, hark, how the stones in the Rock  
Strive their tongues to unlock,  
And would show,  
What they know,  
Of the Joy here hath been  
Since the King and the Queen  
Deign to say  
They would pay  
A visit to this cell:  
But all tongues cannot tell;  
Nor language express  
Our full thankfulness.   

2.  
Hark, hark, how the streams roll along,  
And for want of a tongue  
Vent in tears  
All their fears  
Lest the King, lest the Queen  
Being come, having seen,  
What we have  
In this cave,  
That nothing can delight  
That is brought to their sight,  
Or fully express  
Our heart's thankfulness.   

3.  
Hark, hark, how the Birds in the groves  
Strive to tender their loves,  
For the Spring,  
That the King,  
And the Queen bring along:  
Do but see how they throng  
With their notes  
In their throats,  
On each Bank, in each Bush  
sits a Lark, and a Thrush,  
That fain would express  
Their heart's thankfulness.   

4.  
Hark, hark, we humbly do entreat  
How your Hosts heart doth beat,  
How it pants,  
'Cause it wants  
What he gladly would bring  
To the Queen, and the King,  
Deign to speak,  
Lest it break,  
Let him know you are pleased  
That his heart may be eased  
Or this Rock or this cave  
Is his Tomb or his grave.   The Music to these songs was composed by SIMON Ive. 
FINIS.