ESSAY OF A LOYAL breast; In four Copies of Verses, viz. 

I. To His Majesty, CHARLES the 2d.  
II. To His two Houses of PARLIAMENT.  
III. To His General, the Lord MONCK.  
IV. To that His good Angel, Madam JANE LANE.    
By WILLIAM FAIREBROTHER, of King's college in Cambridge.  
LONDON, Printed by JOHN FIELD, 1660.   

TO THE KING's MOST SACRED MAJESTY.  

ONce formerly, dread Sir, my Muse did Sing,  
You our choice Prince in parliament. A King  
Then sat your Father there. But o! since then  
A sad and long Parenthesis hath been  
twixt us and Regal-splendour; whilst your Youth  
Hath tossed been to and fro, because of Truth!  
A Scene of twenty years! an heap too large  
For my scant Ephah! 'tis an Homer's charge.   

Ulysses and his ten years' Travels now  
Seem no less trifling, than Tom Thumb in th' Cow:  
twixt yours and his such difference I assign,  
As was twixt Bottles of his Wind and Wine.  
Wine? Wine not so cheers the heart, as the sight  
Of your blessed presence, who setst all aright.  
A welcome's thus to us. Then 'tis but our due,  
To carol-out glad welcomes unto you.   

Whom Spain, France, Germany and belgic-soil  
With admiration gazed on, (as a spoil  
Even forced into their hands, through Britain's rage)  
And now do court, as mirror of this age;  
Whom they must needs us envy, yet hath heaven  
(Maugre all hellish plots) us again given,  
Shall we not him adore? And so'ts our due,  
To carol-out hosannas unto you.   

I've seen your Star; and worship: How it shone  
Your Birth-day's-Ecce! It stood near the Sun  
At its full-Zenith bright; whilst Thanks was given  
On St. Paul's sacred ground to th' King of heaven  
By th' King your Father. 'Twas a glorious day!  
The King then to the Temple led the way;  
Sunday and lordsday both. Then be't our due,  
To carol-out hosannas unto you.   

But if Sighs must burst forth, and cloud a Day,  
May they fly up t'expiate Sin away:  
If Tears the cheeks bedew, let them be sent  
From Hearts, that of past-villanies relent.  
Thus may we blunt God's axe: thus, next to God,  
Even thou, O King, (I see) will spare thy Rod.  
And thus we all may wear the Mourning-weed:  
Few are the men, who not your Pardon need.   

It's wisest then for me, to point-out none;  
Lest others numb'ring number me for one;  
Perhaps, 'cause for Alleg'ance once I fled  
From Cambridge, and at Oxford owned an Head,  
But lost it soon again at Naseby-fight,  
Myself ta'en prisoner. Were I silent-quite,  
Your Grace may know, Who was the greatest Thief;  
Who of the barbarous actors were the Chief;  
Who the stage-prompters, or Dark-Lanthorn-men,  
That contrived most, though they themselves least seen,  
White-powder Fiends, killing without a Noise;  
(To crack thereon, speaks children or mere boys)  
What Accessories live; Who, as with knives,  
Did wound your righteous Cause, through debauched Lives,  
At home and eke abroad; and Who, more quaint,  
Did null the Edicts of that Royal Saint,  
Your murdered Father. Then, then may we all  
Before You, as at God's Tribunal, fall.  
Peace you pursue; Mercy you do proclaim:  
Who craves them not, a second time's too blame.   

To such a God who should not then impart  
Gold, myrrh, with a frank-incense of the Heart?  
The last can each one give; the most forlorn:  
When I have't given away, 'tis as newborn.   

Mine then on daily-prostrate Knees shall crave  
Of that One More-supream, that You may have  
Firm Health; Allies most strong; a matchless Queen;  
Subjects as Loyal, as e'er Prince hath seen;  
Innum'rous People; a Church flourishing.  
So (with your Leave i'll cry) LONG LIVE THE KING.   

And now (great Sir and good) I fear, that I  
A petty-treason make 'gainst sovereignty,  
Thus to detain your Person. But true Zeal  
Dare even back unto your Throne appeal;  
That with your thickest Pardons you would smother  
This Crime of, YOURS the humblest,   
FAIREBROTHER; Of King's college in Cambridge; and Of the late King's Army.  
Anagram. CHARLES STUART. STET LAR CHARUS.   

To the Right honourable, the two HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT.  

WHat Poets feign of Phaeton above,  
(That, whilst he Sol's great chariot needs would move,  
The World was plunged in Conflagrations,  
Through Reins then too-too loose) these three Nations  
Have late found true: As if Enceladus  
Had from-below turned a fresh side on us,  
To let-loose Aetna's flames; Or else, as if  
These floating-Islands had (by Waves most stiff  
And sturdy Winds) quite-lost their Anchor-hold,  
So now on this side, now on that side rolled;  
Whilst Sun and Moon were blended, and for Stars  
We direful Meteors had, the late heavens' Scars.   

But (Blessed be God) we are now once again  
Under th' kind Influence of Charles his-wain:  
And may we ever be so; with a Train  
Of lesser Lights, to spring about that main!  
Let Harington here fix blind Milton's/ Fortune's ROTA;  
Nor let it stir the breadth of an Jota.  
This Land I promise firm: Again if thus.  
It must turn round, be he Copernicus;  
And so myself I'd rather Stoic plight,  
Than peripatetic, or chief Stagirite.   

Strange Revolutions were, when Strickland's Holland  
Did England, Scotland, Ireland slight, as no Land!  
Then Tyranny and Rapine led the Van;  
And who ' de not act so, was the dangerous man:  
Then Ireland reakt with blood: and then Scot-free  
Went sacrilege: nor was't here Robbery,  
To pocket up a Church or Lands-divine;  
Because not diff'renced with a Mine or Thine.   

But now, I hope, w'ave met in Plato's sphere,  
Where harbour can nor jealousy nor Fear;  
Where virtue shall court virtue; where all vice  
Shall be disowned, as 'twas in Paradise;  
Where each man safely may enjoy his own.  
And then, I'm sure, the King's to have a Throne,  
And be obeyed too.   

And now to what, Ye Representatives,  
With whom entrusted are our very lives,  
Shall we you represent? a Loyal Spark;  
From billows saved a while, as in an Ark?  
A Moses here? and there a Noah old?  
Joseph's some others, by their brethren sold?  
May ye get all off safe! may ye soon see  
As blessed an Issue, as did all those three!  
They all were big with blessings. Did they curse?  
To whom they meant it, him they straight saw worse.  
Such may your terror be! and so perchance   

No fouler Crime shall reign, than Ignorance.  
In fine: We all have erred and gone astray,  
Leaving (much worse than Sheep) the righter way.  
Let's therefore beg of that most powerful One,  
That not to us or ours may ere be known  
(That saddest of Diseases, called) Kings-evil,  
Since 'gainst a good War's have been more-than-civil.    

TO THE RIGHT honourable THE LORD GENERAL GEORGE MONCK.  

A Civil War; more than a civil War:  
How strangely now to me do those words jar!  
W'ave rather Peace, that's civil, more than civil;  
Mirac'lously it comes, in spite o'th' Devil  
And his black Imps, who to cry do not cease,  
That War may better be than present Peace.   

A Monck! and from the North too! then (cry some)  
As soon expected may be Good from Rome.  
A Monck the Faith's Defender? Let's again  
Call-in Scot, Nevil, Haselrig and Vane:  
Let them their Forces rally: so we shall  
A new Creed straightway raise, or raze out all.   

'Tis that, that last, (great Sir) those Atheists sought,  
When they our Charles the first to trial brought.  
But timely you stepped-in; Religion saved;  
And count'nanced Arts, which we in vain had craved.   

Sword and Pen kindly meet: Thou've given thy Troth,  
That Pallas now's again Goddess to both.   

He's a Plantagenet; (some others cried)  
And so a commonwealth will be defied:  
A Single Person he'll erect: so fight,  
Whether for that name, or the True-names Right.   

Double's their Charge: Let its last part be true;  
And then, I think, you act but what is due.  
Though 
* The Greek word for Monarch hath in it one sole Letter more, than hath the word for Monck in the same Language.  {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} with 
* The Greek word for Monarch hath in it one sole Letter more, than hath the word for Monck in the same Language.  {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} do show,  
As Sibboleth with Shibboleth, I trow,  
They're not for Marks now, to discriminate  
Kindness for th' one sound; for the other, Hate.  
Where words in but-one Letter disagree,  
Let those men stand nearest in Unity:   

Nay more; a York and Lancaster we see  
In Virgins-cheeks make an Identity:  
And the whole Nation owns now Red and White  
For the King's Colours, and Monck's true delight.   

Thus have you clad us, whilst you put to shame  
The vast Temptations of a Royal-game:  
And if Plantagenet give-up the Crown,  
It may be said, it's now more Charles his own.  
In earnest thus (what some made you in sport,  
Y've found the right-high STUART/ Steward of Hampton-Court:  
And thus I've stopped Rebels blasphemous Snarls,  
Belched-out against our first and second Charles.   

Hail then to thee! so soundeth every Lip,  
Thou glorious piece of Self-denial-ship;  
Thou Rump's archtraitor, but the Head's best Friend!  
A Head-piece so; better than Breeches-end.   

Right-welcome home! Let's now erect an Arch  
For thy so famous bloodless Countermarch.  
Nor Steel nor Hemp then gauled: For such fair Quarter  
The King now dubs thee with St. George's Garter.   

And, if (sans solecism) it may be said,  
That th' heir apparent can (the Father dead)  
To his own Subject be an Obligee,  
Then may I safely say; to moncked must be.   

Be blessed in all your hopes of Wife and Son!  
A meet-Help she, as you the Work have done:  
With reverence to her Honour, I shall say,  
You're next to Numa, she's Egeria.   

Live thus renowned! and whilst Charles shall Head stand,  
Mayst thou his Head-piece be by Sea and Land;  
That, what so ere his Ancestors have lost,  
He may by you regain with easy cost.   

Thus, George-on-horse-back, (Sr. and St.) with Lance  
Methinks I see you give a shake to France;  
And your stout Troops proclaiming with drawn-swords,  
King Charles! King Charles! King Charles! thrice-blessed words!    

TO Mrs. JANE LANE.  
Anagram. JANE LANE, An'ne JAEL?  
This Copy was made a day or two before she was known to be in England.  
MADAM,  

YOur Name here starts a Question: so it's asked,  
Whether our Jane Lane be not jael-looked.  
So quadrate doth each Story, whilst your Calls  
Did summon-in two vanquished Generals!  
And how in Covert bade ye them, good cheer,  
Whilst God them-both unto you-both did steer!   

Right-famous both! But yet who is't, not sees  
An Interfering in your Histories?  
She bold cut-off, you bold did save, an Head:  
Charles lived by you; sisera's by her struck-dead.  
Great Amazons of Truth! rather than shall  
The just Cause perish, ye yourselves would fall.   

But God for such pure Love did well provide:  
So Judeth too we'll reckon on your side.  
How fresh they two yet live! and so shall You  
In lasting-Annals have as fresh an hue:  
Where e'er King Charles his Story's to be seen,  
There shall be read, what you to him have been.  
Your Names, as Phidias in Minerva's shield,  
Must jointly shine, as in one common field  
Ne'er to be parted.— But here brave Wilmot's Ghost  
Stepss-in to serve the Mistress of the roast,  
Thanks your Relief of him and of his King.  
That-now blessed Soul first kenned this happy thing.   

Accost you then he did with pesiveness:  
And you for that awhile can do no less:  
Not that he grieves now; but that you not see  
One half-part of your noblest Company.   

Yet Thanks to heaven; that Time, which changeth all,  
The Scene (at least) makes Tragicomical.  
Romancers here must veil, true or but-feigned;  
W'ave now upon them, and above them, gained.   

The Crown was lost, and as 'twere quite forsook:  
But you again it found in th' Sacred Oak.   

You a King's Mistress chast: the Lady Lane  
Flies far above the fate of Edward's Jane;  
No Concubine, nor an Herodia You;  
Asking things most unjust, things much undue.   

Nor Delilah wert thou: Thou didst not Him  
(His hair then shorn-off) to that Philistim  
Big with Success, deliver-up a Prize,  
The yet-great Strength, and Light of Britain's Eyes.  
His Safety thence you wrought: and that jeat-curl  
You straight for Favours choicely up did furl.   

That Black's indeed the Set-off; call't not foil,  
What's kissed by Ladies of the purest-soil.  
And if such Homage is to th' Excrement,  
What than to's Person should be th' full Extent?  
No virtue thus him left: yet Proselytes  
You many gained have by such zealous Sleights:  
They're Presents fit for Queens: such Royal-Twists  
Are not for all folk's fingers, necks, or wrists.   

Why then as of the Garter, so the Hair,  
May not an Order be, and full as rare?  
And why not breeded be thereon the Fancy  
Of that our HONI SOIT, QUI MALY PENSE?   

Return, great Voluntier of all th' Exiles!  
True Maid of Honour! Haste, to take the Smiles  
O' th' King and Subjects-good. Alive or dead,  
Eternised thou shalt be in Honour's-bed.  
Let Virgins-all Garlands each-year prepare  
Of Oak, with the enamelled maidenhair.   

But, Lady of high Worth, I've one word more;  
(Nor doth it differ from Herodia's score,  
Only more-innocent you it may do)  
That you would, if the Thought hath e'er took you  
Of half a Kingdom, (or perhaps a larger)  
Exchange it for a St. Johns-head in th' Charger.   
FINIS.