FORTH FEASTING.  
A panegyric TO THE KING'S MOST EXCELLENT MAJESTY.  
Flumina senserunt ipsa.  
EDINBURGH, Printed by ANDRO HART, 1617.   

FORTH FEASTING. A panegyric To the Kings most excellent Majesty.  
WHat blustering Noise now interrupts my Sleep?  
What echoing Shouts thus cleave my crystal Deep?  
And call me hence from out my watery Court?  
What Melody, what Sounds of joy and Sport,  
Be these here hurled from every neighbour Spring?  
With what loud Rumours do the mountains ring?  
Which in unusual Pomp on tiptoes stand,  
And (full of Wonder) overlook the Land?  
Whence come these glittering Throngs, these Meteors bright,  
This golden People set unto my Sight?  
Whence doth this Praise, Applause, and Love arise?  
What Lodestar eastward draweth thus all Eyes?  
And do I wake? or have some Dreams conspired  
To mock my Sense with Shadows much desired?  
Stare I that living Face, see I those Looks,  
Which with Delight wont to amaze my Brooks?  
Do I behold that Worth, that Man divine,  
This Age's Glory, by these Banks of mine?  
Then is it true what long I wished in vain?  
That my much-loving Prince is come again?  
So unto them whose Zenith is the Pole  
When six black Months are passed the Sun doth roll:  
So after Tempest to Sea-tossed Wights,  
Fair Helen's Brothers show their Cheering Lights:  
So comes Arabia's Marvel from her Woods,  
And far far off is seen by Memphis Floods,  
The feathered Syluans clowd-like by her fly,  
And with applauding Clangors beat the Sky,  
Nile wonders, Scraps Priests entranced rave,  
And in Mygdonian Stone her Shape engrave▪  
In golden Leaves write down the joyful time  
In which Apollo's Bird came to their clime.  
Let Mother Earth now decked with Flowers be seen,  
And sweet-breathed Zephyres curl the Meadows green:  
Let Heavens weep Rubies in a crimson Shower,  
Such as on Indies Shores they use to power:  
Or with that golden Storm the Fields adorn,  
Which Love reigned, when his Blew-eyed Maid was borne.  
May never Hours the Web of Day out-weave,  
May never Night rise from her sable Cave.  
Swell proud my Billows, faint not to declare  
Your joys, as ample as their Causes are:  
For Murmurs hoarse sound like Arion's Harp,  
Now delicately flat, now sweetly sharp.  
And you my Nymphs, rise from your moist Repair,  
Strew all your Springs and Grotts with Lilies fair:  
Some swiftest-footed get her hence and pray  
Our Floods and Lakes, come keep this Holie-day;  
What e'er beneath Albanias' Hills do run,  
Which see the rising or the setting Sun,  
Which drink, Stern Grampius Mists, or Ochelles Snows:  
Stone-rowling Taye, Tine Tortoyse-like that flows,  
The Pearlie Done, the Deas, the fertile Spay,  
Wild Neverne which doth see our longest Day,  
Nesse smoaking-Sulphure, Leave with Mountains crowned,  
Strange Loumond for his floating Isles renowned:  
The Irish Rian, Ken, the Silver air,  
The Snaky Dun, the Ore with Rushy Hair,  
The Chrystall-streaming Nid, lowd-bellowing Clyd,  
Tweed which no more our Kingdoms shall divide:  
Rancke-swelling Annan, Lid with curled Streams,  
The Eskes, the Solway where they lose their Names.  
To every one proclaim our joys, and Feasts,  
Our Triumphs, bid all come, and be our Guests:  
And as they meet in Neptune's azure Hall,  
Bid them bid Sea-Gods keep this Festival.  
This Day shall by our Currents be renowned,  
Our Hills about shall still this Day resound:  
Nay, that our love more to this Day appear,  
Let us with it henceforth begin our Year.  
To Virgin's Flowers, to Sunburnt Earth the Rain,  
To Mariners fair Winds amidst the Main:  
Cool Shades to Pilgrims, which hot Glances burn,  
Please not so much, to us as thy return.  
That Day (dear Prince) which rest us of thy Sight,  
[Day, no, but Darkness▪ and a cloudy Night]  
Did freight, our Breasts with Sights, our Eyes with Tears,  
Turned Minutes in sad Months, sad Months in Years:  
Trees left to flourish, Meadows to bear Flowers,  
Brooks hid their Heads within their Sedgy Bowers,  
Fair Ceres cursed our Fields with barren Frost,  
As if again she had her Daughter lost:  
The Muses left our Groves, and for sweet Songs  
Sat sadly silent, or did weep their Wrongs;  
Ye know it Meads, ye murmuring Woods it know,  
Hills, Dales, and Caves, Copartners of their Woe;  
And ye it know my Streams, which from their Eine  
Oft on your Glass received their pearled Brine;  
O Naïds dear (said they) Napaeas' fair,  
O Nymphs of Trees, Nymphs which on Hills repair,  
Gone are those maiden Glories, Gone that State,  
Which made all Eyes admire our Hap of late.  
As looks the Heaven when never Star appears,  
But slow and weary shroud them in their Spheres,  
While Tithon's wife embosom'd by him lies,  
And World doth languish in a dreary Guise:  
As looks a Garden of its Beauty spoiled.  
As Wood in Winter by rough Boreas foiled:  
As Pourtraicts razed of Colours use to be:  
So looked these abject Bounds deprived of Thee.  
While as my Rills enjoyed thy royal Gleams,  
They did not envy Tiber's haughty Streams,  
Nor wealthy Tagus with his golden Ore,  
Nor clear Hydaspes, which on Pearls doth roar,  
Empampred Ganges, that sees the Sun new borne,  
Nor Acheloüs with his flowery Horn,  
Nor Floods which near Elysian Fields do fall:  
For why? thy Sight did serve to them for all.  
No Place there is so desert, so alone,  
Even from the frozen to the torrid Zone,  
From flaming Hecla to great Quincys Lake,  
Which thine abode could not most happy make.  
All those Perfections which by bounteous Heaven  
To diverse Worlds in diverse Times were given,  
The starry Senate poured at once on Thee,  
That Thou Examplare mightst to others be.  
Thy Life was kept till the three sisters spun  
Their Threads of Gold, and then it was begun.  
With curled Clouds when Skies do look most fair,  
And no disordered Blasts disturb the Air:  
When Lilies do them deck in azure Gowns,  
And new-born Roses blush with golden Crowns;  
To bode how calm we under Thee should live,  
What Halcyonean Days Thy Reign should give,  
And to two flowery Diadems Thy right,  
The Heavens Thee made a Partner of the Light.  
Scarce wast Thou borne, when joined in friendly Bands  
Two mortal Foes with other clasped Hands,  
With Virtue Fortune strove, which most should grace  
Thy Place for Thee, Thee for so high a Place,  
One vowed thy sacred Breast not to forsake,  
The Other on Thee not to turn her Back,  
And that Thou more her loves Effects mightst feel  
For Thee she rend her Sail, and broke her Wheel.  
When Years Thee vigour gave, O then how clear  
Did smothered Sparkles in bright Flames appear!  
Amongst the Woods to force a flying Hart,  
To pierce the mountain Wolf with feathered Dart,  
See Falcons climb the Clouds, the Fox ensnare,  
Outrun the winde-out-running daedale Hare,  
To lose a trampling Steed alongst a Plain,  
And in meandring Gires him bring again,  
The Press Thee making place, were vulgar Things,  
In Admirations Air on Glories Wings  
O! Thou far from the common Pitch didst rise,  
With Thy designs to dazzle envies Eyes:  
Thou soughtst to know, this Alls eternal Source,  
Of ever-turning Heavens the restless Course,  
Their fixed Eyes, their Lights which wandering run,  
Whence Moon her Silver hath, his Gold the Sun▪  
If Destiny be or no, if Planets can  
By fierce Aspects force the Free-will of Man:  
The light and spiring Fire, the liquid Air,  
The flaming Dragons, Comets with red Hair,  
Heavens tilting Lances, Attillerie, and Bow,  
Lowd-sounding Trumpets, Darts of Hail and Snow,  
The roaring Element with People dumb,  
The Earth with what conceived is in her Womb,  
What on her moves, were set unto thy Sight,  
Till thou didst find their Causes, Essence, Might:  
But unto nought Thou so Thy Mind didst strain  
As to be read in Man and learn to reign;  
To know the Weight and Atlas of a Crown,  
To spare the Humble Prowdlings pester down.  
When from those piercing Cares which Thrones invest,  
As Thorns the Rose, Thou wearied wouldst Thee rest,  
With Lute in Hand, full of Celestial Fire,  
To the Pierian Groves Thou didst retire:  
There, garlanded with all Urania's Flowers,  
In sweeter Lays than builded Thaebès Towers,  
Or them which charmed the dolphins in the Main,  
Or which did call Euridicè again,  
Thou sungst away the Hours, till from their Sphere  
Stars seemed to shoot, Thy Melody to hear.  
The God with golden Hair, the Sister Maids,  
Left, nymphall Helicon, their Tempès Shades,  
To see Thine Isle, here lost their native Tongue,  
And in Thy world-divided Language sung.  
Who of thine After-age can count the Deeds,  
With all that Fame in Times huge Annals Reeds,  
How by Example more than any Law,  
This People fierce Thou didst to Goodness draw,  
How while the Neighbour Worlds (toused by the Fates)  
So many Phaëtons had in their States,  
Which turned in heedless Flames their Burnished Thrones,  
Thou (as ensphered) keep'dst temperate Thy Zones;  
In Africa Shores the Sands that ebb and flow,  
The speckled Flowers in unshorn Meads that grow,  
He sure may count, with all the Waves that meet  
To wash the Mauritanian Atlas feet.  
Though Thou were not a crowned King by Birth,  
Thy Worth deserves the richest Crown on Earth.  
Search this Halfë. Sphere and the opposite Ground,  
Where is such Wit and Bounty to be found?  
As into silent Night, when near the Bear  
The Virgin Huntress shines at full most clear,  
And strives to match her Brothers golden Light,  
The Host of Stars doth vanish in her sight,  
Arcturus dies, cooled is the lions ire,  
Po burns no more with Phaëtontall Fire,  
Orion faints to see his Arms grow black,  
And that his blazing Sword he now doth lack:  
So Europe's Lights, all bright in their Degree,  
Lose all their Lustre paragond with Thee.  
By just descent Thou from more Kings dost shine,  
Than main can name Men in all their Line:  
What most they toil to find, and finding hold,  
Thou scornest, orient Gems, and flattering Gold:  
Esteeming Treasure surer in men's Breasts,  
Than when immured with Marble, closed in Chests;  
No Stormy Passions do disturb Thy Mind,  
No Mists of Greatness ever could Thee blind:  
Who yet hath been so meek? Thou Life didst give  
To them who did repine to see Thee live.  
What Prince by Goodness hath such Kingdoms gained?  
Who hath so long his People's Peace maintained?  
Their Swords are turned in Sythes, in coulter's Spears,  
Some giant Post their antic Armour bears:  
Now, where the wounded Knight his Life did bleed,  
The wanton Swain sits piping on a Reed,  
And where the Canon did Ioues Thunder scorn,  
The gaudy Huntsman winds his shrill-tuned Horn:  
Her green Locks Ceres without fear doth die,  
The Pilgrim safely in the Shade doth lie,  
Both Pan and Pales (careless) keep their Flocks,  
Seas have no Dangers save the Winds and Rocks:  
Thou art this Isles Palladium, neither can  
[While Thou art kept] it be o'erthrown by man..  
Let Others boast of Blood and Spoils of Foes,  
Fierce Rapines, Murders, Iliads of Woes,  
Of hated Pomp, and Trophaees reared fair,  
Gore-spangled Ensigns streaming in the Air,  
Count how they make the Scythian them adore,  
The Gaditan the Soldier of Aurore,  
Unhappy Vauntrie! to enlarge their Bounds,  
Which charge themselves with Cares, their Friends with wounds;  
Which have no Law to their ambitious Will,  
But (Man-plagues) borne are human Blood to spill:  
Thou a true Victor art, sent from above  
What Others strain by Force to gain by Love,  
World-wandring Fame this Praise to Thee imparts,  
To be the only Monarch of all Hearts.  
They many fear who are of many feared,  
And Kingdoms got by Wrongs by Wrongs are teared,  
Such Thrones as Blood doth raise Blood throweth down,  
No Guard so sure as Love unto a Crown.  
Eye of our western World, Mars. daunting King,  
With whose Renown the Earth's seven Climates ring,  
Thy Deeds not only claim these Diadems,  
To which Thame, Liffy, Taye, subject their Streams:  
But to thy virtues rare, and Gifts, is due,  
All that the Planet of the Year doth view;  
Sure if the World above did want a Prince,  
The World above to it would take Thee hence.  
That Murder, Rapine, Lust, are fled to Hell,  
And in their Rooms with us the Graces dwell,  
That Honour more than Riches Men respect,  
That Worthiness than Gold doth more effect,  
That Piety unmasked shows her Face,  
That innocency keeps with Power her Place,  
That long-exiled Astrea leaves the Heaven,  
And useth right her Sword, her Weights holds even,  
That the Saturnian World is come again,  
Are wished Effects of Thy most happy Reign.  
That daily Peace, Love, Truth, Delights increase,  
And Discord, Hate, Fraud, with Encumbers cease,  
That Men use Strength not to shed others Blood,  
But use their Strength now to do other Good,  
That Fury is enchained, disarmed Wrath,  
That (save by Nature's Hand) there is no Death,  
That late grim Foes, like Brothers other love,  
That Vultures pray not on the harmless Dove,  
That Wolves with Lambs do Friendship entertain,  
Are wished Effects of thy most happy Reign.  
That Towns increase, that ruin'd Temples rise,  
And their wind-moving Vanes plant in the Skies,  
That Ignorance and Sloth hence run away,  
That buried Arts now rouse them to the Day,  
That Hyperiòn far beyond his Bed  
Doth see our lions ramp, our Roses spread,  
That Iber courts us, Tiber not us charms,  
That Rhein with hence-brought Beams his Bosom warms,  
That Evil us fear, and Good us do maintain,  
Are wished Effects of Thy most happy Reign.  
O Virtues Pattern, Glory of our Times,  
Sent of past Days to expiate the Crimes,  
Great King, but better far than thou art great,  
Whom State not honours, but who honours State,  
By Wonder borne, by Wonder first installed,  
By Wonder after to new Kingdoms called,  
Young, kept by Wonder, near homebred Alarms,  
Old, saved by Wonder, from pale Traitors Harms,  
To be for this Thy Reign which Wonders brings,  
A King of Wonder, Wonder unto Kings.  
If Pict, Dane, Norman, Thy smooth Yoke had seen,  
Pict, Dane, and Norman, had Thy Subjects been:  
If Brutus knew the Bliss Thy Rule doth give,  
Even Brutus' joy would under Thee to live:  
For Thou Thy People dost so dearly love,  
That they a Father, more than Prince, Thee prove.  
O Days to be desired! Age happy thrice!  
If ye your Heaven-sent-good could duly prise,  
But ye (halfe-palsey-sicke) think never right  
Of what ye hold, till it be from your Sight,  
Prise only Summers' sweet and musked Breath,  
When armed Winters threaten you with Death,  
In pallid Sickness do esteem of Health,  
And by sad Poverty discern of Wealth:  
I see an Age when after many Years,  
And Revolutions of the slow-paced Spheres,  
These Days shall be to other far esteemed,  
And like Augustus palmie Reign be deemed.  
The Names▪ of Arthure Fabulous Paladins,  
Graven in Time's surly Brows in wrinkled Lines,  
Of Henry's, Edward's, Famous for their Fights,  
Their Neighbour Conquests, Orders new of Knights,  
Shall by this Princes Name be past as far  
As Meteors are by the Idalian Star.  
If Gray-haired Proteüs' Songs the Truth not miss,  
And Gray-haired Proteüs oft a Prophet is,  
There is a Land hence-distant many Miles,  
Out-reaching Fiction and Atlantic Isles,  
Which (Homelings) from this little World we name,  
That shall emblazon with strange Rites his Fame,  
Shall, raise him Statues all of purest Gold,  
Such as men gave unto the Gods of old.  
Name by him Fanes, proud Palaces, and Towns,  
With some great Flood, which most their Fields renowns,  
This is that King who should make right each wrong,  
Of whom the Bards and mystic Sybil's song,  
The Man long promised, by whose glorious Reign,  
This Isle should yet her ancient Name regain,  
And more of Fortunate deserve the Style,  
Than those where Heavens with double Summer's smile.  
Run on (Great Prince) Thy Course in Glories Way,  
The End the Life the Evening crowns the Day▪  
Heap Worth on Worth, and strongly soar above  
Those Heights which made the World the first to love,  
Surmount Thyself, and make thine Actions past  
Bee but as Gleams or Lightnings of Thy last,  
Let them exceed them of Thy younger Time,  
As far as Autumn doth the flowery Prime.  
Through this Thy Empire range, like World's bright Eye,  
That once each Year surveys all Earth and Sky,  
Now glances on the slow and restic Bears,  
Then turns to dry the weeping Austers Tears,  
Just unto both the Poles, and moveth even  
In the infigured Circle of the Heaven.  
O long long haunt these Bounds, which by Thy Sight  
Have now regained their former Heat and Light.  
here grow green Woods, here silver Brooks do glide,  
here Meadows stretch them out with painted Pride  
Embroidering all the Banks, here Hills aspire  
To crown their Heads with the aetherial Fire:  
Hills, Bulwarks of our Freedom, giant Walls,  
Which never Fremdlings 'Slight nor Sword made Thralls;  
Each circling Flood to Thetis Tribute pays,  
Men here (in Health) outlive old Nestor's Days:  
Grim Saturn yet amongst our Rocks remains,  
Bound in our Caves, with many Metaled Chains:  
Bulls haunt our Shades like Leda's Lover white,  
Which yet might breed Pasiphaè Delight,  
Our Flocks fair Fleeces bear, with which for Sport  
Eudemion of Old the Moon did court,  
High-palmed Hearts amidst our Forests run,  
And, not impaled, the deep-mouthed Hounds do shun;  
The rough-foote Hare him in our Bushes shrouds,  
And long-winged Haulks do perch amidst our Clouds.  
The wanton wood-Nymphes of the verdant Spring,  
Blue, Golden, Purple, Flowers shall to Thee bring,  
pomona's Fruits the Paniskes, Thetis Girls  
Thy Thulies Amber, with the Ocean Pearls;  
The Tritons, Herdsmen of the glassy Field,  
Shall give Thee what farre-distant Shores can yield,  
The Serean Fleeces, Erythraean Gems,  
vast Platas Silver, Gold of Peru Streams,  
Antarctic Parrots, Aethiopian Plumes,  
Sabaean Odours, Myrrh, and sweet Perfumes.  
And I myself, wrapped in a watchet Gown,  
Of Reeds and Lilies on my Head a Crown,  
Shall Incense to Thee burn, green Altars raise,  
And yearly sing due Paeans to thy Praise.  
Ah why should Isis only see Thee shine?  
Is not Thy FORTH, as well as Isis Thine?  
Though Isis vaunt she hath more Wealth in store,  
Let it suffice Thy FORTH doth love Thee more:  
Though She for Beauty may compare with Seine,  
For Swans and Sea- Nymphs with Imperial Rhine,  
Yet in the Title may be claimed in Thee,  
Nor She, nor all the World, can match with me.  
Now when (by Honour drwne) Thou shalt away  
To her already jealous of Thy stay,  
When in her amorous Arms She doth thee fold,  
And dries thy dewy Hairs with Hers of Gold,  
Much questioning of Thy Fare, much of Thy Sport,  
Much of Thine Absence, Long, how e'er so short,  
And chides (perhaps) Thy Coming to the North,  
Loath not ro think on Thy much-loving FORTH.  
O love these Bounds, whereof Thy royal Stem  
More than an hundredth were a Diadem.  
So ever Gold and Bayes Thy Brows adorn,  
So never Time may see Thy Race outworn,  
So of Thine Own still mayst Thou be desired,  
Of Strangers feared, redoubted, and admired.  
So MEMORY the Praise, so precious Hours  
May character Thy Name in starry Flowers;  
So may Thy high Exploits at last make even,  
With Earth thy Empire, Glory with the Heaven.  
FINIS.