KING CHARLES his welcome home, OR A congratulation of all his loving subjects in thankfulness to God for his majesty's safe and happy return from Scotland, 1641.  
By John BOND, Cantabrid: Coll: St. John's.  
London, Printed by F. L. for T. Bates, and F. Coules, and are to be sold at their shops in the old Baily.   

King Charles his welcome home.  
HAd I great Homer's sweet-Maeonian quill  
Inspired from the double-fronted Hill  
Of the thrice-three-Aganippa'an nymphs,  
Who guides the fancy with Nectarian Limphs  
Of fluent eloquence, and heroic lines:  
Had I the pen of Maro, whose worth shines  
bright in the lamp of poetry: had I  
An angel's sweetness, and an eagle's eye  
To view your majesty: perhaps I might.  
Respectively express the joyful sight  
Of your return: whose imperial name  
Is greater, than the barren trump of Fame  
Can far enough proclaim with her shrill voice;  
In whom both men and Angels do rejoice:  
Or were my pen from pegase-hoof-born spring  
Distilled; I might describe thy welcome, King:  
But stay retract that line, my Muse, for why?  
Shoulest thou presume upon his majesty  
To gaze, lest the bright splendour of his name  
Dazzles the weakness of thy lines in shame.  
(But as the Caesarian parrot once did live)  
To you great Charles my {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} I do give.  
Welcome thou Sun of glory, whose bright beams  
Do so illuminate those obscure dreams  
Of adverse Fortune, unto which we were  
Late incident, by our quotidian fear.  
But the bright rays of your return absolved  
Us from that passion, and sweelty dissolved  
That cloud of fear into the glorious day  
Of triumph: for unitly we may say,  
That Sol's heaven-wandering steeds in their first light  
And infancy of rising, (when the night  
Had robbed the earth of his bright lamp were not  
More welcome to th'Pers'ans, who near forgot  
To worship his arising flames, than we  
Triumph in your returned majesty:  
Whose presence we adore, as a new Sun  
Which in our hemisphere most gloriously do run.  
Great Atlas of Religion, (whose rare brow  
Embroidered with Religions branches, know—  
The depth of wisdom) whose majestic smile  
Can reerect Religion, and defile  
At once both Pope, and Antichrist, the Priests  
Of Baal, Pontificians, Atheists  
And the hell-nourished crew of Sectaries beside  
Although puffed up with the arrogant wind of pride  
Yet know, great Charles, that by thy sacred frown  
They without question must all tumble down.  
Fountain of peace! From thee doth daily spring  
A concord, that doth decorate a King,  
And most discreetly doth distil throughout  
Three kingdoms reunited round about.  
Thou dost afford each subject peace, and then  
They like to rivers do return again  
To the great Ocean of their peace, and thus  
Although thou dost diffuse to each of us  
This blessing daily: yet we cannot see  
The fountain ere to be exhaust in Thee,  
But rather more redundant, witness now  
Thy care sollic'tous, when discreetly thou  
Two kingdoms didst concatenate in one  
Religious, firm, and sacred peace alone.  
When as your joyful subjects did revew  
Your presence, how every one withdrew  
Their former passion, and each single eye  
Was so transfixed upon your majesty:  
As if you were the Centur of their hope  
Against the stratagems of th' wicked Pope.  
For in your absence, (oh!) how every heart  
Clogged with great fear for you, did daily smart:  
Here one did sigh, another there did weep  
He's heart did smart he's eye were drowned deep  
In the full streams of sorrow: this did pray  
Both for your health and safety day by day:  
Another prays for your return: and this  
For your long life, that for your heavenly bliss:  
This fears, lest our Religion should die,  
That lest we grow unto some anarchy:  
Thus you might see, great Monarch, that none were,  
Idle in prayers, but all struck with fear  
In this your absence: till your blessed return  
Did make our hearts in gladness more to burn  
Then they in grief oppressed were before  
For now each man your presence doth adore.  
Lo! what a concourse of thy subjects do  
Encompass thee, as if they meant to woe  
Your safe return: this man's pleasant voice  
Doth Trumpet forth his joy: that man rejoice  
Rather in heart than words: another's eye  
Loaded with joy, salutes your majesty.  
The heads of others do connive at you  
The hands of others do their triumph show:  
Some do frequent the Temple, and there praise  
God for your safe return, whose mortal Days  
They wish were crowned with immortality  
That we on earth might to eternity  
With the triumph: all people thou Mayst see  
Thus clothed with joy in their solemnity.  
'tis not the plots of th' Antichristian Pope  
Can e'er extenuate at once the hope  
Which is imposed in thee: whose splendent mind  
Can all their owlish innovations blind.  
Nor is it any Faction can oppose  
Your peace-digested mind, or any foes  
disturb your concord: let the Papists strive  
In their hell-forged plots, and let them drive  
Their fury to the height of malice, while  
We are protected under your blessed smile.  
So! let the wicked fume, and foam and fall  
Stark-mad: still snarling in their frothy gall  
Of tainted envy: Let them like the waves  
Precipitate their malice to their graves,  
Well! Let them snarl like murmuring rivers, than  
Rising, and rising to an Ocean:  
Then swell into a Deluge, till they hide  
The tops of mountains in their teeming pride;  
Thou Charles shalt stand like Noah's ark secure  
Above those waves, and firmly shalt endure  
While the tumultuous billows under Thee  
Do rage, and seek their own dire destiny;  
With Thee above the waves thou shalt protect  
The sons and daughters of th' Religious sect  
And sacred Truth, whose ever-pious way  
Under thy Tutele never shall decay.  
Oh! how shall we express our flowing joy  
For thy return, which grief cannot annoy.  
Yea even the very City walls would come  
And leave their seats, Thee now to welcome home  
If nature did not them oppose: behold  
The earth whereon thou treadest, doth unfold  
Her barrenness, and in those steps, whereon  
Your sacred majesty hath lately gone  
lest late posterity should never hear  
Of thy blessed journey) it doth now appear  
How the lascivious grass do forthwith strive  
Which first should be emergent, and so live  
Sprung up in honour of your blessed fame,  
And be a monument to your great name.  
Flora did emulate with herself, and try  
How to excel the sweet solemnity  
Of her best odours, whilst all then agreed  
To concur all in one, striving t' exceed  
Her wouted-repercussive smell: That done  
Abstracted all her beauty then in one,  
Thus charmed her flowers whose sweet benignity  
Joined in one fair Aspect do welcome thee.  
Ceres' have dressed the corne-loaded earth  
Against your coming, to produce a birth  
Of heau'n-created joy: and as 'tis seen  
Did sweep the earth's most fruitful treasure clean;  
Into her swelling barns: and thus made room  
For your blessed majesty's returning home:  
The Earth she emptied, Thee t' entertain:  
Which otherwise she knew, could not contaives  
Your Alexandrian person. Me thinks I see  
Wine-swelling Bacchus striving how to be  
Ambitiously your servant, who present  
His pearly coloured grapes, all which he meant  
To ripen only for your sake: Thus he  
To you commends them with humility.  
Bright Phoebus doth his rad'ant beams display  
And with his great lustre guild this day:  
And thinks it great ambition to distend  
His rays transluent, which he now did lend  
To you more then accustomed light: while he  
Will do more service to your majesty  
With his four steeds: Then he who did far worse  
And gave your majesty an hundred horse.  
While you and he shine both, none can define  
Which is his splendour, Charles, or which is thine.  
Puff-mouthed Aeolus retract his winds  
Which do tumultuously rage and finds  
That the calm Zephyrus of your sweet breath  
Doth pacify their rage, which threatens death  
And that your smile can keep distraction back  
That wallow with dissension to their rack.  
Mars smiles at your return, and he doth see  
There his own person in your majesty.  
Facetious Mercury's lodged in you tongue;  
At your bright eyes doth Cupid without wrong  
Warm his celestial wings: and in your brain  
Mellifluous palace doth discreetly reign.  
Thus all the Gods and Goddesses do joy  
In your return and call you their viceroy.  
Lo! Constancy doth decorate your face  
And true Religion sacredly do grace  
Your heavenly mind: And in your better part  
Firm faith is crowned in your pious heart.  
But why do I ennumerate (alas!)  
Your virtues, which do far transcend, and pass  
The intellect of man's capacity:  
Which, one may sooner number in the sky  
Each star; or else distinguish everysand  
Within the Ocean's shore, or in the Land  
Each herb; then he which can describe in Thee  
Each character of your Divintiy  
The stars of honour in thee do so shine  
That thou art nothing earthly; but divine.  
Which do so meet in thee with variation  
That they do make a perfect constellation:  
Which were they obvious but to every ey  
Each several Art would trune astronomy:  
Our Parliaments adjourned: and then we were  
(Had you not come) subjected been to fear  
But since such virtues do concur in one  
We have a Parliament in Thee alone.  
Well! Live O King, for ever live I say  
Live prosperously, and that beyond doom's Day.  
And although all other Poets doereply  
A Vale in their Epilogue, yet I  
In stead of Vale will presume t'allude  
And with a Salve, Charles, to you conclude.  
FINIS.