GRAMPIUS CONGRATULATION In plain SCOTS LANGUAGE TO HIS MAJESTY'S Thrice Happy Return.  
Printed Anno Dom. 1660.   

GRAMPIUS CONGRATULATION To His Majesties thrice happy Return.  
A SCOTS Rhyme.  

OF twelve sad years, one tedious night  
We've had, and now the day grows light,  
Our Sun is up, awake my Muse,  
Thy drowsiness I'll not excuse.  
We have been dead, and now we live  
Again, and shall we no thanks give?  
In our next life, if we give none  
To God, Why Resurrection?   

Are we redeemed then from the tears  
And torments of these twenty years?  
And from th' Egyptian bondage free?  
And are we all past the Red sea?  
And shall not one midst all this Throng  
Remember upon Moses Song?  
Let this be Purim to our Priests,  
Although our Church allow no Fiests.   

But Bacchus She priests here we bar,  
Our mirth with fury we'll not mar,  
Let them their Trietericks vent  
To a Triennial Parliament.  
And since profane men are discharged,  
(By him for whose cause we're enlarged)  
Ranting 'gainst the dead Commonwealth,  
Or drinking their own Master's health,  
Whom they so by their rude louse tongue  
More than their hands could help, did wrong:  
What shall we, poor we, do that dwell  
By Chyrra, and Agamppe well?  
What if we merry made by water,  
Mingled with Enthean fire shall clatter?  
No Treason's here: our noise and din.  
Shall greater be far than our sin.   

Were we not then all this past while,  
Cimmerians since our King's exile?  
Have we not lived in Holes and Caves?  
And digged in Minerals like slaves?  
To pay th'usurpers of the Crown?  
And buy Swords t' had ourselves down?  
But now since Jove amongst us Feists,  
Like th' honest Corybantes Priests,  
Let's Leap and Dance all in a round,  
Our Heads shake, and our Cymbals sound,  
Till the French follow this our folly,  
Who pitied not our Melancholy.   

With God, our King a God we'll call,  
More's in Him than our Armies all:  
They brought us Toil and Husks for diet,  
He Milk and Honey with much quiet:  
When we by War our Peace did mar,  
Then Nole sought Peace by 'nlawful War. 
Pa● quaeri●●●●ello.   
But still behoved he to keep's under,  
And we must Pay or he must Plunder.   

Five several times the Scots made head  
To make amends for one misdead;  
Five times our Fire still turned to smoke,  
And all the Kingdoms bore the yoke:  
But what was in this wondrous thing?  
Strong Armies could not help the King,  
Nor rescue from Hell's yawning jaws  
Religion, Liberty, and Laws.  
Was't not because still Achan's wedge  
Was by some of us kept in pledge?  
And the cursed thing was never purged,  
So the poor People ay were scourg d.   

And with the truth if we may jump,  
Our Scots House sometimes had its Rump,  
And likewise a fanatic blood  
Made some heads think that ill was good.  
But now that brain-sicknesse, (great odds)  
Is turned down to an Emerauds:   

So if our Royal Doctor please,  
To obviate the like disease,  
Let us be purged, and Leeches set,  
While th' ill is at our Postern gate,  
Lest it break back again, and breed  
Some new distemper to the head.   

The body of the Land, like men  
Condemned, and then reprieved again  
By the grieved Party, taste some grief  
Mixed with the joy of their relief:  
And were it not this weight did still us,  
The ecstasy of joy would kill us:  
We grieve, our interprises missed   

The success which our Souls had wished;  
That our efforts made to repone  
The King, had thus failed one by one.  
When the Restorer from us went,   

He knew this by our hearts consent  
In offers free: And yet we wring  
Our hands, that ourselves did not bring  
The King home: But since he's home brought,  
Theirs be the Guerdon who best wrought.  
Wither we take the work from Heaven,   

Or add it to the wonders seven,  
Or learn, that England never would  
Take King, nor Reformation hold  
Of us, Let us be well content  
T' applaud unto the Instrument.  
George whom ill loosed, we all confess;  
By providence was nothing less.   

He served in Egypt; so it fell,  
He proves the prope of Israel.  
He is our David, and he took  
But five small sling-stones from the brook;  
And with the G'ants own sword indeed,  
He hath cut off Goliah's head.   

His Club hath made more Monsters fall,  
Than Hercules his Labours all.  
He hath the Hydra's heads down born,  
And gives us Achelous horn.  
Of Philistines a greater crew   

A'has quashed, than ever Samson slew.  
His finger hath drawn down their house,  
And yet both saved himself and us.  
Thrasibulus he hath excelled,   

Though thirty Tyrants he expelled.  
And this act shall Eclipse the Glory  
Of old Saint George his Legend Story,  
As far's the King's and Kingdom's three,  
Outvies a poor Maid's jeopardy.  
And of all those, though brave and good,  
Not one like this was done but blood.  
Then; to Heaven's let us praises sing,  
Thank George, and Pray, God Save the King.    
FINIS.