THE TRIUMPHS OF ROYALTY In the Person of King Charles II.  
A POEM.  
By Thomas Heynes, Gent.  
LONDON Printed for W. Freeman, over against the Devil-Tavern near Temple-bar and published by W. Davis. 1683.   

THE TRIUMPHS OF ROYALTY In the Person of King Charles II.  

LEt Virgil's Muse on coy Alixis dote  
Awed by Apollo from a higher Note,  
Let modest Cowley to his Mistress prove  
That his fond Strings will sound of nought but Love.  
Inspired by ambitious Dictates I'll  
In a more joyful and Heroic Style,  
(With the Almighty's Poet Laureate) sing  
Of matters appertaining to a King.  
But where shall I the mighty Subject choose?  
Or what brave Hero shall provoke my Muse?  
Heaven's Index which did to the Magis tell  
The place where Shilo from a Virgin fell,  
Appearing likewise o'er the British Sphere  
At the Natalia of a Royal Peer  
Directs me by its Luster to the place,  
And Person, which my measured Lines must trace.  
A Person whose Descent was great and high,  
Fit to b'attended with a Prodigy.  
Nor did the place Heaven's notice merit less,  
Which the Defenders of its Faith possess,  
On whose delightful Soil the Royal Seed  
In every Age such Sacred Cyons breed.  
'Tis most renowned for the Infant Seat  
Of the first Christian Emperor, the Great,  
And Pious Constantine. It's ancient Fame  
Is likewise much enlarged by the Name  
Of Lucius the prime Christian King, they first  
Of Monarches to profess a Jesus durst.  
'Twas here the Blood of the first Royal Head  
That wore a Crown of Martyrdom was shed.  
Who as a Martyr was the Church's Seed,  
But being King a hopeful Prince did breed,  
A Prince whose early Goodness did reform  
His Sister's Beauty sullied in the Storm  
Of Persecution and Rebellion. He  
The Subject of my Joyful Song shall be.   

Like as the solitary Bird that moves  
Her pinion o'er the tall Arabian Groves,  
Doth from the Ashes of her Dam advance,  
And to herself that noble kind enhance:  
So the pure Flames of our late Sovereign's Urn  
Did to this most puissant Monarch turn;  
Who when wise Nature had sufficient strength  
On him bestowed to force a Birth, at length  
From her obscure Elabratory came  
Ushered into the World 'twixt Joy and Fame.  
Why should I mention here the curious pride  
Of that bright Star whose Subtle Beams did glide  
Through the Sun's burning Atoms, and adorn  
The Day on which the Lovely Youth was born?  
(When Phoebus being afraid, lest on the Pole  
The Ghost of his audacious Son did roll,  
Dispatched his nimble Paegasus away  
Urania to consult about the Day)  
The Noble Substance gladly we behold,  
Which to the former Age those Types foretold;  
This only shall my Loyal pen inspire,  
And dictate Verses to my trembling Lyre.  
To Charles' the Second therefore I'll my Song  
Devote, to Charles it doth of right belong.  
None is more worthy of my Verse than he,  
Who did from slavish Yoke our Nation free;  
First by a Parthian Conquest, when he fled  
Disguised, unto the Oak's Asylum led  
By the safe Conduct of his Angel, that  
Once on the root of Gideon's Acorn sat.  
That fatal Tree to Absolom, and those  
Who dare their Lawful sovereign to oppose,  
To his Majesty was not a Foe,  
But more propitious much by far then so.  
Thrice did the sensible and humble Plant,  
(As if it did not Love or Manners want)  
It's Sacred Branches to this Phoenix bow,  
Inviting him by kind and silent show,  
Who straight to climb the same doth condescend,  
Whiles the officious Limbs assistance lend,  
Proud to receive into their shady Nest  
The charge of such a brave and noble Guest;  
Him thus advanced unto his strange repose  
The spreading Leaves do faithfully enclose.  
Nature high Steward of wise Providence  
Who unexpected blessings doth dispense  
To needy Mortals, having thus disposed  
Our Prince upon a Throne by her composed,  
Thought it unmeet that he should sit alone,  
And his misfortunes by himself bemoan.  
With a Retinue she supplies his Court,  
Of which some are for Service, some for Sport;  
Here the Purveyors of Elijah bring  
A Tribute of their Berries to the King,  
And here the hovering Consort of the Sky  
In Carols chant to his delivery.  
The Flocks which in th' inferior Valleys grazed  
At this unusual Object stood amazed,  
Until the plunderers them away did hall,  
And they like Victims for our Isaac fall;  
The Birds of Prey which did those Fields forsake,  
To the rebellious Walls themselves betake.  
The wild and savage beasts with whom the fierce  
Usurper of the East did once converse,  
From this Diviner Presence ran away,  
Nor of its Prospect in the Verge dare stay.  
Thus were his Senses by External Charms  
Freed from the sad Impression of his Harms,  
Whiles Comforts far more solid did control  
The Melancholy Passions of his Soul,  
Full of the Spirit and those Graces which  
The Faculties of pious Men enrich,  
To his desires he unfolds the Door,  
And thus in Jacob's form doth God implore:  
If thou great Lord wilt bring me back again  
To my dear Father's Court, where I may reign  
In peace, and to my Troubles put an end,  
I vow thy Faith and Worship to defend;  
Ejaculations more he did rehearse,  
(But sympathising Tears restrain my Verse)  
So melting that a Myrmidon they'd move;  
Much more the Bowels of the God of Love,  
Who heard, and as a pledge of happier Days,  
Him for the present to his Friends conveys.   

But leave (my Muse) the glory of his Flight,  
And of his Joyful Restoration write.  
Whose most Victorious Entrance did outvie  
The Triumphs of his bare Delivery,  
As much as things astonishing exceed  
Those which do only Admiration breed.  
To's Guardian Angels quick Invention he  
His Rescue owes, but his Return could be  
The wise and wonderful Effect of none  
But of the three United States alone,  
Who at Heaven's Altar do in Council sit,  
Baffling with Counterplots all humane wit.  
'Twas when our patient Prince seemed to despair  
He should be ever a possessing Heir,  
For Arms could ne'er the sturdy Slaves remove;  
Tho strength doth not more just a Title prove,  
Nor is our Hero to be thought less stout  
In that he's not assisted by the Rout:  
Then like a Giant flashed with Chion Wine,  
Th' Almighty leader of the Host Divine,  
Whose Spacious Tents the numerous Orbs enclose,  
From the Tribunal of is Pavilion rose,  
And with a nod the Nations Genius he  
Did change, and forced her on her stubborn knee  
To sue for pardon of her injured Lord,  
Whom whilom she inveterately abhorred;  
'Twas God (you see) that did this plot invent,  
But Nature the brave Scene did represent.  
Who (like the anxious Nurse of Cyrus when  
The trusty Shepherd bore him from her Den)  
Did not forsake her Royal Charge, but as  
In his Adversity a Friend she was,  
Did likewise in his Triumph bear a part,  
Outvying in her Pageants mimic Art.  
She at his first approach for Joy doth weep,  
And pearly Showers do from her Temples creep.  
With Lightning and with Thunder than she clears  
Her Cloudy Eyelids, and more calm appears,  
The grand Procession this to move invites,  
And strait comes forth our King among his Knights;  
Majestickly he rides, and with a smile  
The hearts of his repining Foes beguile.  
Thus having under the Triumphant Arch  
Of England's eldest Daughter passed, doth march  
In State unto the other of her Twins,  
Whose ancient Minister now to roar begins:  
There being entered, reverently he bows,  
And on the hallowed Table pays his Vows.  
Being discharged of them the holy Priest  
Devoutly on 's Anointed Crown doth rest  
The Royal Burden, whiles unto the Sky  
Loud Acclamations from his Subjects fly,  
Whose shouting Crowd surround the Royal Stall,  
The dancing Pillars and the vocal Wall,  
(As if the Charms of brave Amphion's Lyre  
With Voice and Motion did their Stones inspire)  
The sprightly Image of the shout resound;  
Nothing in Nature now is silent found,  
But every thing combine, they all agree  
With joyful noise (Great Charles) to welcome thee.  
By them alar'med th' impatient Clouds again  
Break from the Dungeons of the rolling Main  
Pleading the privilege of the happy day,  
And o'er the blue Horizon hast away:  
Whiles Meteors in the Air dance a round,  
And Heavenly Canons from above resound:  
Not such as from the top of Sinai spoke,  
Or which at Saul's Inauguration broke;  
But gentler and more seasonable they  
Did a more pleased Intelligence obey,  
Nor were by Devils mingled in the Storm,  
But from a Chemic Angel did receive their Form.   

Welcome (Brave Prince) let the seditious Crew  
With envy thy Divine Procession view;  
In spite of those malicious Wolves I'll sing  
Having so brave a subject as a King,  
Who when the Fates a Sceptre did restore  
To his right hand that turned the Jack before,  
Did then exchange (I speak it not in sport)  
A sordid Kitchen for a stately Court.  
See there he goes in such Majestic wise  
As would control the strength of Eagles Eyes,  
Did not his supercilious Face display,  
Through the Transparent pores of a sweet allay  
Those different Airs which on his Brow you read  
From inward Consternations do proceed,  
And of his mighty thoughts the Heralds are,  
With combats more than civil did declare,  
When mercy with his angry Genius strove  
To save the Captive Wretches which he drove;  
In vain from his pursuing Love they ran  
Chased by the Magic of his Royal Wand,  
Their Gild indeed might prompt them to despair,  
And make them think that the incensed Heir  
Would do no less than sacrifice their Host  
With Indignation to his Father's Ghost,  
And in revenge of Murder give them death.  
But he with general pardon spares their breath;  
And scarce a drop of Rebel's Blood was shed,  
Wherewith to mark the Joyful Day with red.  
(Howe'er their undeserved impunity  
Shall not secure them from Heaven's searching Eye,  
Which in its Book of Fate hath this Decree  
That Traitors shall not always go Scot-free)  
Thus the ungrateful Crowd more by the charms  
Of Love were vanquished than by force of Arms,  
With the Pharsalian Bard I'll not comply,  
But Triumph for domestic Victory,  
And though some modern Critic may accuse  
Of flattering Idolatry my Muse,  
His canting Exhortation I'll defy,  
And with an Io Paean him reply.  
Some are with Joy and Admiration mute  
To see their Senses their sad Fears confute;  
For me the Inspiration is too strong,  
And from m'unwary pen extorts a Song.  
Others in silence melancholy are,  
And tremble at the memory of War;  
Martial debates at home I do confess  
With wounds the Body politic oppress,  
But if thereby the Fates procure that all  
The rotten and superfluous Members fall,  
(Such as the Rump under whose brawny sway  
The wool sacks in our Capitol decay)  
And by their providence preserve the head  
By which alone the Commonwealth is fed,  
From brinish Tears and British Blood let's cease,  
And with a grateful Joy embrace the peace.   

First then le's pay our Tribute of applause,  
And thanks to him who is the fruitful cause  
Of this and all our other happiness  
The heathen Poets use to do no less;  
Nor will it next to him be thought amiss  
To bless the second Causes of our Bliss.  
Blessed be the Oak, let it for ever be  
Like Aaron's holy Rod a budding Tree.  
Which for this hour within its aged Nest  
Preserved him from the raping Vultures quest,  
From whence he bore like Noah's Gentle Dove,  
A Branch the Emblem both of Peace and Love.  
Blessed be the Man (what do I wish as though  
His Noble Soul already was not so?)  
But blessed let him be who thought it brave  
His Liege by lawful Stratagem to save,  
'Tis Monk I mean; nor doth great Ormond's name  
Make a less Figure in the Book of Fame,  
Who this auspicious Progress did direct,  
And from those Birds of Prey our King protect.  
The white Staff which his hand far whiter bore  
Declared his Innocence then Office more,  
And though High Steward be a name August,  
'Twas honesty preferred him to the trust.  
Long may he live, and by his sage advice  
Confirm the peace which from him took its rise!  
Like as Maecenas and Agrippa who  
To Rome and Caesar's Interest both were true,  
Did by their faithful Counsels them unite  
Into a Noble Monarchy in spite  
Of the malignant Fathers, who before  
Had stained their Purple with Imperial Gore:  
So when our guilty Senate had of late  
Condemned our Sovereign to his Sire's Fate  
Opposed by the Policy and Strength  
Of these two Loyal Patriots, they at length  
The Execution of their Vote forbore,  
And did the usurped right to him restore.  
How could I here enlarge in blessing those  
Whom Heaven besides in this affair chose!  
But soft (my Muse) thy blessings are in vain,  
I mean superfluous like the drops of rain  
After an Inundation which doth fall,  
The Times do more for Thanks than Wishes call.  
Let us a while in Fancy's Chariot ride  
Thro the bright Mansions where the Meteors glide,  
Drawn by the Wings of that amphibious Beast,  
Which in the Aionian Rocks doth build its Nest,  
Up to the higher Stories of the Air,  
Where this inferior Globe looks white and fair  
(Bright as the Moon it's Superficies seems  
Thro the laborious Sun's prospective Beams)  
Hence le's with Joy behold the spacious Ground  
Which first the 
* Julius Agricola.  Roman Husbandman ploughed round  
Was this fair Isle, alas, of civil War  
The meed, to me it seems much more by far  
Like the Elysian Fields exempt from Fate;  
Well might the Ancients call it fortunate.  
Under yond Branch see how the healthy Swain  
Surveys his cattle feeding on the Plain,  
Which erst was trampled by the warlike Steed,  
And stained by those who wounded there did bleed;  
But now the voice of War no more is heard,  
The Flocks are not by Drums and Trumpets scared,  
Nor do the thundering Cannons make them fear,  
For Sounds more pleasant entertain their Ear,  
Hark how the Birds among the Branches sing,  
Which always wear the Livery of the Spring,  
A Livery that doth look so fresh and gay  
As if 'twere still the twenty-ninth of May,  
How do the Corn within the Valleys laugh,  
Ready to burst from out their Chaff;  
And underneath the Cliffs whose lofty Top  
Powdered with Light o're-shades the merry Crop,  
The reeling Sons of Neptune with their Face  
Wrinkled in Smiles do sing the cheerful Base,  
Expressing as it were how gladly they  
Bore him who o'er their Billows bears the sway,  
When he returned in Triumph from Exile  
And with his Presence blest again our Isle.  
Why should I not those floating Towers mention,  
The winged Fugitives admired Invention,  
Which to the Skies their lofty Spires advance,  
And to the Ocean's murmuring Music dance?  
See how they fly with artificial Wing,  
And in their Bulk from Foreign Countries bring  
Supplies Domestic Treasures to recruit.  
All this and more our wand'ring Eyes salute.  
In the same Prospection the marshy Strand,  
See how the Jolly Shepherd there doth stand,  
And leaning on his Crook a Pastoral sings,  
Whiles thro' the neighbouring woods the Echo rings.  
But wherefore bleats the Sheep, why doth the Cow  
Amidst the fruitful Meads for Pasture low?  
Not out of want but wantonness they crave  
The blessed enjoyments they already have;  
The gentle Sheep, alas, in quiet eat,  
Nor moved by discontent for Joy they bleat;  
The Wolf of Rome and Caledonian Boar  
Are they who under Fleeces whine for more,  
Like the Arch-Rebel that first taught the way  
To other Spirits how to disobey:  
So these th' unwary Flock seek to persuade  
With horns their Royal Shepherd to invade,  
Their devilish Rhetoric did of late prevail  
(God grant it may hereafter ever fail)  
The Herd then quickly found unto their cost  
That when their Pan was dead themselves were lost.  
Warned therefore by the Experience of their Ewes,  
The Lambs, I hope, a better Fate will choose.  
The harmless Kine methinks are quiet too,  
And on the Cud of fruitful Blessings chew.  
Indeed the Devil now endeavour may  
Clothed in a Hide our Albion to betray:  
As once he did her Mother Europe, when  
He roved about in the Phoenician Fen;  
But all in vain, his Hoofs are too well known  
To the fair Virgin wise and valiant grown;  
'Tis neither Force nor Fraud can her beguile,  
Nor strength of Arms, she's no unchanted Isle,  
But safe from any Plot or Magic Spell  
Securely in her temperate Clime doth dwell,  
So safe that the combining Gates of Hell  
(Under whose Arch the Shades of Traitor's sail)  
Shall ne'er against her comely Tents prevail.  
This under God she to the Conduct owes  
Of the brave Monarch to whose Laws she bows,  
Her foreign Foes 'tis he alone can awe,  
And homebred Rebels fall before his Law.  
When his fierce Lions do prepare their chase  
Horror and Fear appears in every face,  
The Foxes at their footsteps are afraid,  
Nor are the dreadful Tigers less dismayed,  
When they, the Triumphs of the Forest, sleep,  
Their awful snoaring broad awake doth keep  
The other Beasts, who yet in silence lie;  
Scarce dare the trembling Echo make reply.  
The ancient Greeks before they could destroy,  
Or captivate the Noble City Troy,  
Were told they should the sacred Image take,  
Whose presence it invincible did make:  
So—  
Our Modern Augurs (with the old the same  
For Plots and pious Frauds, though not in Name)  
Contrive to ruin our new Troy, to bring  
By the Destruction of its Guardian King.  
Thus that implacable and wretched Tribe  
The bloody Wish in Practice to transcribe,  
Which the severed Caligula did vow  
To kill the common Body at a blow.  
But Heaven and he laughs at their vain Design,  
And smiles to see how idly they combine;  
And let them still their shrewd Intrigues pursue,  
Whiles Heaven doth still its Providence renew.  
'Twould move indeed a temperate Spleen to see  
That any English men should so degenerate be,  
That they should thus endeavour to betray  
Their King and Country, but for my part they  
Themselves and us impunely may abuse.  
I'll ne'er espouse a satire to my Muse,  
Or moved by Indignation and Despite  
Against their Folly sharp Invectives write.  
This better would those eager Mouths befit  
Which in exchange for Coffee spew out Wit,  
Seeking by public Clamours to detect  
The Plots which they do privately direct.  
But I (who might perhaps be thought as smart  
At railing which I hate with all my heart  
And could as freely wish, nay do believe  
That Traitors will a greater Curse receive  
Than they the Pope or Hickringal can give)  
A Theme have chose which milder Thoughts inspire,  
And warms my Fancy by a softer fire,  
A Fire so fine and pure, that no dull smoke  
Or noisome Vapours do its Spirits choke:  
Nor will I cause so fine an Element  
By such impure mixtures to ferment;  
In short (to explain the Trope) my Loyal Strings  
Are now devoted to the best of Kings,  
Whose Nature is for Harmony designed  
At once the Joy and Terror of Mankind,  
From th'utmost Limits of his spacious Land  
Humble Addresses kiss his Royal Hand,  
To him from far Ambassadors resort,  
Him Foreign Nations to their Friendship Court;  
And the same Majesty which them invites,  
His treacherous Friends and factious Foes affrights,  
Who conscious of their Gild make hast away,  
Lest to his Justice they should fall a Prey:  
And let them gang, but may their grand Design  
In which they do so solemnly combine  
His Crown and Sacred Person to assault,  
Like Vulcan or Ignatius ever halt.   

Happy thou art, fair Isle, happy thy Name,  
And free, whiles Loyal to thy King, from shame;  
The Grecian Poetasters prattle may  
Of the Arcadian Groves alas, but they  
Are nothing worth if we consider thine,  
Whose glorious Rays on every Tree doth shine.  
And may it shine!  
Till the fair Rival of its Light the Sun  
To th' utmost Goal of his Career is run  
And shall (among thy western Oceans drowned)  
Forsake his annual and diurnal round;  
May he whose Luster doth inform with Light  
Thy Jocund Sphere, and doth create it bright,  
Upon thy Joyful Surface never cease  
To scatter the glad Beams of Joy and Peace.  
But if the Heavens shall claim in him a share,  
And still to us his Presence will not spare,  
May he in them the Noblest seat obtain,  
And turn Boötes out of Charles Weign;  
Nor do I wish he there may fixed remain,  
But that the Constellation, which first brought  
To's Mortal Body an eternal Thought,  
May at their dissolution it convey  
Back thro' Beam of Heaven the Milky-way  
To's Native Mansion, where the Archangel shall  
His Royal Shade among the Thrones install.   
FINIS.