ON HIS Royal Highness' MIRACULOUS DELIVERY, AND Happy Return.  Written by Ca Calle. 

SMooth as the Silver Wings of Swans, the Air,  
Pleased as an Hermit's Soul, as Angel-Beauties fair;  
The Amorous Winds now quite forgot to rave,  
And Birds of Calm sat brooding on the Wave;  
The smiling Billows kissed the gentle Shore,  
All sweet, like that Vast, Royal weight they bore;  
While the blue Tritons on their Trumpets play,  
And Troops of Dolphins guard it all the way.  
Ride on Blessed Frigate, England's hopes you bear,  
Almost as great as Caesar's self is here,  
A no less Deity, than three Kingdoms Heir.  
See, see, with what a pleasing, Generous pride,  
The Ocean stops the Current of her Tides,  
Whiles on her curled Waves her Royal Adm'ral rides.  
Neptune saw this, and strait was envious grown,  
To see himself in his own Court outdone;  
To see another of his Throne possessed,  
Jealousy fill his Head, and dire Revenge his Breast.   

But does as yet no Prodigy appear,  
To show the Royal Duke the Danger near?  
No Dismal Flambeaux, which Heaven seldom burns,  
But to light Princes to their Gloomy Urns?   

Ah! See, the Vessel, urged by unseen hands,  
Sticks fast, and long in vain the Waves withstands;  
The trembling Sailors send Despairing Cries  
To th' Wounded, and Rend th' amazed Skies:  
Now on adoring Knees to Heaven they bend,  
That some kind Star might on the Prince attend;  
All Praying for the Prince, heavens Conqueror's are  
(So prevalent an Orator is Prayer.)   

When lo! A Beauteous Angel from a Cloud  
Descends, and with a Comely reverence bowed;  
Thrice thus he bowed, and grave approach he made,  
And thus his Sacred message sweetly said:   

Hail heavens peculiar care! Thy Fate's all White,  
Thy Glorious Sun shan't be Eclipsed quite,  
Tho' you're exposed to all the rigid Fate  
That always does on wronged Greatness wait;  
Not Neptune's envy, nor the Treacherous Sand,  
heavens wonderful Decree shall Countermand:  
For it has greater blessings yet behind,  
Blessings more Large, and Rich, and like yourself, Divine.   

This said, the Angel bowed, and then withdrew,  
Clapping his Wings, to th' Crystal arch he flew,   

How Can dull Idiots think that Providence  
Has over human things no Influence?  
That all things here below disposed are  
By unseen Atoms roving in the Air?  
Hence, hence ye Canting Tribe, and learn more wit,  
In time to injured Innocence submit;  
Say your prayers backward, and from henceford  
Roused up from your dull zealous Lethargy.  
What e'er your pious Vows, and Canting are,  
Heaven made the Royal Prince its tender care.  
Let all your Incense on his Altars shine,  
Adore his Name, as you would things Divine;  
Princes as Gods themselves accounted were,  
The Gods protecting them protected are.   

Yet some young Hero's too untimely died,  
(Victims too great for haughty Neptune's pride.)  
We read of one who Heaven did acquire,  
By mounting upwards in a Coach of fire:  
For these the Gods found out a Noble? way,  
Their Souls through Seas, and Waves to bliss convey.   

But see, he's safe on shore, I hear the noise,  
I heard the industrious Crowds admiring voice,  
Their echoing Io's, and their joyful cries,  
The loyal tear leaps gladly from their eyes;  
The Bells and Guns are scarcely heard at all,  
The artificial noise's drowned by the natural.   

And now the lovely Prince's returning home:  
Come mighty James, Albion's desire, come,  
Great Son of Triumph, Son of Martyrdom,  
A Name which every wind to Heaven would bear;  
Which men to speak, and Angel joy to hear.  
Welcome, long-looked for Hero, to our Soil,  
As rest to Pilgrims after all their toil;  
Welcome as dearest friends raised from the dead:  
Welcome as Heaven when the Soul's just fled.  
Welcome, Illustrious Princess, welcome home  
With that rich Treasure in your pregnant Womb,  
The only pledge of all our bliss to come.   

Observe what joy in every breast there shines;  
Thus the bright Gold peeps through the muddy Mines,  
No narrow bounds, nor rules, our joys endure;  
In joy, there's none too much an Epicure.  
Thus the bright Ruler of the day appears,  
All our thick fogs and gloomy mists he clears,  
dispels our griefs, and scatters all our fears.  
No more let impious faction rule the day,  
Nor point to Commonwealths th' unhallowed way;  
No more let power be given to the rude,  
Th' unconstant, and unthinking multitude;  
No more let Peasants rule, while Princes stand  
Aloof, as Traitorous Exiles from their Land;  
No more let poor distressed Loyalty  
To Heaven with her Sister Justice flee;  
No more let Civil Wars torment our Isle,  
Let all things with an Halcyon quiet smile;  
Let all in a true, firm, obedience be,  
Since all are blest in such a Prince as Herald    

LONDON, Printed for Edward Advise, over against the Royal Exchange in Cornhill, MDCLXXXII.