TO THE DUKE ON HIS RETURN.  Written by NAT. LEE. 

COME then at last, while anxious Nations weep,  
Three Kingdoms staked! too precious for the deep.  
Too precious sure, for when the Trump of fame  
Did with a direful sound your Wrack proclaim,  
Your danger and your doubtful safety shown,  
It dampt the Genius, and it Shook the Throne.  
Your Helm may now the Sea-born Goddess take,  
And soft Favonius safe your passage make.  
Strong, and auspicious, be the Stars that reign,  
The day you launch, and Nereus sweep the Main.  
Neptune aloft, scour all the Storms before,  
And following Tritons, wind you to the Shore;  
While on the Beach, like Billows of the Land,  
In bending Crowds the Loyal English stand:  
Come then, though late, your right receive at last;  
Which Heaven preserved, in spite of Fortune's blast,  
Accept those hearts, that Offer on the Strand;  
The better half of this divided Land.  
Venting their honest Souls in tears of Joy,  
They rave, and beg you would their lives employ,  
Shouting your sacred name, they drive the air,  
And fill your Canvas Wings with gales of prayer.  
Come then I hear three Nations shout again,  
And, next our Charles, in every bosom reign;  
Heaven's darling Charge, the care of regal stars,  
Pledge of our Peace, and Triumph of our Wars.  
Heaven echoes Come, but come not Sir alone,  
Bring the bright pregnant Blessing of the Throne.  
And if in Poet's charms be force or skill,  
We charge you, O ye Waves, and Winds be still,  
Soft as a sailing Goddess bring her home,  
With the expected Prince that loads her Womb;  
Joy of this Age and Heir of that to come.  
Next her the Virgin Princess shines from far,  
Aurora that, and this the Morning Star.  
Hail then, all hail, They land in Charle's Arms,  
While his large Breast, the Nation's Angel warms.  
Tears from his Cheeks with manly mildness roll,  
Then dearly grasps the treasure of his Soul:  
Hangs on his Neck, and feeds upon his form,  
Calls him his Calm, after a tedious Storm.  
O Brother! He could say no more, and then,  
With heaving Passion clasped him close again.  
How oft he cried have I thy absence mourned,  
But 'tis enough Thou art at last returned:  
Said I returned! O never more to part,  
Nor draw the vital warmth from Charles his heart.  
Once more, O Heaven, I shall his Virtue prove,  
His Council, Conduct, and unshaken Love.  
My People too at last their Error see,  
And make their Sovereign blest in loving Thee.  
Not but there is a stiff-neck'd-hardened Crew  
That give not Caesar, no nor God his due.  
Reprobate Traitors, Tyrants of their Own,  
Yet Grudge to see their Monarch in his Throne.  
Their stubborn Souls with brass Rebellion barred,  
Desert the Laws, and Crimes with Treason guard.  
Whom I— but there he stopped, and cried 'tis past,  
Pity's no more, this warning be their last;  
Then sighing said, my Soul's dear purchased rest,  
Welcome, Oh welcome, to my longing Breast:  
Why should I waste a tear while thou art by,  
To all extremes of Friendship let us fly,  
Disdain the factious Crowd that would rebel  
And mourn the Men that durst in death excel,  
Their Fates were Glorious since for thee they fell.  
And as a Prince has right his Arms to weiled,  
When stubborn Rebels force him to the Field:  
So for the Loyal, who their Lives lay down,  
He dares to Hazard both his Life and Crown.   
FINIS.   

Printed for I. Tonson, at the Judge's Head in Chancery-lane. 1682.