ON THE RECOVERY OF OUR MOST Gracious Queen KATHERINE FROM HER Late Grievous and Deplorable Fit of Sickness.  
A VISION:  
By E. C. Med. Dr. Coll. Lon.  
LONDON, Printed in the Year, MDCLXIV.   

TO THE KING'S MOST EXCELLENT MAJESTY.  
SIR,  
THE Queen is Yours, so is Your Royal Mother, an though in some respects You may again be called Theirs: yet are You absolutely Your Own. I also by the Protection of Your Royal Government, am Yours; Your yet Living and loving Subject: and Your good Lady, is to this small and else perishable Piece, by God's great mercy a living Theme. So all is Yours great SIR. Accept I pray Your own. Which in my Duty I here first present to Your Majesty; so as that afterward those Your dear Relatives, by my Dedications, may see their several Interests in the occasion not neglected. It had come earlier had it not met with some Obstacles, where may be, it needed not; and been troubled with a modest expectation of its Betters coming out before it: which being they have not done, my singularity I hope will satisfy for the lost opportunity: And like him that out of Ten, returned to thank our Saviour, be accepted for being but one, and he not very well acquainted.  
Your Majesty's most humble and Loyal Subject EDMUND COOPER, Med. Dr. Coll. Lond. Calend. Jan. 1664.   

To the most Serene Majesty of HENRIETTA MARIA QUEEN Dowager of ENGLAND, Mother of our Dread Sovereign CHARLES' the Second.  
May it please Your Majesty.  
AS the Greatness of Your Concernment in the present good of our Dread Sovereign and his dear Consort, and the interest in the felicity of their Succession; render You the fittest object, for the application of any our expressions of Joy, or hope thereof: So the goodness of Your greatness it is, that lays the way open to Your Throne of Favour, where We may offer up such Devotions. Wherefore presuming that my boldness is already Pardoned, I adventure to present to the gracious acceptance of your fair Hands, these silly Papers. I Madam that am not worthy to Kiss your Royal Feet, but am ready to stand off, at what distance your Majesty shall please, and be your Majesty's,  
Most humbly devoted Creature EDMUND COOPER, Med. Dr. Coll. Lond. Calend. Jan. 1664.   

TO THE MOST Gracious Majesty OF KATHERINE QVEEN OF ENGLAND, etc.  
May it please Your Majesty.  
WHAT I have before Dedicated to the Royal Queen Dowager, your pious Mother, as the fittest Object; because of Her double Title to you, (for you are Madam the Child first of Her Alliance, and then again of Her Prayers, to which I am persuaded the Almighty conceded much, in the time of Your late Infirmity.) What I then directed to Her Majesty, I now present unto Your virtuous Self, as the Subject on whom GOD wrought that Deliverance, and in whom therefore there must needs be some nearer & greater degree of joy and sense. This Madam I beseech Your Majesty to accept, both because dangers past are of a happy memory, or else he was mistaken that Said,  — Haec olim meminisse juvabit. 
Virgil. Aen.  
Yea and because they are likewise of a happy fertility, producing much thanks and praise to GOD that brought Us out of them: not to speak of the regularity they sometimes work after in our lives, because your Majesties needed not to be rectified. Now seeing I have happened upon the word Fertility, give me leave to tell your Majesty, that I have a strong Presumption, that this your late Sickness will conduce much thereto in your own temperament. Your Body of Portugal is all wasted and consumed. If you shall now betake you to an English Diet, so brave an alteration will be made in your Majesty's Constitution, that we shall have a Prince built out of You like His Father, to make Us up a long lasting happiness here, and to wait upon your Majesty's old Age, to that which lasts for ever hereafter.  
As Prays Your Majesty's most humble Votary and Beadsman EDMUND COOPER, Med. Dr. Coll. Lond. Calend. Jan. 1664.   

On the Recovery of our most Gracious Queen KATHERINE from Her late grievous and deplorable fit of Sickness.  
A VISION:  
SIck with dire Pangs, & quite bereaved of breath,  
I came at last unto the door of Death.  
Dolesome the way was, and I all alone:  
Many go other ways, this way but one,  
One at a time, yet not one every Age:  
And he that does, returns and can presage.  
When ' there I came, I saw a multitude  
Of Men and Women kind, that would obtrude  
Themselves on Fate. These People the mild Law  
Of Nature urged not, but the dreadful awe  
Of sad misfortunes: With impetuous Knocks  
And Cries, these beat the Air, and break the Locks;  
But Death will not be forced: what in their Wood  
And fiery mood they break, he still makes good.  
From the dark Chambers of his hollow Cave,  
At length proceeds a Voice, bidding them save  
Their breath and labour, which might chance to fail  
When they least would, his house was not a Jail  
For Debtors, nor a Spittal for the Poor:  
Room for your Betters, get you from the Door.  
Wi'that the trembling Crowd did strait divide  
Itself in equal numbers to each side,  
And made a Lane. Thought I, my turn's now come:  
For I had Nature's warrant and her doom.  
So I advanced, but ere I could come near,  
Down the broad Road, so nigh that I could see'r,  
With specious Pomp comes me a glorious Dame:  
Doubt and Despair went next her, but her Name  
I heard not yet; Anon the Door unbarred,  
Doubt that went stumbling, and Despair drove hard,  
Which shook her sore: all this when I had seen;  
Out breaks a Cry, alas it is the Queen,  
England's most Virtuous KATHERINE. Then there blew  
Off from the Land, mixed with a temperate dew,  
A lusty gale of Wind, which threw about  
Her conducts, here and there among the rout.  
This, I was told, was made of the lowed Prayers,  
And the still Tears of him that wanteth Heir's  
And his true Friends. The way thus cleared, this Wind  
Made to the Gate; which though Death stood behind  
With his grim Porters, and made much ado  
To keep wide open, yet it forced too.  
Great muttering there was among the Crowd  
For ' fault of entrance: One cried out aloud  
'Twas breach of Privilege, for Princes should  
Be ' tended by those Subjects that are good,  
Aswell in Death as when they are alive:  
And to this purpose cited 
* The sickness Year at the death of King JAMES.  Twenty-five;  
Another Forty-eight: 
* When King CHARLES the First was Murdered.  The Year that bled  
All Loyal hearts, about one Royal Head.  
The tumult so increased, that I had thought,  
They would have man'd a Party, to have brought  
The Body nearer. Then stands up a Third,  
And craves their patience while he spoke a word,  
All were content. And as we see what peace is  
Upon the Water, when the Wind once ceases,  
So was it here. He having stroked his Beard,  
And long neglected Whiskers, which I feared  
Would else have stopped his mouth, cried there's no reason  
Ye should be thus come guilty of a Treason:  
And through a vain desire Ye have to die;  
Draw in a Soul reserved by Destiny,  
To bless the World: Ye may yet live and press  
As now to die, t'enjoy that happiness  
She shall disperse abroad, and the blessed Seed  
King CHARLES shall reap of her, there is no need  
My friends of all this heat: stand still and see  
The end, it may be happy; They agree.  
Mean while the Dame quit of her Drivers, rested  
In quiet sleep; and by that means digested  
Her crude disease: and though the light was small  
Of the dim hope that She made shift withal,  
Yet up She set herself in Her sad Bed,  
And hardly to Her half composed head  
Raised She her trembling Hand. Then She bethought her  
How She came thither, who it was that brought her:  
But most of all, when she saw all the Pack  
Of her Attendants gone, how to get back.  
Then tacked the wind about, but breathed more dry  
And gently then it had before; for why,  
The cause of fear and tears was done away:  
But Prayer was not to cease. On the wind lay  
As Prayer was not to cease. On the wind lay  
As 'twere a Globe of Light, but without heat,  
‛ Tended by Angels. And on that, in great  
And Capital Letters written one might see,  
The Words repeated, BLESSINGS UPON THEE.  
Hence did one Ray descend upon the Bed  
Where the Queen lay, which greatly comforted  
Her Fever wasted Spirits: another smote  
Upon an Instrument of ravishing Note,  
Self-moving by the influence of that Light.  
So the Queen slept the space of a whole night.  
Then moved the Bed, and as it went along,  
Voices to that same Music sung this Song.  

This new life to Thee is given  
Not by man's Power or skill,  
But by the hand of Heaven;  
Of whose favour and good will  
So ordered 'twas  
To come to pass,  
That by thy danger thou mightst see  
How near thou art  
unto the heart  
Of him that Prayed, and weeped for Thee.   

Live now and augment his Joys:  
Thy Virtues be his Crown:  
Let him Father Girls and Boys,  
That may live in great Renown.  
He that did shut,  
And close to put  
The door of Death, and set Thee free;  
Hath seen thy Grief  
And sent relief:  
He will open thy Womb for Thee.   

Nations shall fear before Thy Seed;  
The Signior not be Grand:  
That's kept for King Charles Breed;  
Which now we all see near at hand.  
Against the Turk  
There's now a Work  
Which if France will not do;  
Bear thou a Son  
Shall Over-run  
France, and the Grand Signior too.   

Only do not fear, to eat  
As our English Ladies do;  
And refuse no kind of meat,  
For a fond 
* Not Religious directing, but Fantastic correcting your good appetite with this or that is not good for your Majesty when perhaps You would willingly eat it.  scruple or two:  
English Beef  
Is the chief  
And he that shall inherit  
Of a Body  
Must be hoddy,  
And must have an English Spirit.   
The Song thus ended, the Sick bed arrived  
At the Queen's Chamber, and She still revived,  
There with fresh Music She was resaluted,  
And they that thought Death good, being confuted  
With hope of Blisses here, remained to try  
With me, the issue of this Prophecy.  
Only this Song detained us at Whitehall  
A while, and after that we parted all.  

God's Law is pure, a light unto thy Paths,  
And to thy Feet a guide:  
To keep it, makes the hands more fine  
Than Gloves perfumed with Jessamine,  
Or what's rare else besides.   

Vain thing is man, and all the sons of Men,  
They can't do what they would:  
For Flesh is frail, and minds do change,  
Things as they are appointed range,  
And roll as doth the Flood.   

Then God alone the strong and mighty Lord,  
must be your sure repose,  
He varies not, and what he will  
Is done in Earth, in Heaven, and Hell;  
All things else are but shows.   

Thus having set your heart and hopes aright,  
Upon an Object true:  
Let the Earth shake at the Foundations,  
And with it chop and change the Nations,  
There shall be rest for You.   

For look how far the bright Meridian Sun  
Is set beyond the Arm,  
Of him that doth an Arrow shoot;  
(We all know well he can't come to't,)  
So far are You from harm.   

Nay that's not all to be secure from ill,  
Not all that he will give,  
But life and Glory, Joy and Bliss,  
And that Eternal, shall be His:  
That doth in Him believe.   
After all this there was a pretty Jig,  
Some tattling Gossips came, and Knighted Trigg.  
FINIS.