A PANEGYRIC ON HIS Sacred Majesty's Royal Person, CHARLES the IIᵈ, By the Grace of God, KING OF England, Scotland, France, & Ireland, Defender of the Faith, etc. and Coronation.  
Aut Caesar, aut nullus.  
By Samuel Austin Jun. B. A. Com. W. C. Oxon.  
LONDON, Printed for William Miller at the Acron in Saint Paul's Churchyard. 1661.   

THE EPISTLE TO THE READER.  
Reader,  
I Have nothing here of my own to present you with, that can in the least merit an acceptance from you, but the Royal Subject of my Poem: A Subject no less than a King, and a King of that choice Eminence, and Virtue, that I fear (as the Painter being not able to quicken a Beam into its native liveliness, doth soil the Sun in the attempt of Drawing its resemblance) lest I should (not sensing this so great a Majesty) decline from, or lessen his glory. If so, in all submissiveness I crave our Gracious Sovereign's pardon (not yours,) who in this only may be taxed as Criminal, that His overheight, and beaming lustre hath occasioned my default. 'Tis not for every one to lay a colour on Majesty, and Majesty such as his is; (graced with the confluence of all perfections, that humane nature can aspire unto, or be capable of, is enough to impoverish Learning, and to reduce the very eucrasy of man's wit unto a distress in the description thereof. And therefore none can justly blame me, if I am not exact therein.  
Reader, I shall not flatter you into the Reading of my broken Numbers, only tell you, that the Subject deserves your Worship, and choice respect, though I do not. And if there is any thing that may be accounted worthy of your Commendation, impute it to the sense of so full a Majesty, that hath overborne my Muse, and ravished my spirit unto that daring height, that I fear the issue may prove dangerous. However: I'll adventure. Be Candid, Read it out, and so farewell.  
Samuel Austin Jun. B. A. Com. W. C. Oxon.   

The Author according as these find acceptance, intends a larger Book of Poems: The Subjects of which are these following.  

KIng Charles the first his disguise.  
King Charles' the second his flight from Worcester.  
Pair Royal of strength and beauty: The Duke of York and his Duchess.  
An Elegy on the Duke of Glocesters' Death.  
Christ's love to his Church, shadowed out in Joseph and Potiphars Daughter, in a familiar Dialogue betwixt them.  
The Drones Indictment of the Bee.  
The Mystery of God in the World.  
The unusefulnesse of the five Senses.  
The Common Fire.  
Two Lovers in one Heart.  
The sensual Lover, or an Old Man Courting a Young Woman, in a Dialogue.  
The highway to a Throne, and Establishment of Kingdoms.  
Every Faction humoured, or the Humourous Sectary.  
The Author's descant thereon.  
Mr cleveland's Encomium, by the Author styled, the Poet Laureate.  
A Copy on Mr Abraham Cowley, and his excellent faculty in Poesy.  
The young Man's speech to a silent Woman.  
The Answer with the true Symptoms of Love.  
Directions for a Maid's Choice.  
Upon the Oracle.  
Upon Death procured by a scent or smell.  
The Authors Answer to Mr Randolphs' Poem styled, Love fond refused for Conscience sake etc.  
As also Letters in Prose upon several occasions compiled by the said Author.  
And the Author's Plea for old Philosophical principles against those that would obtrude Novelties, or new uncertainties upon us, under a kind of a humble affected Ignorance, etc.    

A Panegyric on his Sacred Majesty's Royal Person, (Charles the IIᵈ by the Grace of God, King of England, Scotland, France, and Ireland, Defender of the Faith, etc.) and Coronation.  
Pindaric Ode.  

The Author's humble Address to his Majesty.  
GReat Sir! may you be free  
To read yourself by me.  
The Sun is always seen most trim and fit,  
By Glasses, which are useless without it.  
You find the King, and Saint,  
I the Pencil, and Paint.  
You make the Sun, and light,  
But I the sense, and sight.  
I give virtue the face, or eye,  
You its temper, and gravity:  
I alone, the skin  
You all within.  
You Majesty include,  
I its similitude.  
You glory Antedate,  
I only do it state.  
Rise then my Muse made Royal, sing  
Thy new Relation to a King:  
A King to whom, thy all is due,  
Who is both Great, and perfect too.   

THey that divinests objects would descry,  
Must void their eye sight, and through blindness try;  
He that most Sacred things would find,  
Must study ignorance to be blind:  
Thus of a King to have a sight  
Requires the blotting out of light.  
Aelian gainsaid those Authors that allowed  
Their clearest exposition in a Cloud;  
But I them like; that truth alone bears spice  
That doth exact Interpretation twice.  
Thick darkness there doth best expound,  
Where the mystery is profound.  
Had Scripture but one single gloss,  
That might be questioned for dross.  
Was Truth at first clear to the eye,  
All might suspect it for a lie.  
They which will buy things of great price  
Must offer moneys for them twice.  
A King is deep, he that would sound  
His Grace must more than once expound.  
Truest Divinity runs high to mark  
Its clearest revelation in the dark.  
Faith's problem streams the soundest evidence,  
And yet must not be cloyed by humane sense.  
Divines Preach plainest Truths, whilst he that hears  
Is blind, and deaf, concealed eyes, and ears.  
Of hallowed things they deem too light,  
That place them in the vulgar sight.  
He that with reverence would mark  
A King must fold him up i'th' dark.  
The Prophets, which things highest did dispense  
First spoke the words, and then contrived their sense.  
Thus must I do in Writing of my Theme,  
First speak It out, then think what It doth mean.  
Words uttered without knowledge, date  
Matters, that do hold most of state:  
But when chained up to one known sense  
They point out common excellence.  
To Scan a King, that's perfect good  
Is to speak words not understood.  
King's walk like Saints i'th' notion of sense  
As Angel's skill the finest influence.  
Mortals they are, congealed of spirit, and blood  
But in the flesh may not be understood.  
A King beyond sense safe doth lie:  
The Persian State holds Majesty.  
Spirits trade not with Bodies, Angel's sway  
By inward thoughts, and never sense their way.  
Thus Sceptres do Intelligences find,  
Master the body, while they rule the mind.  
Princes distil their Influences such,  
Which are not plain perceived although they touch:  
Their Power is hid by which they sway,  
And ●or●● their Subjects to obey.  
Rise Charles! Your grace maintains that right  
Of living far above our fight.  
Majesti's by Your Sceptre blown:  
You have known all, and are not known.  
A secret Virtue do you find,  
To conquer both our heart and mind.  
Your Scarlet was not died at the first cast,  
But after many a colour laid in waist,  
The perfect ruling die sprang up at last.  
You did not hastily Your Sceptre catch,  
But as those Kings, whom none could match,  
And had great matters to dispatch.  
By an inter Regnum did You come,  
To be established in the Throne;  
And what was that but a shadow spun,  
Or a waste night unto Your Sun?  
Its Issues as void Colours spent,  
To settle deep Your Government▪  
Those things, whose Virtues are most seen,  
Move by an interval between  
The two Poles crosier active Powers,  
Make various season, time, and hours,  
By whose Virtue about are whirled  
The motions of the upper world;  
Nought ever their Sceptre withstood,  
Yet they maintain no Neighbourhood:  
The vastness of the space betwixt  
Heightens their Power, and states it fixed.  
The Sun Itself, whose flames are hurled  
Int' every corner of the world.  
Each days past Sceptre of Light  
Receives an interpose by night.  
And if it should all shadow shun,  
'Twould be reputed common Sun.  
The greatest glories are not seen  
Without the help of mask, or screen.  
But the least shade doth blind the sight,  
From a clear view of lesser Light.  
Small Lamps are best beheld, when near  
Packed up together in one Sphere;  
While bigger Lights being thronged too nigh  
Do wrong themselves, and eke the eye.   

Distance preserves the state of Kings,  
And proves them to be special things.  
Partition of time and space,  
Doth only state the Royal Race.  
Your Royal Father at first spanned  
The peaceful Sceptre in his hand;  
Then did You step upon the Throne,  
And now rule by Yourself alone.  
Your glories not together seen,  
But by alittle age between:  
And this 'tis that doth fully try  
The greatness of Your Majesty.  
Even as from Archimedes dust  
Demonstrations came into Trust;  
And as from Hyacinthus Blood  
Letters were made good.  
Whose sanguine shower  
Produced a flower,  
And as the wounds did flow  
A kind of Alphabet did blow,  
And Letters distinct grow;  
Which did record the fame  
Of Ajax's living name:  
How his untamed Spirit, and Power  
At length did sink into a flower;  
(Shrunk valour, if a flower must maintain  
The credit of an Ajax slain)  
Which saved Hyacinthus dying breath,  
With the sighs made at his death.  
Which in Characters fine, and trim  
Showed that Apollo loved him.  
Thus from Your Father's Blood, and Dust  
Knowledge and Learning sprang up first.  
Instance the Book made at His death,  
Compiled by His later breath.  
Oh! may the Name, of such a King as He,  
With Great Ones ones the gods recorded be?  
May Apollo be put in trust,  
To beautify his dust.  
To make His blood  
Immortal good.  
To Write His Name not in a flower;  
But in some Star, or higher Power:  
For his precious gore  
Letters are multiplied to more:  
His very Death,  
Hath given to Learning birth and breath.  
But you alone have perfect made,  
And ransomed ●●tters from the shade.  
By you they're fully ripe and good,  
And may be understood.  
You've given us sense and sight,  
And unto Learning all its light.  
The Heavens above not all o'er fair,  
Dark in, and out as if there were  
Betwixt earch Star, both earth and air.  
But all Your Graces are true light,  
In them no likelihood of night.  
Your Virtues are both fresh and green,  
No common Herb or Weed between.  
Damn Antichrist by virtues Kings are meant,  
Dissolve the Pope, and You the Innocent,  
Under whose Rule I may more truly say,  
That Lance and Nails do keep a Holiday,  
Religion rose, and did by you revive,  
Who only keep'st our Liberty alive.  
Amphyction complete;  
But far more great.  
The old Arithmetician Zealots mount  
The common age of th' World on Faith's account. 5199  
Their sense is seen: cause in it couched dothly,  
The holy-Trin, in a safe Unity: 1236.  
Make the World younger, give the Mystery light,  
Take out those figures, so the reckoning's right. 3960 vel 63  
(That Sacred Number, a confused lie,  
Unless It be drawn up by Unity)  
Kings make such Sums, he that would stake them bigger,  
Than other men must multiply by figure,  
And cast up mysteries above sense aloft:  
He that counts Princes plain, accounts them nought.  
Crowns cyphered are by Arithmetic ●n trust,  
Mystical Number, things in secret nursed.  
Thus doth our Sacred Prince most piercing try  
Age, Number, in divinest Mystery.  
By His Return the Ancient face of Time  
Looks young again, and our World's at its prime.  
He ' bandond falsehood, and hath Truth begot,  
In faith's defence, preserved the holy knot.  
To speak things seen, and known is for to miss  
What the perfection of a True king is.  
He only reached my Theme, that did account  
The holy Temple bigger than the Mount.  
Thou dost excel thyself alone  
And canst surpassed be by none.  
Thy Virtues in their perfect sense  
Can't dwell in that circumference.  
More room, more room, thy swelling grace  
Exacts a larger breast and face:  
I know It not, as soon I sound  
Good enoch's Prophecies near found.  
And thus my own blindness I see  
Remain great to Thyself, not me.  
Gods to th' Installment now come down  
Arise then, and receive the Crown.  
Heavens lend it Jewels, and beset  
It round with your starry Coronet.  
Let all the Elements conspire,  
Earth, Air, Water, and Fire,  
As ravished with a choice desire  
To make Charles his glory higher;  
That he that would their pureness find,  
May know th●●● to his Crown resigned,  
And only there confined.   

[1]  
Earth, Earth, unbowel all thy store,  
Thy Silver and thy Golden ore,  
Pearl, Diamonds, and thy shining Clay,  
To make him a new fashioned ray:  
We all the bright require,  
Keep Thou the dust and mire.  
Let both the Indies Mines appear,  
And settle in his Spheat.   

[2]  
Air be thou quiet, temperate, serene:  
May no molesting breath once move between:  
Forget all mists, unucile thy clear,  
May not one cobweb-cloud appear:  
Turn, turn into thy ancient mould,  
Produce no over-heats or cold;  
And with thy best Array,  
Attend the Coronation Day.   

[3]  
Seas be ye smooth, let your disturbed brow  
Unwrinckle now.  
Confess his Sceptre may your wat'ry plains  
Acknowledge by their rest, that our Charles Reigns.  
Let the Inmates, that in you swim  
Be subject unto Him.  
Your Neptune is decayed, and old,  
Shrunk into another mould.  
Behold his furrowed form,  
Which hath buried many a storm.  
Where tempests, and winds do fix,  
And with each other mix.  
Even as a man, who by the Seas  
Hath visited our Antipodees,  
That returns from that nether world  
With his forehead, traced and curled.  
As if the shipwreck had mistake,  
And sunk into His look;  
Leaving him all forlorn  
With's countenance cloven and torn.  
Let Neptune as a fiction die  
With Aeolus his posterity.  
Holding no memory,  
Amongst the muses Fry.  
Seas and Winds be no more found  
By such old Liars to be bound;  
Don't henceforth stand,  
At their command.  
Whose Godhead's only from the will,  
And pleasure of the Poet's Quill.  
Storms from Charles his forehead flee,  
He shall your Neptune and your Aeolus be.   

[4]  
Fire flame, and in bright streams arise,  
Preserve your smokes for sacrifice;  
Lay them up till the heavens them need,  
And the reconciling victims bleed;  
Till offerings for atonement burn,  
While the earth for its sins doth mourn;  
These may then serve the gods to please,  
And their angry powers to appease.  
What will either choke, or blind  
Leave quite behind;  
Appear in all your Zeals, and Light  
To make Charles glorious in our sight:  
That when the Work is done  
He may turn Rival to the Sun.  
Neither shall we neglect to do,  
And contribute our small mite too.  
Our duty and Allegiance due  
(Great Sir I) to You.  
By Your return heavens meant,  
The healing of our breach and rent.  
Rebellion to the shades is fled,  
The powers of darkness to wed:  
There let It e'er remain  
Confined, whence it first came,  
And where it once did reign.   

By You confusion's finished.  
You've put a stop to all Disputes,  
'Fore whom the strifes of tongues turn mutes.  
High time then to fall down,  
And submit to Your Crown.  
Shall we hate the true way,  
Because we have long went astray?  
Shall we Heavens food have in derision▪  
Because we sense not its provision?  
What shall our disposition still  
Be hardy, stiff, unpliable?  
What shall not true affection  
Work our subjection?  
What shall not providences hand, or stroke  
Make our necks limber to his yoke?  
Yes sure (Great King) we bend, we bow,  
Our stubborn necks turn tender now,  
And submit to You, alone to You,  
To whom we life, and all things ow.  
We You receive with greater signs of love,  
Than once the Earth did mighty Jove.  
View the Towers that arise  
In Emulation with the skies,  
Your Name for to eternalise;  
As if they did You newly bring  
From Heaven, whence You at first did spring.  
As if when You've shone out Your day  
You might return safe the same way.  
They strive each other to excel;  
Which no Age yet can parallel.  
As if (while absent) You'd victorious been,  
And now are in your triumphs seen.   

With well tuned voice, and melody,  
We wait Your passing by.  
Joy is the only ditty  
Throughout Your triumphal City.  
In every street  
Concording hearts do meet  
And Loyal Subjects do You greet.  
At every Arch they feed Your eye  
With delights variety;  
And straight they do dispense  
Objects, that ravish every sense.   

Your Soldiers ride before,  
Not stained with wounds or gore.  
They are arrayed for sight, and not to fight▪  
Their arms made for delight, not to affright.  
Blood displays only in the paint,  
Great Mars this day looks thin, and faint:  
His sinews trembling fall asunder,  
Guns, Drums have quite forgot their Thunder.  
Swords do with their Scabbards wed,  
And war by itself is conquered.  
All jars at His appearance cease  
Confessing Charles the King of Peace.  
And that which doth the sight amend  
See what Dignities Him attend.  
All ranked in order with much state, and grace,  
And none out of his proper place.  
Observing distance, time, and leisure,  
That we might in them view Earth's treasure.  
Or as if Heaven this day to make a show,  
Would bring up its lights from below:  
And to breed our great delight  
Would by these of them make a sight,  
Each singly here  
For to appear.  
Some clothed are with the golden Ore,  
Others with the Silver Store.  
As if both the Indies did pack  
Their treasures on their back.  
As if earth by 'tis own native ray  
Would have tempted to make a day.  
Some enrobed in a cloth of Gold,  
Another in a Silver mould.  
As if England instead of Greece  
Had possessed the golden fleece.  
As if each back had a design,  
To paraphrase a silver Mine,  
And to abreviate  
Things of great state  
Some garments duskish, as if reezed,  
Others with frost work, as 'twere freezed.  
Some arrayed  
With a declining shade;  
As if an artificial smoke  
Their brightness would attempt to choke.  
Others again put into light  
To dazzle the clearest sight.  
All for to amount the glory  
Of Charles His Coronation story.  
As if in this illustrious sight  
Day was mixed even with the night,  
Until his Majesty  
Doth draw nigh.  
Thus by degrees more lights appear;  
Every star doth shine more clear,  
The nearer placed unto His Sphere.  
Each worthy made some show of day  
By an artificial ray.  
Their Lackeys by their side:  
Some more, some less  
Their greatness to express.  
To ' enstate their glory large, and wide.  
Even as many stars confine  
Their beams to wait upon one sign.  
All which reflect upon, and mind  
The glory that doth stream behind.  
At length Charles comes with Light oppressed,  
Who gives a lustre to the rest;  
Which are quickly lost, and done  
Being but blinks to Him the Sun;  
One who could even form a day  
Should Heaven itself deny its ray.  
His very eye  
Doth clear our Sky,  
And in effect do more,  
Than the Sun could do before.  
By virtue of his Grace,  
Sorrow hath no place,  
And smiles are seen in every face.  
His quick presence soon Passeth by,  
That pleasant Vision,  
Is lost, and gone,  
But still perceive Majesty.  
His Majesty which ne'er doth fly:  
But on earth holds Ubiquity,  
Being here, and there,  
And every where,  
Where ever his Power is senst,  
There's Majesty dispensed.  
The Sun goes out of sight,  
But we don't lose its Light:  
'Tis seen in a plain stream,  
By every lesser beam.  
Thus in the Palace, whence Charles rose,  
At length He doth Himself repose:  
Shining still upon us  
With beams superfluous.  
Even as the Sun's lightsome foils, and scars  
Are visible in the lesser stars.  
Changed glories as with His beam refreshed,  
Attend Him to His rest.  
Shades post apace, the morn invites  
Unto more amorous delights.  
They that yesterday were found  
Upon their steeds, now walk on th' ground.  
And as the stars do run,  
All bare before the Sun.  
To Charles a Constellation.  
Each Worthy bears his ray, and weight  
But Charles alone the Orb of Light,  
Each holds his Coronet  
But the Crown for Charles is set.  
Thus to the Chapel they go on  
To attend the new beaming of their Sun  
By the sacred Unction.  
Where He with reverence stooping down  
Receives the Sceptre, Robe and Crown.  
Even as a Star untrim and rude  
Falls under us to be renewed.  
He shone before, but as that Light  
Before there was a day or night.  
In an unready beam  
Or wandering stream:  
Not perfect made,  
Or quite arrayed:  
Being (as 'twere) unprepared,  
And not for vision squared.  
But now His rays are all combined  
Throughout calcined,  
And unto Him alone confined:  
Settled in one centre, in's Orb fixed,  
To shine more distinct and unmixed.  
The fire by a new address of Oil,  
Blazes with a cleaner foil.  
Even so Charles looks more clear,  
When the Unction on Him doth appear.  
Oh! may He Heaven's favour win,  
And be anointed within.  
Let Him obtain a lasting Spirit,  
Of grace, and merit,  
So shall His unction, and presume  
(Like that of Rheims) never consume,  
And by an unknown supply  
Never fail or die,  
But still multiply,  
Ever increase,  
And never cease:  
So shall his Crown sit fast,  
And Sceptre ever last.  
After all Ceremonies done,  
Charles turns back a furnished Sun.  
In Scarlet Robes He doth return,  
As if his Garments all did burn.  
His head wears no dull Earth, or Clay,  
But a burnished ray;  
A Crown of Gold, and Mineral Lights commixed  
Shone here, and there betwixt,  
As if the Earth did resign  
Its choicest Jewels there to shine,  
Or as if Heaven did pick,  
And choose out its stars there to stick.  
Or as if both combined in one  
To make Charles equal with the Sun.  
And so he doth appear  
In this our Hemisphere.  
He comes with Sceptre in His hand  
All at his Sole command.  
Under a Canopy  
Moving (as 'twere) insensibly:  
Even as the Sun, His motion's such  
That seeming runs on th' Earth, but doth not touch:  
And when it sets doth (as 'twere) fall on th' ground,  
But never is there found.  
I but a corner had to try,  
And view His Majesty.  
And this such glory doth befit  
Stars are best seen through chinks, or in a pit.  
Thus Charles he states it to the Hall,  
Where let each sense turn Festival.  
May every dish promp acute delight,  
Unto his appetite.  
There let him sit and feed,  
And think upon a Royal seed.  
Great Sir! You are not one,  
That's made great for Yourself alone.  
A King should still be seen  
In a Relation to a Queen.  
'Tis no offence, or trouble  
For great ones to lie double▪  
Nor for Astronomers, but for Kings to pry  
Into the Wed lock sense of Gemini.  
Oh! may Your Sun full soon  
Confess a Moon.  
And own a Queen,  
Whose grace by Your beam may be seen.  
That what you give to us by day of light,  
May be alone to Her confined by night.  
To Us Your Majesty, and Grace,  
To Her Your special Love, and Face.  
Thus you'll be a Sun generous,  
While You enlighten Her and Us.  
And may She Crowned be  
With Noble Birth and chastity.  
And may Her living fame,  
Be as well known, as is Her Name,  
And Her Grace,  
As glorious as Her Face,  
And Her soul within,  
As beauteous, as Her Flesh or Skin▪  
May She be Virtuous and True,  
And only fit for You,  
Fruitful in Soul, and Body too:  
And bring forth to You, and Us  
An offspring numerous.  
One that may in Grace and Fame  
Still bear up Your Royal Name.  
Majesty turned grave too soon in You  
Unless an Offspring doth ensue.  
The Sun when that it sets  
New Stars begets,  
And fills them with its light  
To shine by night  
When it is out of sight.  
The Phoenix having its life resigned,  
Leaves always one behind,  
And doth his nest, and spices give,  
That the young One may live.  
That is a Spirit cold, and crude,  
Which stamps not its similitude.  
Your Light is scant, and poor,  
If it doth not engender more.  
Sat fast (Great Sir) study to sway,  
While we do learn for to obey.  
Sat fast, you're Heaven's powers attended,  
And by a Champion defended.  
'Tis published now that Charles is Crowned,  
Hark, hark, how Echoes do go round,  
And Voices in the Air are drowned.  
As if Earth to make this day a wonder  
Had stolen from Heaven Lightning and Thunder.  
Behold the Canons roar,  
Which were all mutes before.  
Guns, Trumpets, Drums, into their proper speech do break,  
And in a Warlike language speak  
And that heavens concord's may be found  
In the like tones they do rebound.  
All these for to confess  
Our joys, which neither doth express.  
Unruly in this one affection,  
That our joy knows no subjection:  
Your proper, and peculiar due,  
And yet not to be ruled by You.  
Conduits the juice of th' Grape do vent  
Instead of th' watery Element.  
Founts change their source, and show to Him  
In what Liquor Baechus was wont to swim.  
As if Heaven to Charles such power did resign,  
To turn Water into Wine.  
The night draws on, while the heavens bemoan  
His so long absence from the Throne.  
They clouded are, but the friendly Earth,  
Presents their wont Jollity and Mirth,  
In kindling Flames, and making them arise  
To enlighten the neighbouring Skies.  
And so (as 'twere) aspires  
To new-star them by its fires.  
To make them bright  
By its new fangled light,  
Or change their Theme,  
By a Chimney beam.  
As if it meant heavens kindness to repay,  
By 'tis innate rays, to make them day:  
Or as if in exchange for one night  
They'd taken up shades, and thrown down Light,  
Or prodigally hurled  
Their flames upon this nether world;  
While th' earth that favour to requite  
Resigned up all its proper right,  
Made them look dark as night,   

So that He that the heavens doth view  
Finds them turned sad of a earthly hue:  
While that the Earth doth now appear  
A starry, or enlightening Sphere,  
Its fires shining here, and there.   

None but our Charles, 'tis none but He  
Could make this strange Apostrophe.  
Flames in the open Air do fly,  
Like Lights erroneous in the Sky,  
Which still do multiply,  
As if the world would see, now on another score,  
And be behold'n to Heaven for light no more.  
As if now Charles his Reign's begun,  
The Earth would need no other Sun.   

Thus Heaven and Earth together meet,  
And His Sceptre greet,  
Casting themselves down at His feet:  
Whilst His Sovereign Virtue doth  
Move, and govern both:  
Being the only Prince, that can  
Rule the whole Globe of Earth, and Man▪  
Sic vos, non vobis sceptra tenete Jovis.  
Sic vos, non vobis tesqua parate boves.  
Nocte fucum radij lucis gradiendo striata  
Sic testudo struit, sibi tecta, focosque reponens.  
Sic Sol non tibi lux jubara fusa moves:  
Sic vos non vobis stig mata fert is oves.   

Ye for Yourselves done't Sceptres wield;  
So patient Oxen Blow the Field.  
Snails move by night a Silver trace,  
Carrying their houses in the race.  
Light to itself is still in dark.  
Sheep for themselves do bear no mark▪  
Then let your Sceptre never fail,  
You are the Sun, and I the Snail.   
FINIS.