VOTA, NON BELLA.  
NeVV-CastLe's Hearty GratVLatIon TO HER SaCreD Sovereign KIng CharLes The SeConD; ON HIs now-gloriovs RestaVratIon To HIs Birth-right-power.  
By RALPH ASTELL, M. A.  
Gateshead, Printed by Stephen Bulkley, 1660.   

VOTA, NON BELLA, etc.  

OH Thou, the High and Lofty Holy-One,  
Who in that dazzling light hast set thy Throne,  
To which no Eagle-eye approach can make,  
Nor Jacobs-Staff its altitude can take,  
Bow, bow the Heavens, and come down and dwell  
Amidst the Praises of thine Israël.   

My Loyal Fancy with thy Beamlings fill,  
And sparkle Daylight from my Nighted Quill  
Through all the Crannies of our Hemi-sphere,  
And with thy smiles kiss up each dewy Tear!  
Re-briske the Spirits which are almost spent,  
And Cure us by our Wound, a parliament!   

MAy I presume amongst the glistering Train  
Of Britain's fairest Nymphs (Dread Sovereign!)  
On humble Knee to kiss Your Royal Hand,  
And Joy You welcome to Your Native Land?   

The Southern Ladies now (I know) will dress  
Themselves in all their pretty gaudiness;  
Richly perfumed with breath of Maia's flowrs,  
Catched from their sweet Lungs after dewy showers:  
And crowd the Treasures of the bi-forked Hill  
Into th'alembic of some Golden Quill;  
Then, raptured with a Sacred Fire, from thence  
Drop in Your Princely Ears Loves Quintessence  
In Highborn Strains of Poëtry, which shall  
Immertallize Your Great Memorial.   

Nay, Phoenixlike (methinks) I see them bring  
Arabian Spices on their nimble Wing,  
And build a Pile; which on Your New-birth-day  
Kindly aspected by Your Solar Ray,  
Becomes a Royal Bonfire, in whose flashes  
They gloriously expire; yet 'midst those Ashes  
A Seed is couched, which, influenced by You,  
A self-born Phoenix yearly doth renew.   

Whilst I, black Northern Lass, from Kedar's Tents  
Approach Your Court with no such Fragrant Scents:  
Nor can I Greet You in a Golden Strain,  
Whose finest Metal runs through a Coal Vein,  
My dangling tresses of a deep-dark brown,  
By ruffling Boreas tufted up and down,  
With Musk nor Amber do em-breath the Air,  
Like our young Gallants in their Curled Hair,  
Befringed with Atoms Aromatical;  
Save Coal dust-powder, I have none at all.   

Yet (Royal SIR!) deign me this only Grace,  
To be a Black-patch on some Beauty's Face;  
And so (perhaps) like darker foil, I may  
Cause sparkling Diamonds shine with brighter ray.  
Venus herself is proud of her brown Mole;  
I have my spot too, 'tis a good round Coal:  
This sets me off, and makes me Penny-fair;  
White Swans are common, but a Black one Rare.   

And such a Bird upon Tyne's Banks shall sing  
In Loyal Notes, God save Great charles's our KING!  
Heaven fix his Crown! may He successful prove,  
And sit Enthroned in His People's love!  
May our Latonian Lamps still happy shine,  
And never meet in the Ecliptic Line!  
May CHARES, our Sun (who from the Eld of days,  
And King of Kings derives His sovereign Rays;  
Even from the Sacred Fount of Orient Light)  
Scatter the Juncto of the black-browed Night  
With His Majestic Presence, and cashier  
The Foggy Mists out of our Hemi-sphere!  
May He tran-spierce with Justice-darting Eyes  
The Murders, Rapines, Treasons, Blasphemies,  
That have been Acted on Great Britain's Stage,  
By the Scene-servers of this Masked Age:  
Whilst they re-guild each weatherbeaten Front,  
That has true Loyalty enstamped upon't!  
May He not cease Benignly to aspect  
The parliament; our Moon, that does reflect  
No self (but borrowed) Lustre; whether she  
Be in her Apoor her Perige!  
May she (kind heavens!) still in the Full appear,  
But never Act beyond her proper Sphere!  
Or justle Phoebus, or with her long Train  
Presume hereafter to mount Charles' Wain!  
And let that Tongue ne'er coin a sound again,  
That will not play the Clerk, and say, Amen.   

For though (by reason of a dusky slough  
That over-casts the surface of my Brow)  
I cannot show so smooth a white-skinned hue  
As other Madam, yet my Heart's as true;  
Who, could they through those secret Chambers glance,  
Might-thence take Copies of Allegiance.  
Nay, he that runs may Read how with my blood  
To Faith's Defender I still faithful stood.  
Scotland can witness (to her cost) that I  
Mis-kenned her doublefaced Mercury;  
When as the Brotherhood with reverend paws  
Was called in, t'uphold the Dying Cause.   

Her numerous Army, which about me lay  
With Bag and Baggage to divide the Prey,  
Ne'er scar-crowed me: but stoutly I did stand  
Even with a handful (till the utmost Sand)  
To vindicate my Trust: and when my Wall  
Earth-quaked with Powder, on the ground did sprawl,  
My Loyalty ne'er shook; for well I knew,  
Who then expired, strait way to Heaven flew,  
Each with his Tombstone, that some Angel might  
Their Epitaphs to Everlasting write.   

Eftsoon (like Job) upon a Dunghill I  
Was set, uncased of all my bravery:  
Yet I embraced it with a cheerful smile,  
And thought myself Enthroned all the while;  
Triumphing in my change of Rags, which were  
A Badge of Honour to a Cavalier.   

On my first Love my Eye was ever bend,  
Though churlish Keepers did my hand prevent;  
Forcing my Purse (not Heart) strings to dilate,  
And tribute pay to their Utopian State.   

Our Holy Mother, shouldered out of door  
By graceless Sons (who called her Romish Whore,  
Of all her-Sacred Ornaments be-striped her,  
And (fie for shame!) from post to pillar whipped her,  
With Scorpion-tagged points, which pierced so deep,  
That through each Poor her bleeding soul did weep)  
I reverenced, as I was wont to do;  
Nay, bowed may Knee, and Asked her Blessing too:  
Which out of fashion with their duties grew,  
Who left the Old-way to seek out a New.  
But 'tis not strange, our Mother they despite,  
Sith they [Our Father] have forgotten quite.   

I grieved to think, her Seamless Coat was rend,  
And our good Shepherds into corners sent.  
Grave, Learned Fathers (such my Eyes have seen  
Called fore some Gifted Brethren of Nineteen,  
To be new Catechized about their Graces,  
Or else to quit their more-examined Places)  
Once graced my Pulpits, whence my ravished Ear  
The lively Oracles might freely Hear:  
But they were silenced, or else whispered small,  
When Jeroboam's Priests began to bawl;  
Crossing my Worship with an Harp-set Note,  
Which of their Masters they had got by Rote.  
Brave Oliver! still sat upon their Lip,  
With his Encomiums their Tongues they tip:  
But will not learn (till forced to't by the Rod)  
How to Pronounce, CHARLES by the Grace of God.  
I must confess, 'tis but my usual fate,  
To have like Minister, like Magistrate:  
Whose Rampant Zeal has made me Couchant lie,  
Scarce suffering me to look with half an Eye  
(For many years) towards the Royal Race;  
Till that good MONK unveiled his lucky Face.  
A Face! which, when it bo-peeed through his hood,  
Gave us some glimpses of our future good:  
Our day began break, which long had hid' its Head,  
And Lambert's shadow's on a sudden fled.  
Betwixt hope and fear with looks distract we sit,  
Not knowing well how this great Change may hit:  
Sometimes our Spirits frisk, and do presage,  
That GEORGE will bring again the Golden Age:  
When strait surprised with a Counter-blast,  
The Scene is changed, and we droop as fast.  
Our Leaves (like Heliotropes) we spread or close,  
As GEORGE his Cloud, or light-some Pillar shows.  
But, once full-Orbed with a sovereign ray,  
Our Night was turned into a Glorious Day.   

The Freeborn People (ne'er till then made free)  
Shook off their Slave-ships, and cried Jubilee.  
Knights of the Noble Garter (then) all were;  
For on his breast each man a GEORGE did bear.   

Th'imperial City (which of late has been  
A Cage for unclean birds to nestle in;  
As Scriech-Owles, Harpies, Cormorants, and those  
Bloodthirsty Vultures, Nol for Judges chose  
Of his accursed Slaughter-house) was then  
A general Rendezvous of honest men.  
How was she ravished, when her dazzled Eye  
Saw CHARLES and Phoebus both in Gemini!   

Thrice-happy City! whose first stone ('tis said)  
In the ascendent Twins was fairly laid:  
Now more than happy! sigh in the same Sign  
Heaven fixed the Headstone of the STVART's Line.  
(A tried and precious stone, all wonder-wrought,  
Though by pretending bvilders set at nought)  
Whilst that three Kingdoms joined in Consort, cry  
Grace, Grace unto it: oh, sweet Harmony!  
You Sister-Nymphs, who play your learned pranks  
On Grant and Isis flow'r-enameled Banks!  
Who with your speaking Eyes can compliment  
The scaly Fry out of their Element;  
And cause the Streams smooth gliding to advance,  
And take the murmuring Pebbles out to dance  
To your sweet Lyric touch! who can in-voice  
The trembling Leaves, and make the Trees rejoice:  
Recant your fawning Protectorian Notes,  
And to an higher Key screw up your Throats,  
Your warbling Tongues re-tune, let her be shent  
Who to that bloody Tyrant durst present  
Her [Olive Branch of Peace:] may that foul crime  
Hereafter ne'er attaint her Nobler Rhyme!  
Our CHARLES is born again! your Fancies scarse,  
And once more measure His Genethliack Verse.   

Twelve-times Hyperion at each Sign has hoasted  
(Whilst through the Zodiac his Chariot posted)  
Since that Great Britain traveled in pain,  
To be Delivered of a Sovereign.   

The starred Peers, with some of Royal Kin,  
And Loyal Gentry oft were Called-in  
To her hard Labour, but in vain did play  
The active Midwives 'fore th'appointed day.  
For the Great Dragon (known by his Red Nose)  
With force and cunning did the work oppose;  
Still ready to devour, affront he stood,  
And from his mouth cast out a purple flood,  
Whose raging and impetuous stream bore down  
Law's and Relion's Banks in every Town;  
Ingulphing their Estates, Lives, Liberties,  
Who were engaged in the Enterprise.  
'Twas Treason for to cast a pitying Eye  
On her in this her great extremity;  
Her throws grew sharp, her bones seemed out of joint,  
She faints and 'swounds, each minute at death's point,  
She sweats and shricks, her body's on the Rack,  
Yet who so hardy, as to hold her Back?  
Slingsby miscarried, Hewit lost his head,  
'Cause he stood by her in the time of need.   

As big as she can tumble, than she cries,  
Help, help (good Neighbours) with your quick supplies!  
I'm almost spent, yet do not give me over;  
Were I once laid, my strength would soon recover.   

Kind Cheshire quickly heard her piteous moan,  
(Enough to melt an heart hewed out of stone  
Into a fount of Tears) nor does she spare  
Her dearest blood to Usher in the Heir.  
She knocks up Booth, who with his Loyal band,  
Is ready strait to lend his helping hand:  
But, whilst that others do too tardy rise,  
(Wiping the slumber from their half-shut Eyes)  
They are surprised, and he forced to fly,  
And leave poor Britain in the Straw to lie.   

And thus she lay! affrighted and forlorn;  
No hopes at all a Saviour would be born:  
Till Heaven employed that Noble Instrument,  
And from the North St. GEORGE on-Horse-back sent  
T'obstetricate; whose Journey scarce was done,  
When she began to Travel with a Son;  
The happy issue of her Prayers and Tears,  
Which had besieged the Almighty's Ears.   

GEORGE made no vaunts, yet gave encouragement;  
Gentle and rough, still in a Mist he went;  
Till all was ready for a work so great,  
Then stepped in GEORGE, and did the Noble feat;  
Brought her to Bed, which none before could do;  
Nay, saved the Darling, and the Mother too:  
Whose sudden joy made her (by a sweet fate)  
The Act of Amnesty to antedate.   

Whole Volleys (strait) of Acclamations pierce  
The Echoing Air, another Universe  
Crowds London's streets, to see this strange new thing,  
The Real Presence of their twice-born KING.  
The Bells, in-souled by some Intelligence,  
Awaited then no Ringers to commence  
The welcome Changes, but their Clappers ply,  
Returning Thanks for her Delivery.  
Th'angelic Choir dismounted roundly (then)  
And in their Anthems bore a Part with Men.  
Of all the Set, the Organs mourned that day,  
Their Pipes were stopped so hard, they could not play.  
The People, tickled with the Noble Sounds,  
Can scantly keep their souls i'th'bodie's bounds;  
Some tossed their Caps, which in mixed dances hover  
Above their heads; no need to bid, Uncover.  
On flexed Knees some for His health did Pray,  
Whilst in full Bowls some drink their own away.  
Some clap their hands, who in the tiding throngs  
Puffing and sweltering, had quite lost their tongues.  
Some 'bout the crackling Bonfires shout and sing,  
And pretty Babes lisped out, A King! A King!  
Oh! what a goodly sight! what wondering Eyes!  
What leaping Hearts; to see our Sun arise  
In His full strength, and lift His beaming Head  
From off the Pillow of His Sea-green bed!  
Phosphered by GEORGE, be-duked on either hand;  
Before, behind the Glory of the Land,  
Like Planets moving in their glistering Spheres,  
Whilst CHARLES, like Phoebus, in the mids appears,  
In bloudless Triumph Riding to His Throne:  
For HE makes Conquest of our Hearts alone.   

Then I, (who whilom scarce a CHARLES durst name,  
Enforced to shroud the Loyall-mounting Flame  
In Ashy Weeds) broke forth in varied Joy,  
Descanting boldly on, Vive Le ROY.   

St. GEORGE no more shall (now) a Romance be,  
But our best Story (MONCK!) made good in Thee:  
Thou hast out-vy'd him, may thy Sword ne'er fail,  
That did (unsheathed) disrump the Dragon's tail;  
Whose fiery swinge, as roundabout it went,  
Our brightest Stars struck from the Firmament.  
Oh, for a Virgil now! whose Skilful Quill  
With new Georgics might our Country fill:  
Whilst I oppressed with CHARLES his crowding glory,  
Leave After-ages for to write His Story!   

And now (Great Monarch!) lest my longer stay  
Should fright the Ladies at Your Court away,  
(Whose dainty stomaches will, I know, disdain  
The poor provision of my courser brain)  
Unto my smutchy Cell I will retire,  
And what I cannot utter, there admire.   

I'll sit me down, and wonder how You made  
(Overcome at Worster, not to say, Betrayed  
By such, who sold th' Anointed of the Lord)  
Your blessed escape from Cromwell's thirsty Sword,  
That cursed Nimrodean Hunter! whose keen Pack  
Of quick-nosed Bloodhounds traversed every tract,  
Beat every Bush, through this and t'other Wood,  
To find Your steps, and suck Your Sacred Blood;  
Yet lost their game: Amazed then I'll stand,  
To think, how in the hollow of his hand  
God hide Your Royal Self, and let none see,  
When You took Sanctuary in a Tree.  
My weeping Eye Your Flitting shall review,  
And in Your exile go along with You.  
I'll draw an abstract of Your many dangers,  
By Your own Country men, false Friends & Strangers,  
Of Robbers, Waters, and the fearful Deep,  
In City, Wilderness, awake, asleep.   

Then, on the Counterpart my Rapted Soul,  
With Pencil dipped in some Castalian Bowl,  
Shall-limne a Land-scape of God's gracious Care,  
His Love and Mercies, Various, Rich and Rare.   

Both in Your Banishment and Restauration  
To Your returning People of this Nation,  
You were be-miracled, and may be said,  
In Hieroglyphics to be all arrayed.   

From You our happy Aera shall commence,  
Who were the Masterpiece of Providence.   

OH, let us not (good Lord!) let us no more,  
Instead of one just Monarch serve Five-score  
Usurping Kinglings! keep us all entire,  
Rendering the Son what we denied the Sire.  
Restore in CHARLES our Church, Laws, Liberties,  
And make our Hearts a willing Sacrifice!  
Let us no more Revolt, but have a care,  
How we conspire against the Lawful Heir!  
That blest with Peace and Plenty, we may sing,  
Glory to God on High for Our Good KING!    

Te●●astichon.  
Vltima magnarum Prognostica Linea rerum,  
Quâ CAROLI Primi finitur Regis Imago,  
In Facie Reducis legitur perfecta Secundi;  
Nato Vota dabunt, Patri quae Bella negârunt.  
FINIS.