Iter Australe Attempting something upon the happy Return of our most Gracious Sovereign Lord, CHARLES II. FROM BANISHMENT TO HIS THRONE.  
By a Loyal Pen.  — Virum non arma Cano. 
LONON, Printed by Tho. Leach, in the Year, 1660.   

The Porntal.  

I.  
we'll no Cronostick numbers here  
Compose, to figure out the year  
Wherein our Second Charles did make  
His Blessed return; lest we mistake.  
For justice breaking from her Iron Cage  
Has back again reduced the Golden Age;  
That Time no longer will the old style bear  
O'th' Sixteen Hundred and the Sixtieth Year.   

II.  
Nor will we yet presume to join  
A Nominal Letter to each Line,  
And with our slender Art to frame  
Acrostics on his Sacred Name,  
For 'twill be Forgery to Interline  
Those Letters Patents Providence Divine  
Hath Copied forth for us in CAPITAL  
Out of their Heaven-Inrold Original.   

III.  
Nor yet to make an Anagram  
Dis join the Letters of the same:  
(So Ancient Adam had the Honour  
Without all doubt to be the donor)  
Lest (as those Lawless Traitors did Translate  
His Royal Kingdoms to a Rebel State  
So) we, whilst we endeavour to enforce  
A Better Sense upon't, should make a Worse.   

iv  
But yet my Muse would something, she  
Might demonstrate her Loyalty;  
Plain humble verse she thinks will best  
Her Kneeling Reverence Attest.  
His Beams are such, were not the Poet's Bays  
Charms against Lightning, she durst not raise  
Herself above the pitch of Prose— Lest she  
Should burn her Plumes, and fall a Scorched fly.   

V  
O might she gain Acceptance, this  
Would prove her chief, her Masterpiece:  
So whilst the Sun withdraws his Light  
'Twill seem at least an Eagle flight:  
But if his splendour be so great that he  
Cannot pluck in his dazzling Rays, and she  
Shall stand Convicted of Presumption,  
She sues the General Act— Oblivion.    

Iter Australe, Attempting something upon the happy return of our most gracious Sovereign Lord, CHARLES II. From Banishment to his THRONE.  

I.  
SHoot up thy head my Muse, thy Foes are flown,  
Made the retreat to mournful Helicon:  
Come dive no longer, now thou needest not fear  
Upon the forked Mountain to appear;  
Put thy neglected Buskins on, and shake  
Thy watery Pinions, and leave the Lake;  
Fly to Parnassus' Airy top, and see  
What from the high Ascent thou canst descry;  
And when thou shalt discern on Thetis floor,  
The royal Navy, wafting Charles to shore,  
Go Crown thy gladded brows with flowers whereon  
The names of Kings have their Inscription,  
To entertain his blessed arrival, and  
Carol his welcome to the happy Strand.  
In the mean time rehearse those mournful Lays,  
Thou erst didst dedicate unto the praise  
Of Charles the first: Go gather up again,  
Those Quills of Porcupines thy high disdain  
In a Satirical disguise did cast  
At Traitor's Heads, (whose Feathers as they passed,  
Sung their Prophetic Eulogies) and now  
Shoot, shoot in triumph, for their overthrow.  
But stop your ears with black, with mourning wool,  
Or send your twice-repeated griefs to School  
Amongst the tortured Ghosts, they may from thence  
Bring back the Lesson of forced Patience,  
To hear my now relapsed Muse relate  
The Tyranny of our late Monarch's Fate.   

II.  
NOw that Prophetic Simile proves true,  
England's an Axein shape, and nature too:  
Whilst startled Conscience winks, One fatal stroke  
Prostrates Great Britain's Tutelary Oak;  
And reason good; Why cumbers it the Ground?  
The Traitor's cry, our Providence hath found  
A better way to Husband it, no more  
We Beggars-bushes will, as heretofore,  
Stand in the barren paths and ways, since we  
To plant ourselves on his fat soil agree.  
Down with th' imperious Cedars too (they cry)  
That by their power enfenced his Majesty,  
From our encroachments; And upon their Land  
The brave aspiring Poplars shall stand.  
The Briery Soldiery shall have a share  
With us, and a Commission to tear  
Their Golden Fleeces from the backs of those,  
Whose zeal to King, or Conscience, shall expose  
Themselves unto our malice;— They'll dispense  
With penance in their Robes of Innocence.  
Thus fell our Gracious Sovereign, and they  
That owned their Prince's cause his Fates obey;  
So the Barbarians have a Law that when  
The Master yields to Destiny, the Men  
That were his most obsequious Servants must  
Descend his Grave, to wait upon his Dust.  
Which of his virtues did foment their rage  
So high, nought but his blood could it assuage?  
Was it his Justice? Yes, for they did fear,  
Before that high Tribunal to appear.  
Was it his mercy? Yes, 'cause he refused  
To murder whom they wrongfully accused.  
Besides (they say) Religion bade them make  
An holy War (forsooth for Conscience sake;  
But stay a little, step aside and see  
How God himself was wronged as well as he.   

III.  
IF Christian Reformation that will prove  
Wherein the Serpent overcomes the Dove,  
Farewell ye silenced Oracles, our Sun  
Sets in a Cloud, our happy days are done.  
But search and try (my Muse) before you speak,  
Turn not a she Fanatic and mistake:  
For when their warlike Swords and Muskets drove  
Out our holy Church, of the peaceful Dove,  
Amphibious Batts did spring up in the night  
Of blinded zeal, and played the Hypocrite;  
And damned Spirits walked therein, which make  
Our Quakers their possessed joints to shake,  
And Thou and Thee us all, 'cause they foretell,  
They shall find no distinctions in Hell.  
The Ignis fatuus of whose lights do bend  
Their paths unto perditions, pit and lend  
False beams a while unto the fatal Brink,  
Then (like the Devil) vanish in a stink.  
The harmless pictures of th' Apostles must  
Out of the Temple windows all be thrust;  
(They hate such good examples) that before  
Ungodly men their light might shine no more:  
And why all this? because the Scriptures speak.  
How Eutichus fell thence and br●ke his neck.  
Each one ordains himself; Mechanic men  
Set in the Temples up their shops again  
Which Christ himself drove out; these silly Elves  
(Gifted from none that I know but themselves)  
Pretend to Prophecy, and why not then  
Coblars of Souls, as Fishers erst of Men?  
Dissembling Soldiers this, and worse have wrought,  
And Crucified their Christ, but kept his Coat:  
And the Rump-Senate set the Tail where we  
In vain endeavoured, that the Head should be.   

iv  
HEre give my pious Muse leave to lament  
Great Charles his Crucifixion, which hath ront  
Our Church into so many Breaches, that  
Good are thrust out, bad men thrust in thereat.  
And as the Jews astonished at the knell  
When th'holy Temple rang her Passing-Bell;  
So when our Faith's Defender Fell, had we  
Not cause to write a mournful Elegy?  
He was both King and Prophet, that he might  
Yield both to subjects, and to God their Right.  
And these two Functions did so meet, his Laws  
Were on the Decade but a Paraphrase.  
How did he brandish the Two-edged Sword  
Of God's Soul-piercing, Heart-dividing word?  
Nor selfish ends, nor false opinion  
Can make him burnish a false Gloss thereon;  
Who wrote his name upon't, and his devise  
With the strong Aqua Fortis of his Eyes.  
Then see his Life, not like Cylennius, whose  
Statue did point the ready way to those  
Were Pilgrims, 'mongst the Mountains, & stood still  
Whilst they ascended the brow-bending Hill;  
But died a Martyr in a Good old Cause,  
Defending both Divine and Humane Laws.  
Then come, O Loyal Subject, let us raise  
A Monumental Trophy to his Praise.  
And in succeeding ages let it stand  
Untouched; and may that Sacrilegious hand  
That shall by force attempt to raze it, ne'er  
Enjoy the blessing of a Sepulchre.   

V  
BUt what though he be murdered, his Son  
The Prince of Wales ascends his Royal Throne:  
Come, we may mitigate Our Griefs, though we  
Can ne'er enough bewail His Destiny.  
No 'tis not so, his Father's Virtues are  
Descended unto him, as lawful Heir;  
And it is fit, the Fates do say that He  
Should likewise taste of his Extremity  
To countermand such Blessings; and be hurled  
In wand'ring mazes up and down the world:  
Like to that pious Hero, who did haste  
From flaming Troy, when as the fire did waste  
That Cities stately S●ructures, before he  
Attain the place of his Regallitie.  
But afer many dereadfull hazards run  
' Twixt Hope and Fear, at length the Scottish Crown  
Is set upon his Brows by those that took  
Pole-money for his Father's Head, and struck  
That luckless bargain, sad experience told  
Proved loss to them that Bought and them that Sold.   

VI  
THe English Rebels hearing this, there comes  
Their General with an Army, thundering Drums  
Roar nought but Canon-language, Trumpets sound  
A Brazen Perseverance, they are bound  
That have engaged against their Prince, to be  
No more Retreaters to their Loyalty.  
Charles hunted out of Scotland by the Crew  
Of these pursuing Blood-hell-hounds, he threw  
Himself to Worsters Borough to obtain  
A shelter more secure, but all in vain:  
For they dislodged our Dear, and made him fly  
For safer covert to a Hollow Tree:  
And now the Ranging Dogs the sent have lost;  
But would not yet desist, till having crossed  
The Champion ground twice o'er, they could not find  
Their Pray, which thus their Fury had declined.  
Thus did his Majesty escape, whose Rays  
heavens Providence designed for better days;  
And to a Foreign soil is fled from hence,  
Till that Reducing Power recalls him thence.   

VII.  
ANd now Aspiring Oliver by Force  
With the Black Rod whips the Rump out of doors,  
And makes himself Protector; Thus we see  
Treason 'mongst Traitors sometimes there may be:  
One Interregnum thus encludes its Brother;  
Here's one Parenthesis within another:  
Time-servers tongues, Licked (out of Hope or Fear,  
Into a Formal Lamb this Savage Bear.  
One would have him a David, (cause he went  
To Lambert's wife, when he was in his Tent.)  
A second, Moses styled him, (for why  
His shining Nose made the Synecdoche:)  
And Most were so besotted that they found  
No grief at all; For hard Opression ground  
Their Faces with such cruelty, that there  
Did no impressions of dislike appear.  
But Providence at last to purge our Air  
From this most noisome Vapour, did prepare  
A wind to drive him hence, and sent him gone  
To his deserved place; and strait his Son  
Richard assumes the Load, and all adore  
The Ass, (but for the Burden which he bore.)  
Some thought he would again our King recall,  
But yet the Goose saved not our Capitol.  
Lambert Degrades him presently, and then  
The Rump let lose, ran to their stools again.   

VIII.  
BUt they must turn out too, and not repine  
But to the Walling fordians resign  
Their late acquired power, the Rump again  
Is thrust besides the Cushion, may not Reign;  
And now great Monk advances over Tweed,  
The Privilege of Parliaments to plead,  
But his White-powder gave no crack; for he  
Wrought not so much by Power as Policy.  
All are restored again, nay more than that,  
For each Secluded Member takes his seat  
Among the rest; I hope we may not fear  
To style the King, Monks Privy Counsellor.  
The Royal Party make it their Resolve.  
With all the speed that may be to dissolve  
The now Divided House, with an intent  
To make room for another Parliament;  
Which might the Great Work do, and so agree  
To pass a Fine without Recovery.   

Fly then ye restless Furies, fly, begon;  
No more the Mazes of Confusion  
In Britain's Soil; trace out, hence off, make room  
For gentle Fairies, their glad feet may come  
And Dance the Rings of Everlasting Peace  
About our Blessed Isle, so that the Seas  
Of Violence and Rapine may no more,  
Cast their unheard of Monsters on our Shore.   

IX.  
THe Senate is Assembled, which receives  
The Still e'oth People's Repesentatives  
Now in a downright sense; they are the Glass  
Wherein his Subjects may see their King's Face;  
And easily apprehend there doth abide,  
A Silvered plenty on the other side:  
Their Rumpships' Breeches now no more shall be  
The Impress of our Lawful Coin; But we,  
For his Reward who did bring home our King,  
Shall have Great George on Horseback ride the Ring.   

As when the Earth bewails in Mourning Weeds  
The absence of the long set Sun, and dreads  
A Non-repeated Course, the Gray-eyed Morn  
Giving a signal of his blessed Return,  
She than puts off her Cypress vail, that He,  
Might wipe her dewy Tears away; so we,  
For Charle, his Wains Declension had vowed  
Our Souls all Proselytes to grief, and bowed  
Our necks unto her Altars; Till from far  
Unto our Watery eyes there did appear,  
Monk in a Scottish Mist, who strait did pour  
On English Rebels heads, a drowning shower:  
Which having done, the Coast began to clear,  
And strait upon our English Hemisphere  
We did expect that Star should rise and be  
Exlated to its Regal Dignity.  
And whilst our King makes ready to Return,  
With Zeal inflamed Joys our Hearts do burn.   

X.  
THe British Seas Fly to a Foreign shore,  
With an unwonted speed, to waft Him o'er,  
And make their Inroads on the Continent  
That still detains their Lord, and when 've spent  
Their strength in vain, they backward bend their course  
They may assail it with a greater Force:  
And having won the Field, and got their Prize,  
Even Rarified with joy, they Scale the Skies  
To fetch the Clouds from thence, whose waters may  
Send their Assistance to the happy Bay.  
Both Heaven and Earth (for nought else yet we see)  
Fight for, or yield to CHARLES his Potency.  
Neptune his Trident brings, and will not own  
A Sceptre suiting to a Triple Crown:  
Iris, that stour Virago, thinks it fit  
To paint her Bow with Purple, Green, & White  
To show whose cause she owns; Heaven would have made  
Her straggling Meteors Torchbearers i'th' shade  
Of wand'ring Night, the Royal ship might steer  
Aright amidst the Waves, but that there were  
So many Bonfires on the shore that forced  
A day when Titan's Chariot was unhorsed.   

Now! now he sails in view! but yet no land  
Appears unto his sight, the people stand  
So thick (like Kingfishers) upon the Coast,  
Th' Inhabitants he found, the Isle he lost.   

Some wish themselves Arion's Dolphin, they  
Might shoot into the Waves and bear away  
Their wished King to Land; and some would be  
Int' Eagles Metamorphosed, that from Sea  
They might bring Charles the Great, as it is told  
That feathered Prince did bear the child of old.  
All would be Christopher's that they might bring  
Unto the happy shore their welcome KING.  
How did the people crowd to see him set  
His foot on English ground? He scarce could get  
Room to Ascend; and thus their very Love  
And Loyalty did Petit Treason prove.   

XI.  
The Guns report his Landing, posting Fame  
Road all the staged Cannons as she came  
Quite out of breath, and fainting, short had flown,  
But Fleeter Echo lent her Wings to Town.  
The Bells racked on their turning wheels Confess  
The happy news to all the Parishes,  
Whilst to their tuning Cords the Steeples dance  
For joy at this their great Deliverance.   

The Citizens began to curse the Day  
Gave Birth unto our Civil Wars, that they that fell  
Can not rebuild great Paul's his Spire,  
As an Ill-boding Omen to foretell,  
The Ruin of the Church) so that they might  
Have now ascended his prodigious Height  
To view Charles in his Progress, guarded by  
The Quintessence of England Cavalry;  
Whilst Loyal-hearted Subjects made a Lane  
Fenced with a double Quickset Hedge, and strain  
Their Throats, like merry Birds therein, so sing  
The blessed Restauration of their King,  
That now at Black-Heath makes a stand, to greet  
Them Graciously, that at his Royal Feet  
Cast themselves down for Pardon, and arise  
In his Defence against his Enemies.  
Thence They conduct him to his Throne, and He  
Assumes his double-staft Supremacy.   

XII.  
Returned! O happy News! Is Charles his Wain  
On our Horizon wheeled up once again,  
(And drawn with Doves, which tacitly express  
This Emblem'd Motto, Conqueror by Peace.)  
Go scotch the Orb, ye God's, this Chariot may  
Run the Olympic Chase no more, but stay  
Till palefaced Death sets up the White, which done  
May Ariadne's Star be-studded Crown  
Enshrine his noble Brows, may he appear  
In Cassiopeia's High Imperial Chair,  
A Star of the first Magnitude, and be  
As in his proper Seat and Dignity.  
Go scotch the Orb till then, we may no more  
His Peregrined Aspects here deplore.   

Then let our Joys, O Loyal Subjects, Dance  
The Flourishes of our Deliverance  
Upon our Ravished Heartstrings, and our Tongues  
Sing Consort to them with Bliss-brimmed Songs,  
Since Providence our Monarch doth Recall  
From Misery's Black-Heath, to Joys White-Hall.   
Vivo le Roy.  
FINIS.