POEMS ON His Majesty's BIRTH and RESTAURATION, His Highness' Prince Rupert's And His Grace the Duke of Albemarles NAVAL VICTORIES; The late Great PESTILENCE and FIRE of LONDON.  
By ABRAHAM MARKLAND.  
LONDON: Printed by JAMES COTTEREL. 1667.   


UPON THE ANNIVERSARY OF His Majesty's BIRTH and RESTAURATION, May 29. (1667.)  

1.  
HAve we forgot to pay this Month its due?  
And is our Sovereign gone as soon as come?  
Can his Return (like Him) be Banished too  
Such Kings, as CHARLES, are always coming home.   

2.  
O let Him be Returning all the Year!  
And every Morn the Twenty ninth of May!  
The Sun, though old, yet shines as fresh and clear  
As first he did on the Creation-day.   

3.  
Permit then, Mighty CHARLES, the Sacred Nine  
To sing Your Restauration, and their own:  
Let them their Bays about Your Temples twine,  
And to Your Golden add a Laurel Crown.   

4.  
When Hercules was got, three Nights in one  
(Another Cerberus) together grew;  
But we so black a Night have undergone,  
That brought more Monsters forth than e'er he slew.   

5.  
Say, British Souls! how were ye grown so vile  
To give that monstrous Tyrant your esteem?  
So those who dwell upon the Banks of Nile,  
Adored the Crocodile that devoured them.   

6.  
Thought ye him Valiant, or believed him Wise?  
No, 'twas the Throne that made him so appear:  
A sordid vapour got into the Skies  
Is easily mistaken for a Star.   

7.  
Art thou that Tyrant to the Bar hast brought  
So pious, just, and merciful a Prince?  
That didst Condemn Him because thou couldst not?  
Because He guilty was of Innocence?   

8.  
A Prince as Good as ever thou wert Bad;  
(But Arrows always at the White are driven)  
Thou didst not CHARLES, but Piety behead:  
Who cuts off Atlas' head does pull down Heaven.   

9  
Dull Fool! thou dost but lift him to the Skies,  
And He stands Taller too without a Head:  
His value, being lost, the more we prise;  
As people stretch out Longer when they're Dead.   

10.  
Such innocent Blood might Damn and Save thee too.  
Yet were we certain by the Moan we made,  
That CHARLES in heaven was happy; for we know  
How high the Sun is risen, by our Shade.   

11.  
But as when proud Typhaeus did denounce  
A bold defiance to the Gods above;  
Threw Trees like Arrows, and huge Rocks like Stones;  
Himself a greater Thunderer than Jove.   

12.  
When tearing up an Oak; Thus, thus, cried He,  
From his high Seat I'll tear the Tyrant too;  
With his own Oak I'll kill him; and the Tree  
Which once was Sacred, shall be Cursed now.   

13.  
The Gods, like falling Stars, came rolling down:  
With pride the Conqueror began to swell:  
When straightway under Aetna he is thrown;  
And stead of Heaven, is possessed of Hell.   

14.  
So fell our great Usurper in his pride,  
When high exalted in the Royal Throne;  
Which (like the Whirlwind on the day he died)  
Lifted him up, only to hurl him down.   

15.  
To that eternal Aetna down he went;  
Where laughing; cried, So, so, 'tis wondrous well!  
The murdered Father unto Heaven I sent;  
The Son has Sea and Land, and I have Hell.   

16.  
Then boast not Lucifer, poor Rebel thou!  
For by myself, my mighty self I swear,  
If thou but offer to resist me now;  
I'll Banish thee, and be Protector here.   

17.  
What, though against thy Prince thou drewest thy Sword?  
For this poor Act was Hell conferred on thee?  
Though thou gave Battle to th' Almighty Lord,  
Thou never could Depose thy King, like Me.   

18.  
Strait Lucifer descends his flaming Throne,  
Resigns his place to One it more was due:  
Thrice did he howl with such a dreadful groan,  
Made all the Devils quake, and himself too.   

19  
Long had Great CHARLES been tossed by Land and Seas,  
Finds Sceptres as inconstant as the Wind:  
And doth himself with Contemplation please;  
Beholds a Kingdom in his larger Mind.   

20.  
So  the Chaos was at first begun,  
The great Creator did its Image view;  
The Monarch of the World sat all alone,  
And was himself both King and Kingdom too.   

21.  
Yet to his Country CHARLES retained his love,  
And though an Exile, still in England was:  
Thus in a constant round the Heavens move,  
Yet ne'er Eccentric from their former place.   

22.  
CHARLES all this while preserved his Royal State,  
And was as Great a King without a Crown:  
He's a true Prince can trample on his Fate;  
And be a King too, even when he's none.   

23.  
So doth the mighty Parthian Monarch dwell,  
And all the Pomp of other Courts deride;  
Scorning a Palace, he Prefers a Cell;  
And shows at once Humility and Pride.   

24.  
You little number of that Exiled train,  
(And yet far more than all that never went)  
That daily could behold our Sovereign,  
How happy were you in your banishment!   

25.  
For his Attendants many more had gone,  
But hoped, though absent, they might serve him here.  
A thousand Stars attend upon the Sun,  
Although his bright Retinue disappear.   

26.  
Then did ill Fortune, that obscured our Prince,  
Declare the virtues of His Royal youth:  
As Sacred Oracles in Mystic sense  
At once both Cover and Reveal the Truth.   

27.  
Why brags the Spaniard, he beholds the Sun  
In his own Empire both to Rise and Set?  
So could the Cynic in his Wooden Throne,  
And thought the Empire of his Tub as great.   

28.  
But CHARLES would rather in contentment sit,  
Whilst above Crowns his soaring Thoughts do move:  
Like to that part of Heaven against our feet,  
Which seems below the Earth, but is above.   

29.  
To thrice ten years our Monarch did arrive;  
The Gods beheld him with relenting Eyes;  
And now kind Heaven thought fit he should revive:  
When Alexander fell, Great CHARLES did rise.   

30.  
Then did the Spring in gaudy pomp appear,  
Which all the Winter had in Exile been;  
The Trees new Garlands round their Temples wear,  
As joyful to be Crowned, with CHARLES again.   

31.  
Those Choristers that heard the Thracian sing,  
And o'er his Head with joy and envy flew;  
Now chirp their pretty welcomes to their King,  
And are themselves the Birds and Orpheus too.   

32.  
The young Trees dance as nimbly as the Wind:  
And aged Oaks, with one foot in their Graves,  
Come after slowly Limping on behind,  
Whilst their own Trunks become their native Staves.   

33.  
How would that Royal Tree, which lent its aid  
To your conveyance from our English Shoar;  
To save you once again, your Barge be made!  
And gladly turn each Branch into an Oar.   

34.  
Lo, in what glorious pomp the Sea-gods pass!  
Into two Ranks on either hand they broke;  
On their reflected Images they gaze;  
And stand Admiring at the show they Make.   

35.  
Then let Tigranes boast in all his pride,  
That Kings, as Footmen, by his Coach have gone:  
The Gods attend our CHARLES, and on each side  
Like Lackeys by his watery Chariot run.   

36.  
Those lovely Nymphs that from the Thunderer flew,  
And gentle Rivers and sweet Springs became;  
Wish, they from Springs could turn to Virgins now;  
And in the Waters meet a hotter Flame.   

37.  
Hopes the Venetian Duke to wed the Main,  
And to espouse bright Cynthia? whilst a War  
Against the Turkish Moon he doth maintain?  
And so at once both Woos and Threatens her.   

38.  
While thus he Courts, he doth a Xerxes seem,  
And his gold Ring is to a Fetter grown:  
Thessalian Exorcists do Court like him,  
When with their charms they woe her from her Throne.   

39  
CHARLES is her Lord; whom cruel Fates compel  
Daily to suffer changes, more than She:  
CHARLES could not his misfortunes want; as well  
Her glorious Body without spots might be.   

40.  
Thus doth our Monarch triumph o'er the deep,  
Whilst all the Gods Fannio him a gentle gale;  
And round about him wait; as though his Ship  
The Argo were, and he in Heaven did Sail.   

41.  
That Star which shone the Twenty ninth of May,  
Again attends him at his second Birth;  
Thus whilst, Leander-like he cuts the Sea,  
Heaven, like kind Hero, holds a Taper forth.   

42.  
The day of his Return and Birth the same!  
Bless me ye Gods! who are not Poets now?  
When there is height of Fancy in the Theme,  
When Gods do Jest, and Heaven is Witty too.   

43.  
Who are not Poets at such happy times,  
Nor Raptures can invent for CHARLES his sake;  
May they be Poets the wrong way; and Rhymes  
At the Beginning of their Verses make.   

44.  
When as the Theams a Miracle, the Wit  
On such a Miracle should be one too:  
Like that, it should both Torture and Delight,  
And even please us, 'cause it doth Not so.   

45.  
Let not dull Souls in humble strains appear;  
And think that nothing can be Clear and High:  
The soaring Lark more easy cuts the Air,  
And Smother, as he doth more Lofty fly.   

46.  
Then tell me, Muse, how on the happy day  
Of CHARLES his Birth, a glorious Star at noon  
Did to the world his bolder Beams display;  
And, like an Eagle, Gazed upon the Sun.   

47.  
Speak of his Exile, wondrous as his Birth;  
In Foreign Realms no less a King than Here:  
So Skies afar off seem to touch the Earth,  
Yet are as High as overhead they were.   

48.  
But now, dear Muse, his Restauration sing;  
To joyful welcomes let thy Lyre accord;  
'Tis not more pleasant to resound our King  
Was this day Born, than that he was Restored.   

49.  
So when in Groves a Banished Virgin tries  
With her melodious voice to ease her wrong,  
Still the Return more sweetly doth surprise,  
And th' Echoes more delightful than the Song.   

50.  
Nor let the Vulgar count Kings Births like theirs;  
Kings than are Born, when they begin to Reign;  
Thus CHARLES his Life gins at thirty years;  
Like our first Parent, he is Born a Man.   

51.  
Through those white Rocks, which do our coasts adorn,  
Our Monarch sails, and now on Shoar is driven:  
For when the wand'ring Gods from Earth return,  
Still o'er the Galaxy they pass to Heaven.   

52.  
Let other Princes boast their cruel might,  
What foes they slew, what towns by war they took:  
CHARLES can o'ercome three Kingdoms, and ne'er fight;  
Like beauteous Queens, he Conquers with a Look.   

53.  
Three joyful Realms he leads along enchained:  
Thus we of old in the same Charior see  
A Captive with a glorious Victor joined,  
The Captive Triumphs too as well as he.   

54.  
How the glad Nations do their Conquer or meet,  
Embrace their thraldom, and their Fetters kiss!  
So lies a Lover at his Mistress feet,  
And thinks his Slavery his greatest Bliss.   

55.  
Hark how the Cannon roar, whilst every blow  
Mounts to the Sky, and cuts the trembling Air;  
Heaven itself echoes with the noise, as though  
Another CHARLES too were Returning There.   

56.  
So when the Priests of Bacchus found their God,  
With the shrill Trumpet and the winding Horn;  
With sounding Instruments they play aloud;  
Loud, as the Thunder wherein he was Born.   

57  
But ah, who's That from the cold Climate comes!  
What, Loyal MONK from farthest Scotland? so  
●earls spring from Rocks; so Odours and Perfumes  
Do in the wild Arabian Deserts grow.   

58.  
That gallant Satirist would curse his Wit,  
And hate it like bad Verses, did he know it;  
Against himself he would a satire write;  
And turn his Rebel-Scot to Rebel-Poet.   

59  
MONK saves them all, with sweet and gentle charms  
Redeems the Nation from eternal night:  
Thus what Alcides did with Toil and Arms,  
Sweet Orpheus easily did, and with Delight.   

60.  
Not with his Sword but Harp he Hell controlled;  
'Twas that made Trees and Rocks come dancing thus:  
The glad Aeolian Stone o'er mountains rolled,  
And was itself both Stone and Sisyphus.   

61.  
How MONK betrayed Scotch-English, English-Scots  
Into their Loyalty! how did he shroud  
From both their Generals his warlike Plots!  
Both close and strong, like Thunder in a Cloud.   

62.  
MONK to each Land doth their lost Honour bring;  
At once pretends to Lose and Wins the game:  
He to both Realms Delivers up their King,  
And raises his chief Glory from their Shame.   

63.  
See where with Mighty CHARLES He comes along;  
Whilst full-thronged Streets upon the Houses grow:  
So in green Tapestry are Buildings hung,  
It seems a Wilderness and City too.   

64.  
The English Youth appeared in Armour bright,  
Their sparkling Swords they Brandished in the Sky;  
Vowed to defend their CHARLES; and in His right  
All Others and Themselves they did Defy.   

65.  
Hark, how the Bells proclaim their joy! and tell  
This day's glad Triumph with their Artful breath:  
The Spheres too dance; and every Golden Bell  
A glorious Angel for its Ringer hath.   

66.  
Now night approached; and all the Starry Plain,  
Like the glad City, did with Bonfires throng:  
But ah, dear Heaven! little thought London then  
Itself should be a Bonfire too e'er long.   

67.  
Such are the fatal Ruins all about,  
The dismal alteration is so great;  
That viewing it, Great CHARLES Himself might doubt  
Whether or no He were Returned yet.   

68  
Stop, stop, poor Muse! the Fire will crack thy strings,  
And the Still-raging Flame will burst thy Lute:  
Not all thy Fountains, nor Castalian Springs,  
Can quench this Fire, although Already Out.   

69.  
Poets with Verse, as Fluent as her Thames;  
With Stanza's, as Herself, Majestic too;  
In vain Deplore; unless with mighty Rhymes  
They could, Amphion- like, Rebuild her New.   

70.  
So when the Phoenix dies, the Birds do meet;  
And while She's lying in her spicy urn,  
The Winged Poets round about her Sat,  
And dolefully both Sing, and see her Burn.   

71.  
Thus fell that City, which did Fleets defy,  
Nor could by bloody Civil Wars expire:  
So Porsia when She saw she could not Die  
By Sword or Flood, dispatched herself by Fire.   

72.  
Ah, London! how shall we thy fate deplore?  
England's Metropolis, and Europe's too!  
Behold, OH heavens! our mighty King Before,  
Our very Kingdom is Beheaded Now.   

73.  
What wealthy Sums and Subsides were lost!  
Which as a tribute for the Hearths were paid:  
Strange! Chimney's should be Ruined, when almost  
The City's nothing but a Chimney made.   

74.  
How in a moment the devouring flame  
Flew o'er the Streets, like Lightning through the Skies.  
Those Poets err who fancy Vulcan Lame;  
Swift, as his little winged Son he Flies.   

75.  
London was risen to that Greatness now  
That, like the Fire, she did Herself Devour:  
So mighty Empires when too large they grow,  
Fall by their strength, O'ercome by their Own Power.   

76.  
Waste lie her Structures and her Stately Wall;  
O'er which, like Babylon's, the Chariots ride;  
As Famous in her Ruin and her Fall,  
As was that glorious City in its Pride.   

77.  
The Silver Thames fair London so adorns,  
That one might think 'twere Paradise Restored:  
But now in such a dreadful light she burns,  
That Paradise itself's the Flaming Sword.   

78.  
Thus the Dead Queen with Lamps about her lies,  
And hangs the City round in mourning Clouds;  
Mounting her waving Flames into the Skies,  
Seems both to Threaten and Implore the Gods.   

79.  
Bless me! ah, what do I behold? who's That!  
Can a King Weep? are Tears for such as Him?  
How Sorrow robs Him of his Royal State!  
All things Uneven in the Water seem.   

80.  
Thou Miracle of Kings! whose pious Tears  
Adorn thy Crown more than its Jewels do:  
Lo even in Weeping He Supreme appears,  
As though He'd be a King in Sorrow too.   

81.  
How from His eyes the precious drops do fall!  
(So Jove appeared, when turned a Golden Rain:)  
The Sun will draw His Tears up, turn them all  
To Falling Stars, and weep them o'er Again.   

82.  
How great, how glorious, and how lovely shone  
Our Monarch Kneeling unto heaven in tears!  
Humility Exalts him: For the Sun  
As he is Lower, Greater he appears.   

83.  
Now called He on His God; and unto Him  
His humble Soul in Silent Whispers reared;  
Like the harmonious Spheres, which men esteem  
The Sweetest Music, though 'twas never Heard.   

84.  
Then rising up, thus He began to mourn:  
Was this your Goodness, this your Kind intent?  
O cruel Heavens! And could not I Return,  
Unless my Kingdom suffered Banishment?   

85.  
But 'tis not you alone these judgements bring;  
There's Treason too: And dare those Rebels still  
Provoke the wrath of an Incensed King?  
Who with my Touch, as well as Cure, can Kill.   

86.  
Were I but certain that this flame proceeds  
From French design; by my severe commands  
Home should they go; and carry their own Heads,  
Just like their Great St. Dennis, in their Hands.   

87.  
In vain their Innocency they avouch;  
So Snowy AEtna's covered o'er with White,  
Yet Fire's Beneath: no marvel they so much.  
In Ashes and in Relics take delight.   

88  
Still we will Rise, even whilst we are Depressed;  
To Heaven, which beat us Down, we will Ascend:  
That gallant Valour born in English breasts,  
Like Fire itself, doth always Upwards Tend.   

89.  
Thus spoke Great CHARLES: the joyful people bow,  
Whom with a warmer Flame he doth inspire;  
Their City they almost forgot; as though  
CHARLES, like the Sun, too could Extinguish Fire.   

90.  
Close by our King the Valiant YORK we See;  
(For the Next Star to Jupiter is Mars.)  
Fly foolish Vulcan! or He'll Fetter Thee,  
As thou His Brother once, the God of Wars.   

91.  
Thy Chains are Smooth and Tender as the Curls  
Of the fair Goddess fettered in the Snare;  
Soft are the Links which He about them hurls,  
Soft as the Golden Beams, Betrayed them, are.   

92.  
YORK for Chain-Bullets and his Guns doth call;  
Th'insulting foe, cries He, shall soon retire;  
With one blow will I make the Victor fall;  
With Flames I'll Quench it, and Burn out the Fire.   

93.  
Strait He commands a skilful Soldier by  
To lay a Barrel to some building's prop:  
Then Smiling, cries, as He beholds it fly;  
Just so, my Friends, I blew Great Opdam Up.   

94.  
Lo, a Dutch East-wind doth its aid afford!  
Stay, Traitor, Stay! ah, whither dost thou blow?  
Cannot my Word Repel thee? then my Sword  
Shall Beat thee back again upon the foe.   

95.  
Ah London! must I see thee thus expire,  
When all the Ocean's subject unto Me?  
So Neptune once beheld His Troy on fire,  
Yet could not Quench the flame with all His Sea.   

96.  
Great YORK no longer can abstain from tears;  
His Pity now his Courage overcame:  
He well deserves the Title which He bears,  
When (like a Rose) He Weeps before the Flame.   

97.  
Now the proud so grew bolder; then he shakes  
His Scarlet Streamers, and to battle flew;  
Converting all things into Flame, and makes  
Himself the Victor and the Trophy too.   

98.  
He marches forward, nor the Tower fears;  
With her own Arms he'll vanquish her; and waste  
The spoils and glories of a Thousand years;  
And Conquer Battles many Ages past.   

99  
Loud as her Cannon did her Lion's roar;  
But then her Guardian risen, and stopped the stream:  
Th'affrighted foe stood trembling, and feared more  
The brave Lieutenant, than the Lions Him.   

100  
Back to the Royal Burse in rage he flings,  
And threatening to repair his honour; vents  
His fury on the Statues of our Kings;  
No more their Statues, but their Monuments.   

101.  
So when of old the Capitol was fired,  
The Marble Gods too with their Temple burned:  
Vulcan himself in his Own Flames expired;  
And Jove a Scorched Thunderbolt was turned.   

102.  
This that Exchange, where wealthly Merchants meet  
To visit Foreign Countries; and with ease  
Travail o'er all the World, as though they sat  
In their own Ships and Sailed o'er the Seas.   

103.  
Enough, thou cruel Conqueror, return ●  
A●●●●●● our Great Cathedral what, wilt thou  
With wicked pride Diana's Temple burn?  
Be both Herostratus and the Fire too?   

104.  
Lo now the Church shines in as great a Light  
As once from heaven on the Apostle came:  
St. Peter's Abbey trembled at the sight,  
And (like Himself) was Warmed against the Flame.   

105.  
By this time all assistance was in vain;  
The very Temples become Victims too;  
Cities are Martyrs turned, as well as Men;  
And Tombs and Graves themselves are Buried now.   

106.  
So you, Famed Pyramids, whom Kings did build  
To be Their Tombs, shall be your Own e'er long:  
The Mausolaeum unto fate shall yield,  
And Vanish into th' Air, in which it Hung.   

107.  
Alas, we need no Brazen Pillar raise;  
Strangers shall come from every foreign land,  
Themselves to Monumental Pillars gaze,  
And the Spectators shall the Statues stand.   

108.  
Thus the fair Queen doth in her ashes grieve;  
Her Dwellings now her Sepulchre are made:  
So Cleopatra built her Tomb alive,  
And Dwelled i'th' Monument where she lay Dead.   

109.  
Then, London, let some Pindar raise thee thence;  
Flames cannot harm thee, wert thou once built Thus:  
Though Fire again (like the Pellaean Prince)  
Sacked the whole Town, 'twould spare the Poet's-house.    

To the two Most ILLUSTRIOUS & INVINCIBLE His HIGHNESS PRINCE RUPERT, And his GRACE The Duke of ALBEMARLE Upon their Victories against the Dutch.  

I.  
WHen our great Poets your Return had roared,  
As though they would your Ship with Verses Board;  
When they such whole Broadsides let fly,  
So that they seemed to be  
Like Royal Sovereigns of Poetry:  
Then I presumed I might, Great Sirs, like you,  
Send out my little Fanfan too:  
When for a Helicon I have all the Sea;  
And every Rock will a Parnassus be.  
Nay, and my Fanfan here doth nothing vary  
From Yours (which almost had De Ruyter sunk;)  
For This doth also but Two Great Guns carry,  
The Thundering RUPERT and the Dreadful MONK.   

II.  
Lo! yonder both the Navies come;  
Whilst Neptune, but Rere-admiral of the Sea,  
Drives all the trembling Nymphs away,  
And with his Trident makes more room:  
The golden Ships make such a glorious Sight,  
You'd think it were a Triumph, not a Fight:  
And yet they look so brave and stout, as though  
Both Sides would overthrow.  
See where the Belgic Navy doth appear,  
With a Hoghen Moghen Frenchman there,  
And then a Mounsieur Mine Heer!  
Never was such a Medley seen till now,  
The Frenchmen are Themselves the Quelk-chose too:  
Ye Bedlam Dutch, were ye stark mad  
To call such Lechers to your aid?  
They'll not be your Protectors but your Wives,  
They will not Save but Get you Lives.  
On what Disgrace and Shame you run?  
No marvel your Fleet came in a Horned Moon.  
What? did you think That Form might lucky be,  
Because the Moon is Mistress of the Sea?  
Hence Dutch! our Fleet's in view, whose very Sight  
Is able to o'ercome without a Fight.  
The English Youth their Arms so took,  
And to their Ships so speedily did hie,  
As though Themselves, like Ships, with Sails did fly:  
Their friends and homes they all forsook,  
The Kingdom too (as once the King) doth lie within an Oak.   

III.  
Behold, the Royal Sovereign comes on!  
Itself a Fleet alone:  
O how the Ocean's covered o'er!  
The Sea had many times before  
Drowned Men and Ships, but now  
The Sea itself and Water's Drowned too:  
Whilst Triton with the Load  
Of RUPERT-MONK upon his back grows proud;  
And thinks that He hath got the odds  
Of Atlas, for He only bears  
The Heavens and Stars,  
But Triton bears the Gods.  
The Sun admires to see his watery Bed  
Blocked up with ships and covered;  
And fears lest (like the Drunk Dutch Poet) he should  
Be forced to take up his Night's Lodging in a Wood   

iv  
Have ye, O Dutch, forgot the last years work,  
And valiant deeds performed by Royal YORK!  
Who when the Belgike Lion He had slain  
(Like Hercules) with the Spoils returned home again!  
Come hither Dutch, and if thou want  
Spirit or Courage, do but once  
The mighty Name of YORK pronounce,  
The mighty Name will make thee Valiant:  
And yet be careful what you do,  
The very Name will Beat thee too.  
YORK! how I tremble at the word!  
And now I wish I could a while  
Lay aside this foolish Quill,  
And Writ (as He doth Conquer) with a Sword.  
O that great day when on the Deck He stood,  
Like a strong Tower upon an Elephant!  
When an unhappy Shot did paint  
His Blushing Cheeks in his Friend's Blood;  
Strait through the Enemy He tears,  
As though He'd wash it off with Theirs:  
And now the Blood of Thousand Belgike Souls  
Swims in their brim-ful Ships, like Wooden Bowls:  
But seeing Opdam's case is such  
He cannot go without a Crutch,  
Away He sends him in a Fiery Coach.  
And yet there is no need,  
'Cause the Besprinkled Duke escaped the Fray,  
To mark the joyful day in Red,  
The Duke Himself's the Holiday.   

V  
But now they mad and desperate grow,  
Hating both Us and Themselves too:  
With shame of their late Overthrow again they rise,  
And Valiant grow by Cowardice;  
And yet this Second Conquest ours had been,  
Had not then fell the brave courageous Mynn:  
For, Valiant Captain, at the death of Thee  
We Lost even when we Got the Victory:  
Thy Fall not Men alone  
But Ships lament; each Sail  
Not with wind, but Sighs doth swell;  
And Cannon Shoot not off, but Groan.  
The Fireship which Great CHARLES for love of Thee  
Gave to thy Seamen, He  
Meant it thy Funeral-Pile should be.  
Let not our Warlike Captain then  
Be Buried like other men:  
Let him not Dust and Ashes have,  
Cast Gunpowder upon him in his Grave;  
Throw not in rotten dead-men's Bones,  
But Charged Guns;  
Cover his Grave with Bullets, not with Stones;  
Do what you will with other Dead;  
Wrap Myun up in a Cannon, not in Lead.   

VI  
Thou warlike Soul! ah whither dost thou go?  
Dost thou thine Enemies still Pursue?  
And wilt thou Fight with them below?  
And Kill even their Ghosts too?  
Where will the Dutchmen Fly? our King's Great Brother  
Hath driven them out of This World, and Mynn driver them out of Th' Other  
Go mighty Spirit then; look all about  
The Shades, and find the Fatal Spinsters out;  
And when thou meetest with any Dutch Threads there,  
Cut them as fast as they our Tackle here.  
But Mynn is gone! for whom 'tis not enough  
To say, He's Dead; say rather, He's Shot off!  
Those Holes which Bullets in his Flesh did tear,  
Not Wounds, but Portholes are.  
Yet brag not Dutch! we (like good Gamesters) than  
A little suffered you to win,  
Only in hopes to make you Play again.  
Still for all this we bravely kept the Sea,  
And who the Conquerors were, 'tis hard to tell;  
So that your highly-boasted Victory  
Seems (like your Erasmus) to hang 'twixt Heaven and Hell.   

VII.  
Lo! the third time they're launched into the deep;  
But not to fight with us, but with our Sheep:  
So once a mighty Army raised at Rome,  
Conquered some Cockles, and Returned home.  
But stay Dutch! not so fast! we'll have you know  
There's Valour in our English Cattle too.  
See where the pretty Sheep march to the field,  
Brave Soldiers sure that with Buff-coats are Born:  
The Ram their Captain is, whose Horn  
May serve for Helmet, Spear, and Shield;  
The Bell-wether the Heralds are,  
Who not with Trumpets do denounce a War;  
But, like brave Scythians, who (as story tells)  
Sounded Alarms with their jingling Bells.  
To fight for CHARLES, for such a Prince as He,  
Each Lamb an angry Wolf will be;  
The Ram, that even Dead can Walls o'erthrow,  
What will He do Alive, and for CHARLES too?  
Thou gallant Ram come forward then,  
And with thy Thunderbolt upon thy Head  
Strike thy proud enemies dead,  
As though the Thundering Jove were hid within a Ram again.  
See where the Mutton-stealers run away;  
Themselves as Timorous as their Prey:  
And let them go! who at the best but seem  
As much too Hard for Sheep, as We for Them.   

VIII.  
But now grown greedy of a fresh assault,  
Without the  Fleet they're come again:  
So that their very Navy seemed then  
(Like its old Admiral) on one Leg to halt.  
Their proud Fleet rides o'er watery Hills and Dales;  
Whilst they themselves swell bigger than their Sails.  
But MONK doth all their brags despise;  
MONK, whose each Word He breathes, a Tempest is.  
The trembling Dutch already conquered seem;  
Had rather hear our Cannon Speak, than Him.  
Nor is brave MONK Alone; lo! there  
With Him the Valiant Prince doth reign;  
They Both do Share the Empire of the Main;  
Thus always in the Sea Two Suns appear.  
This is that dreadful RUPERT, who  
Makes th' Enemies tremble, and his Own Men too.  
Alcides' clad i'th' Lion's skin  
Was but Without, RVPERT's a Lion Within.  
But Muse, be silent! 'tis as hard a Theme  
To Commend RUPERT, as to Conquer him.   

IX.  
Come on, brave English then! But first let's sink  
The Belgike Fleet in Drink.  
We'll not alone their Navy overflow,  
But (like the Sea itself) their Country too.  
We'll drink a Town  
At each Go-down;  
A City is but Two or Three;  
And a full Glass shall a whole Province be.  
Is the Hogshead out? Another of the same!  
Come, come, let the Bung lose;  
By opening This one Sluice  
We'll Drown all Amsterdam.  
And when that Ebb doth in our Drink begin,  
As at Low Water in the Sea,  
So Steeples then and Tops of Towns shall be  
I'th' Bottom of our Glasses seen.  
And yet our Foes too drink about;  
Though should you see them, you would doubt,  
Whether the Hog-head were, the Dutchman, or the Bu●  
They drink so deep, you'd almost swear  
The Fishermen themselves the Fishes were.  
And though the Wine might the Gun's office do,  
Split both their Swelling Corpse and Brains asunder,  
Yet doth our Cannon tear the Drunkards too;  
Bacchus is Slain as well as Born in Thunder.   

X.  
See both the Navies now  
Come on; and having with a Ball or two  
At distance first Shook Hands, then to't they go:  
The Sun is lost; and now 'tis Night:  
The Sun (of old) to see a Fight  
Stood still all day;  
But whilst the dreadful English sought, He Ran away.  
From cloudy smoke the Thunder breaks aloud,  
And Jove (as well as Juno) too is Hid within a Cloud.  
The very heavens seemed of the Noise afraid,  
Which Brazen Guns and brazen Trumpets made:  
A Noise, that would not call the Moon  
From an Eclipse, but fright her into one.  
The Sea with Smoak is covered so,  
That even Venus too  
Is Blind as well as Cupid now.  
Such dismal Blackness all about; you'd swear,  
Hell (like the Devils) too were in the Air.  
Now Mars Alone doth rule o'er all,  
Is of Both Navies the Sole Admiral:  
He sits the sovereign of the Main,  
And doth enjoy his Venus once again.  
The angry Bullets meet and clash i'th' Air,  
Fight amongst themselves Another War.  
Our Fleet receives their heaviest shocks;  
Yet stands as strong, as do the Neighbouring Rocks;  
Firm, and unmoved: as though  
'Twere not a Floating Delos only, but a Fixed one too.   

XI.  
The leaking Belgian Fleet with Water fills,  
As though its Masters too it would out-drink:  
They all are bored so full of Holes, you'd think  
The Fishermen had turned their Ships to Weels.  
But when their guns to pierce Our Ships begin,  
We will not Stop the Holes with Beef, but ramm a Dutchman in.  
And when our Bullets all are out,  
we'll Dutchmen Shoot,  
And Kill them with Themselves;  
Whilst they our furious rage to shun,  
Shall fly for Harbour to the Shelves,  
And to the Rocks for Death and Safety too shall run.  
Behold, how thick into the sky  
The mangled Limbs of Belgians fly;  
That even Again  
The Gods (as once of old) might Feast on Men.  
Here doth a Ship down to the Bottom go;  
No more a Ship, but Anchor now.  
One flames a while, then into th' Air is blown,  
And even the Ship itself's a Gun.  
A Burning ship sinks here,  
Which under water shines so bright and clear,  
You'd think the Sun were Setting there.  
The Gods thought Giants were come again, who threw  
Not only Trees at Heaven, but whole Woods too.  
O'er all the Ocean nought is seen  
But Carcases of Ships, and Shackled Hulls of Men.  
The Sea is now one Crimson Flood,  
And Mars' Laws (like Draco's) too are writ in Blood.   

XII.  
Scattered to Heaven the burning Belgians flew;  
Themselves the Chariots, and the Drivers too:  
But down to Hotter Flames they fell;  
Anti-Elijahs these, flew up to Hell.  
Their Ships, which seemed such floating Whales to be,  
Do not their Masters cast  
Out of the Sea upon the Shore at last;  
But from their wooden Shores do cast them in the Sea.  
The French and Dutch together die,  
In Water and in Blood Twice Drowned lie.  
The  Nation must its Arms disown;  
Their family's Bow-died, English Bloudwort grown.  
The Belgians shall no more their Lion bear;  
For now 'tis plainly seen,  
That We the Lions were,  
And they but Asses in the Lion's Skin.  
Fly then, thou heavy Sottish Dutchman! Thou  
That (like thy Country) art a Quagmire too.  
You that like huge Colossuses strut;  
That Tall in Thickness are, and High even Round About:  
That drink, until you do not only Stare  
And Double See, but Double Are;  
Yet are such Eaters too, that who'so seethe  
Would swear (like Cadmus' Men) you were Begot of Teeth.  
Hence then! for RUPERT, if you fly not soon,  
Will make you (like his Dog) to Swallow Bullets down.   

XIII.  
Lo! now the  no longer can withstand;  
With trembling haste into their Ports they go,  
Into their Dorps they fly; as though  
The Sea-fight might be fought by Land.  
Whilst the Thracian Poet sings,  
Not only Birds, but Trees do Fly;  
Their Leaves turn Feathers, and their Branches Wings;  
Such was the Power of his Harmony,  
That after him not Hares alone,  
But even their Burrows and their Foarms too Run.  
Lo, RUPERT now doth Wonders great as They:  
Orpheus made Woods to Fellow him, they say;  
But RUPERT with his Voice doth make them Fly away.  
If that Salmoneus now did live and heard  
Of Thee and Thy dread Fame:  
His Brazen Bridge he would have spared,  
And Thundered (Dreadful RUPERT) with Thy Name.  
So would Caligula at Thy Name's found  
Not under Bed have hid himself, but under Ground:  
Had he but RUPERT heard, he would not run  
To put his Laurel, but his Helmet on.  
Whilst other Captain's sweat and labour, He  
Doth Look a War, doth Breath a Fight, and Speak a Victory.   

XIV.  
Was ever Prince so famed in Wars?  
No marvel, his Country's Arms do bear a Mars;  
Though surely rather He  
Himself That Mars should be.  
He stands amidst the thickest Shot,  
And yet the Bullets touch him not:  
Like the Hyrcanians who did use to set  
Under the water in the Sea, and ne'er were Wet.  
Why sure the Fates made a Decree  
That RUPERT, though he would, should never Drowned be:  
Some Stars, we know, can never Set i'th' Sea.  
How shall I, Gallant Prince, Thy glories sing?  
Thou that art like Thy Germane Eagle too;  
As that of old bore Arms for Jove, even so  
Thou art the Thunder-bearer to Great Britain's King.   

XV.  
And hail thou Valiant MONK! who writes on Thee,  
As well as Poet, must a Soldier be.  
Thou that didst lately with thy conquering Hands  
Lay Dutchmen on the Shore as thick as Sands.  
When Charon, Admiral of the Seas below,  
Cried out, Why MONK! I prithee, what dost do?  
Dost think, that I have such great Ships as you?  
Mine but a Fanfan is, you know.  
Besides, these Dutch-men's Souls are Heavier far  
Than Other Bodies are.  
Should I take Many in Together, they  
Would Sink, and go to Hell the Nearer way,  
And so would cheat me of my Pay.  
My Boat leaks so with Working; as I live  
The Belides (I fear) anon will claim it for their Sieve.  
And yet Our Duke some for himself doth spare,  
And with the Grave the Booty share:  
How many Captives wait upon Him home!  
As though He meant to bring  
The Dutch In also, as He did the KING.  
Yet though in such Triumphant State He come,  
Unmoved He sits, neglects the pompous Show,  
And Triumphs o'er his very Triumph too.   

TO THE KING.  
XVI.  
BUt You, Great Monarch, still did keep Your Throne;  
Nor turned Your Sceptre to a Gun;  
Nor to an Helmet changed Your Crown:  
You knew the Belgians were not worth  
Your Arms, and therefore sent Your Agents forth.  
So Jove of old, when He would make a Prey  
Of the poor silly Phrygian Boy,  
Himself sat still upon His Throne,  
And sent his Winged Standard-bearer down.  
To Fight with Foes let Mighty CHARLES disdain;  
Let Him but only Think, and they are Slain:  
Thus Pallas Goddess of War was begotten of JOVE's Brain.  
Let other Kings go to the Wars;  
Thou may'st remain, Great CHARLES, at home, and thence.  
Destroy (like Titan) with Thine Influence;  
As though Thy Sword (like bright Orion's Sword) were made of Stars.  
Ah, Mighty CHARLES! that Twice our King hast been,  
Both at Thy Father's Death, and at Thy Coming in:  
And may'st Thou long survive; and may  
The Stars shower Blessings on Thee every day,  
Blessings as Numberless as They.  
Thou, CHARLES, hast Travailed almost Europe o'er;  
And mayst Thou with Thy Victories too Travail it once more.  
Let Thy Conquest know not Bound;  
But mayst Thou (like Thy Starry Wain) the Globe surround.  
May all Thy Journeys be as free  
Through Sea and Land as through the Air to Thee,  
And may the Poles Thy two Herculean Pillars be.  
And since the Dutch no more Great CHARLES esteem,  
He shall destroy them with those Arms, which once Preserved them.  
So Phoebus, darting Rays, the Earthborn Python Shot;  
And Slew him with the Beams, by which he was begot.    

On the Great PLAGUE 1665. His Majesty Retiring to Oxford.  

I.  
ENgland so long enjoyed her health and ease,  
Our happiness grew Tedious, as if  
We had been weary of our life,  
Or Health itself were a Disease:  
We now could brag  
A King Returned without a War or Plague,  
Which seemed to be  
Almost as Great a Miracle, as Herald  
How was our Prince amazed that day, to see  
Such joyful throngs before Him run,  
Like crowded Atoms sporting in the Sun!  
The people were so healthful then,  
Multiplied so every where,  
And in such mighty swarms appear,  
That we almost began to fear a Plague of Living Men.  
Scarce a Sick body there was known  
Or in the Country, or the Town;  
Diseases all were fled, as though  
Even the Diseases had been Cured too.   

2.  
Nor was this all, for we  
As well as health had Victory:  
Our foreign Foes we did o'ercome,  
And Slew as fast abroad, as we Increased at Home.  
But now as on that wretched Town  
The morning-Sun shined bright,  
Shedding his gentler beams and milder light,  
Where hotter fires did rain  noon:  
So on our Kingdom after all  
Its happiness a Plague did fall;  
By whose strange Burn we inflamed are,  
Almost as bad as they with fire and brimstone were.  
Unto God's ears the crimes of England came;  
Their Sins were Loud, as was their Fame.  
Now having vanquished a Naval foe,  
They Launch into the Sea Above, as though  
With Valiant Sins they'd conquer Heaven too.  
Heaven did already see the Land forlorn,  
And every Evening wept and every Morn.  
At length our daring crimes were such,  
Angels came flying down in armed trains,  
Slew all they met; and with as little pains  
Destroyed and Conquered us, as We the Dutch.   

3.  
Michael, of old by the Almighty chose  
Captain of his Lifeguard, arose;  
To heavens Artillery He straight retires,  
Takes a bright Sword, and Scabbard bright as That:  
The Sword was made of Comets deadly fires;  
As Killing as the Flames it should anon Create.  
From heaven the glorious Warrior withdrew,  
Carrying an heaven with him as he flew:  
A Mantle of a Cloud he made,  
Which in Itself he first did Wash;  
Thus was the mighty Conqueror arrayed,  
And girded with a Rainbow for a Shash.  
The Body he assumed, did show  
So bright and glorious, as though  
His Body were an Angel too.  
On a high Steeple He came down,  
And there did sit and thus did moan.  
If thou, dear London, to thy God wouldst go,  
With humble knee and trembling hand,  
How glorious how securely mightst thou stand!  
Ah wouldst thou like this senseless Tower grow!  
Which doth its Firmness in its Trembling show.  
If thou, dear City, to thy God wouldst rise,  
And like this lofty Spire, mount the Skies;  
Like its Foundation, thou must lie as Low.  
How happy, England, mightst thou be  
Didst thou but Fear thy God as much as Other Nations Thee!   

4.  
Beloved Island! I thy griefs do grieve,  
Die over all thy deaths, and feel the wounds I give.  
Wouldst thou but seek to heaven with holy Vows,  
This sword that hangs o'er Thee, I'd use  
In thy Revenge against thy foreign Foes.  
London repent! what shall my Flaming Sword  
Destroy the Paradise which it should Guard?  
The Plague already doth begin to rage,  
Yet would thy tears its fury soon assuage:  
As in the Pharian Land although  
Never so much the Plague increase,  
Yet if Nile but overflow,  
It instantly doth Cease.  
In vain he spoke; for wicked men  
Him and the present judgement both neglect;  
A judgement, like the Air it did Infect,  
Which always hangs before our Eyes yet never can be Seen.   

5.  
London, that stately Palace, is  
A Desert grown:  
When on the Israelites the Plague did seize,  
It Found them in a wilderness,  
Here it Makes one.  
England was cleared of Savage beasts in vain,  
They're all returned again:  
The People prove the Tiger, Wolf and Bear,  
And mad distracted Men the wild Beasts are.  
Our multitudes are grown  
From almost infinite, to none:  
Whilst we against our will do number those remain,  
And fear another Plague again.   

6.  
The Birds do grieve to see us die,  
Though in our Deaths their safeties lie:  
The Swan doth droop his head, and hang his wing;  
And will not now His own, but our Death sing.  
The mournful Sparrow grieves in's chirping rhyme  
As sweet for us, as Lesbian once for Him.  
The Philomela gins her song,  
Now Thanks her Brother's cruelty and wrong,  
Which made her Sing the More, by Cutting our her Tongue.  
The greedy Crows could not forbear,  
Devoured the Corpse and straight infected were,  
And do within burn hotter far  
Than Sol himself to whom they Sacred are.  
The wretched Bird grew so inflamed, as t●ough  
The Sun again were hid within a Crow.  
Should the infernal Vulture leave her cell,  
And gnaw the scorching bowels of the Dead,  
He'd surely think he fed  
Not on Prometheus' Liver, but on Hell.  
The Eagle hates the Sun, and dares not now  
Behold it, lest it should infect Him too:  
With untried eyes he chooses to remain;  
And will not by his Death, his Birth maintain,   

7.  
Into the Valleys are the Bodies thrown;  
Valleys no more, Mountains of Deadmen grown.  
Cattle do men devour  
As greedily as men did Them before.  
The Countryman is made a Feast  
To his own Beast;  
And now alas  
All men without a metaphor are Grass.  
When as the future Age shall Blow this ground,  
And all these Carcases be found,  
They'll startle back with fear,  
And think that Cadmus had been Sowing There.  
So fought so fell those Sons of earth;  
Sharp syths, instead of swords, they bore;  
And at their very Birth  
Just like the Serpent, whence they sprung, they did Themselves Devour.   

8.  
How falsely do old Poets speak, when they  
Their Sun the God of Physic call?  
When lo we find by his own burning ray  
He doth not Cure, but Murder all.  
His scorching fires do pierce our hearts,  
And his Beams wound us deeper than his Darts.  
Let him no longer chide his Son  
The rash and giddy Phaeton;  
For now we see  
Thoebus had Burnt the Earth, as well as He;  
With his hot fire has scorched us all,  
And is a Phaeton without a Fall.  
Prometheus, who robbed Titan's Chariot-wheel,  
Might now have had his fire, yet never Steal:  
Such fire, with which he had not made a man,  
But others and Himself had slain.  
The glorious Stars admire,  
And trembling at the dreadful fight  
Of the dead Corpse, do lose their twinkilng light;  
So wheresoever  
A Ghost doth scatter fear,  
The Lamps and Candles Disappear.   

9  
Mars looks upon the dead down from his sphere,  
Wonders what bloody Conqueror hath been there;  
And angry is to See  
Himself ourdone in Cruelty.  
The pale-faced Moon  
Grew paler than the Ghosts she Looked upon:  
And though she's fixed in heaven, she still doth fear;  
And hardly thinks herself secure even There.  
Nay some men through their Optick-glass  
Closely beholding her bright face,  
When her black Spots they view,  
They're tempted to believe that She's Infected too.   

10.  
Ah greedy Plague! must Britain be thy food?  
And must thy thirst be quenched with English blood?  
Unto the Dutch, base glutton fly!  
Those fatter Corpse will better feast thy Luxury;  
Carry to them thy Carbuncles, they'll think  
They're only the effects of their Thick Drink:  
They'll ne'er mistrust those Botches to be Thine,  
But think they came from their own Brandywine.  
Then fly to France and rage in every Town,  
There thou mayst kill, and ne'er be Known;  
Thy Flame on Them may safely seize,  
They'll think it is Their own Disease:  
Yet mighty Conqueror, make not here thy stay!  
Cut through the Alps though ne'er so tall,  
And like Another Hannibal,  
Melt with thy Flames those Snowy Hills away.  
Then forward courteous Plague, and fly  
To remote Sicily;  
They when they feel thy flames will fear  
Another Burning Aetna's near,  
Nay, and the very People there  
Will no less flames in their own Bosoms bear,  
But being burnt by Thee,  
The Men themselves will Aetna's be.  
They'll think, when once they feel thy scorching pain,  
That Phalaris had thither brought his Bull Again.   

11.  
From thence thou mayst to Egypt fly,  
And be Thyself all their Ten Plagues in One:  
There raise thy Trophies up on high;  
And build an huge Colosse of Carcases, not Stone:  
Why boast the proud Egyptian Princes then?  
Thou canst build mighty Pyramids of Men.  
Nor shall'st thou need, like them, whole Ages stay;  
But rear thy Structures in a Day:  
Nay, thou a greater Miracle canst show;  
Finish thy work, and yet the workmen Slay;  
Canst make them both the Builders and the Building too.  
In vain amidst their fears,  
The foolish people seek  
Unto their noisome and infectious Leek;  
Such Gods their Sorrow do increase,  
Such Gods Themselves breed the Disease;  
Those Roots now truly are the cause of Tears.  
How will those black Inhabitants admire,  
When they no longer shall be smoke but Fire?  
Those Moorish people (even as Black,  
As was the Darkness once which did their Land o'erflow)  
Still fear the Plague Three Thousand years ago;  
Their own thick Darkness on Themselves they view,  
And every Native is the Walking Plague.  
On these, Great Conqueror, thy fury vent;  
Not men, but dismal Sepulchers that Breath and Talk:  
Each hideous Moor's a Living Monument;  
And even Tombs themselves, like Ghosts, do Walk.  
See how the foolish Nation wears  
Jewels at Noses Lips and Ears,  
Like a black Night stuck full with Stars:  
Go then, thou mighty Conqueror,  
And add unto their gaudy Store;  
Adorn them with Thy Rubies too beside,  
And at once Punish and Increase their Pride.   

12.  
But if these conquests seem too vile;  
To the Sev'n-mountained City take thy flight;  
Whose proud Tops emulate the seven Heads of Nile;  
Those by their Distance are unknown, These by their Height.  
Hills that so Lofty seem, as though  
They were not only Rome's Foundation, but heavens too.  
These the True walls; Remus ne'er leapt o'er them;  
They might have Sooner Strided over Him.  
Yet, Proud Disease, do Thou such stops deride;  
And Think thyself to th' Other side:  
There with thy Greater Cruelties evince  
That Sylla was no Murderer; make Rome admire  
Their Nero for a Mild and Pious Prince;  
Set thou the People not the Town on Fire:  
And Thou, as well as He,  
Shalt hear harmonious tunes,  
Both hideous and pleasant ones;  
Sad sighs and howl shall thy Music be,  
Thy Elaes' are their Shrieks, thy Gamuts are their Groans.  
No longer shall the Romans need  
To Burn their dead;  
They shall Anticipate their Funeral-Fires,  
And be Themselves the Standing Pyres.   

13.  
No Magistrates in Royal Purple clad  
Shall sit unmoved in the Senate-house,  
When they shall see  
Such a Destroying Gaul as Thee.  
Unto the Deserts shall they flee,  
(Like their great Founder Romulus)  
Shall live amongst wild beasts; and only then  
Seem like Kings, when they're not Men.  
The Vestal Virgin to her Hearth doth run,  
Doth still more fuel on the Altar cast,  
And Fire with Fire Atone:  
Then shilling to her Goddess on her knees,  
Ala● she cries, I that have lived so Cold and ,  
A●, how have I deserved such Flames as These?  
Behold, Great Deity!  
Behold in what tormenting flames I lie!  
Extinguish these, and Thine shall never Die.  
Thus did she pray, but prayed in vain;  
No God in Rome dare longer stay;  
Old heavy Saturn swiftly fled away  
And in his Latium Hid himself Again.  
Great Jove doth upwards, like his Eagle, soar;  
Nor can the raging flames endure:  
His Eagle never such a Lightning bore.  
And Juno too amazed stands,  
Hates her own Air, and Dreads what she Commands.   

14.  
Ah cruel Plague! in vain we bid thee go;  
In vain do we to heaven for mercy Sue;  
Our holy'st Sighs are tainted with the Air,  
And we are M●●der'd by our very Prayer.  
Nor dare the Priest to his own Temple come;  
For fear his Pulpit should be made his Tomb;  
Nor thinks it fit,  
To turn his Surplice to a Winding-sheet.  
The ancient custom's altered, we  
For life run from the Sanctuary.  
Th' infected people out of Church do fly,  
Cursing their very Prayers and Piety:  
And of their Godliness do more  
Repent, than of their very Sins before.   

15.  
St. Paul on his Cathedral straight looks down,  
Wonders to see his Church and Choir all gone,  
And finds the barbarous Plague to be  
A far worse Persecutor of the Church, than Herald  
About his Head a glorious light there shone,  
As Bright as That at his Conversion;  
Able to strike beholders dim  
And make them Blind, like Him.  
He gazed and wondered what the cause should be;  
But straight perceiving us bespotted, He  
Almost believed it had been his Leprosy.  
No, great Apostle! This  
Rather thy burning Serpent is.  
Organs are dumb; instead of their sweet voice  
Nothing but the dreaful noise  
Of doleful knells;  
And passing Bells;  
Bells, which do strike the trembling Hearers too  
Almost as Dead as Those for whom they Go.  
Away the Singers ran;  
And though before they wished and would be Glad,  
Yet now they are afraid  
Lest they should Sing like the Melodious Swan.  
The mournful Bells do ne'er lie still;  
England may truly now be called the Ringing Isle.   

16.  
The weeping mothers o'er their infants set,  
Hoping with tears t' allay the scorching heat.  
The Babes are poisoned with their tender food,  
Their milk is mingled with their Blood:  
The Children of Israel so  
Unto the Land which did with milk o'erflow  
Through a Red-sea did go.  
Infected Mothers Breasts such flames dispense,  
So hot a mortal Influence,  
As though the Milky-way which There appears,  
Like that in Heaven, were nothing else but Stars.   

17.  
Here doth a little Son  
To ask his Father's Blessing run:  
He Stabs his Father with infectious Air,  
And Kills him with a Prayer.  
The Child now Doubly feels the raging fire,  
And sees Himself Again infected in his Sire.  
The weeping Sire at once doth Bless and Chide  
The Pious Murderer, the Obedient Parricide.  
Children no more with terror are amazed  
To hear the Story of Narcissus told,  
How the Fair Youth was Drowned of old;  
Fair, as the Nymph in which he gazed:  
They count his Fate an Happiness; and do  
Even wish that They might die so too:  
They would rejoice and think they're bound  
To bless the very Waters where they're Drowned.   

18.  
By his dead Mistress there a Lover lies;  
Who raves and beats himself, as if he meant  
The Pestilence to Prevent,  
And do Himself what was the Plague's intent.  
Then looking on his Dear, he cries,  
Ye Gods! why tear you not away these Eyes?  
I've nothing now to Look upon,  
Since that my Fair-ones gone.  
The loveliest creatures still do far the worst;  
Thus Roses always are Infected First.  
Had she not Beauty-spots enough before?  
Why then, ah cursed Plague, wouldst thou bring more?  
Tell me cursed Plague, tell me!  
How could Her Breath Infected be?  
Breath that doth Sweeten all wherever it comes;  
Breath that was able to have cured even Thee;  
And turn thy Poison to Perfumes;  
For when rude winds upon sweet Flowers Blow,  
The winds themselves are sweetened too.  
Ah wretch! and must I part with all my bliss,  
Without one farewell-Kiss?  
In those sweet Lips can death or danger be?  
Those Lips which often have Recovered me,  
When in Despair I've lain as Dead, as She:  
That face, from which I often Life have took,  
How can it Kill me with a look?  
O that it could! and like Medusa's Face,  
Transform me to a Stone; that in this place  
Embracing thus my Dear-one I might die,  
And on her Corpse her Tomb might lie.   

19  
People were now grown almost mad,  
Cheating and Stealing was the only Trade;  
A Sin which to the Plague new Plagues did Add.  
One with his loaden Coffin home doth buy,  
Wherein a little afterwards Himself doth lie.  
Another, when the Plague had cleared an house  
At midnight into it he goes;  
He ransacks all he there doth find,  
Destroys what  the Plague had left behind.  
O how Unhappy is that Nations Doom,  
Where men themselves the worse Pestilence become?  
For whilst the Plague all other men doth Slay  
These by the Pestilence do Thrive,  
And by the very Plague do Live:  
So greedy are they of their wicked pelf,  
They strip and Rob the Dead; and seize  
On the Infected Carcases;  
As if they meant to Steal away the Plague Itself.   

20.  
The Mayor within the City stays,  
And is Imprisoned where he Sways;  
He hates the glory of his Sword and Mace;  
Curses his Honour and his Place:  
He fears his very Guards will him annoy,  
And whom they should Protect, Destroy.  
He strives to get away in vain,  
He's fettered with his own gold Chain.  
Sad and disconsolate he sits alone,  
Nor will admit too many Waiters on;  
He nothing cares for watch or ward,  
But thinks he's safest now Without a Guard.   

21.  
But then as if the Plague destroyed too Slow,  
And murdered not enough;  
Accursed Rebels had a Plot begun;  
A Plot, which is High-Treason but to Think upon.  
They Mines of Sulphur get,  
To add unto the Plague a fiercer heat.  
Fools that they were;  
The very Powder which they did prepare,  
Was th'only remedy to cleanse the Air.  
They had been Courteous thus,  
And had not Murdered but Cured us.  
Such dull ridiculous Soldiers sure as These  
Were never known, who choose  
Weapons that may not Hurt their foes,  
Who fight not to Destroy, but Save their Enemies.  
Here was a valiant Troop indeed!  
Of Living Soldiers now there was no need,  
We could have overcome these with our Dead:  
A mighty army sure! where one  
Dead Infant could have made them Run.  
And yet suppose they'd got the better then,  
Still had they Conquered been;  
The Spoils they plunder from the slain  
Infect and murder them Again.  
And they who are the Conquerors do Fly;  
Destroyed and Overcome by their own Victory.   

22.  
Famine beholding what was done,  
Risen up in rage, and thus begun:  
So many Thousands, and not One for me?  
Have I so long, O Death, thee served?  
Have I so often Feasted thee,  
And must I now myself be Starved?  
Hast thou a purpose to destroy?  
Thou shouldst not Pestilence, but Me employ.  
Me, who can Kill that very Pestilence; Me,  
Who to the Plague Itself a Plague can be.  
Should I but rage, the famished people straight  
The dead infected Carcases would Eat;  
They'd tremble at the Plague no more,  
But would the Plague itself Devour,  
And Glut on Him as He on Them before.  
'Tis I can make each Father be  
Thyestes, and devour his Progeny:  
I can make men on their Own body's feast,  
And be Themselves the Banquet and the Guest.  
Should I my powerful anger show,  
Not only Men but Gods would tremble too.  
Should I ascend to heaven, and take away  
The Godd's Ambrosia,  
The Gods themselves, I fear,  
Would Famish, though they never so Immortal are.  
No more would hungry Jove his Eagle spare;  
But kill her with the Thunder she doth Bear.  
And Juno wanting whereupon to feed,  
Would quickly turn to Air, and be a Cloud indeed.   

23.  
She spoke, and straight the hungry people die,  
Meet a worse Death than that they fly:  
The Famine doth not Quickly slay;  
But kills, like Savage Tyrants, with Delay:  
In lingering pains they lose their breath,  
As if they Lived a Death.  
They wish the Plague, they cannot Get;  
And Envy those who Dye with it.  
Here's one with such thin hollow Cheeks, you'd say  
His Teeth had Eat his Cheeks away.  
Here's one with Legs so thin and bare,  
That even the naked Bones appear;  
So that you'd think, they not his Legs but Crutches were.  
Painters their art now needless find  
To paint a Lady with grim Death behind:  
She takes her Looking-glass,  
Startles to See she hath no Eyes;  
Affrighted at her hollow face,  
Blushes to see her cheeks in Pale disguise;  
And Herself now  
Is both the Lady and Death too.   

24.  
People no more frequent the Theatre,  
Since this new Tragedy began to rage;  
A Tragedy ne'er heard of, where  
All the People Actors are,  
And all the City is the Stage.  
We act a while, and then we have  
Our Exit, and retire into the grave:  
Only in this, out far worse doom  
From Players is distinguished,  
For we, alas, are Dead  
Both on the Stage and in the Tyring-room.  
The Royal Theatre is empty Seen,  
Nor dare the boldest Gallant enter in;  
He fears the Lamps will Funeral-Torches be;  
And they shall. Act the Tragick-Play, they only came to See.   

25.  
Death's writ in blood on every door;  
Red Characters on our Posts are signs of Life no more.  
Some without Nurse's helpless lie,  
Yet knowing well their cruelty,  
Will suffer none come nigh;  
But rather than with Two, they will with One Plague die.  
Before each house are Bonfires made;  
As though they meant, as once of old, to Burn their Dead.  
Strange way methinks is this  
With Fires to Cure an Hot Disease.  
Was ever sickness like to This endured,  
Which can by nothing but Itself be cured?  
How can we hope that Smoke should Clear,  
Which is the only thing that Clouds the Air?   

26.  
Strange Conqueror sure is that, who with more ease  
Defeats his Strong than weaker enemies;  
Yet such an one is this Disease:  
Old men do live secure and safe,  
And they who nearest are, are farthest from the Grave.  
Should but the Plague begin  
With his hot fires and burning pains  
To heat their blood and warm their veins,  
They would Rejoice, and think they're growing Young again.  
The strong and lusty dye at their best time;  
When Youth is at its height, and life is in its prime.  
So an Eclipse is never known  
But at Full Moon;  
Thus Shadows always shortest are at Noon.   

27.  
The Drunkard felt the raging flame begin,  
And swore he'd put it out with wine.  
The Grape that oft Distempered him before,  
Doth now his health and life restore:  
Thus is he quickened by the strange device,  
And (like his Bacchus) is begotten Twice.  
Then he prepares the Grave to cheat;  
Stead of himself, buries his Winding-sheet.  
Such a deceit did Charles the Fifth contrive,  
He to his Hearse all funeral-rites did give;  
But 'twas his Coffin only Died, himself was yet Alive.  
The Gamesters viewed themselves and were dismayed,  
For all their faces and their bodies o'er  
They now black spots and patches wore,  
And Looked just like the Dice with which they Played.  
In vain they meet at Ordinaries, when  
Amongst them in the room  
A strange unheard-of Gamester there was come;  
Who did not play for Money, but for Men.  
The Lustful man who burns with hot desire,  
Felt a new Flame burn hotter than his Lust:  
And sure the heavens were just,  
To send the Plague on Him, and Punish Fire with Fire.  
Oft he on Venus called, yet could not She  
Allay his flames, although begotten of the Sea.  
In vain on Cupid doth he cry;  
Well did He know, and therefore comes not nigh,  
That chief in a Plague the Little Children Dye.   

28.  
We laughed at all Diseases else; for they,  
Like lesser guns, but one a time do slay;  
This, like whole Cannon, tears whole Troops away.  
Here's one doth in a shivering Ague lie,  
Would Dance and Leap, not Tremble, should the Plague come nigh.  
Here Swims another in a Dropsy, who  
Himself doth seem to be  
Both his own Ship and Sea,  
Who is both Tantalus and the water too.  
He at the burning Plague does laugh;  
Thinks in his Waters he is safe.  
The Dropsy though in time itself be sure  
To Kill him, keeps him from the Plague secure;  
Is both his Lifeguard and his Murderer:  
Small comfort in the change is found;  
He escapes Burning, only to be Drowned.   

29.  
Some did their Dead in Gardens throw;  
And on the Corpse grew Flowers all along,  
Decking the Bodies whence they sprung;  
Flowers, as Fading as the Corpse from which they Grow.  
The Dead who buried be  
Within these Gardens do  
Safer keep These,  
Than the Hesperian Dragon His;  
Nay, and with Flames far worse than He;  
Flames able to Consume Him, and his Fires too.  
Thus did they hid the Dead,  
And every Garden a Churchyard was made.  
Often, alas, the wretched people thought  
Upon the customs and the times before;  
How that the Dead of old were wafted o'er  
The Stygian Lake in Charon's Boat:  
And oh, how do they wish, that also now  
Over That River they might go;  
For in those Waves having allayed their heat and pain,  
They did almost believe they should Revive again.   

30.  
Spots on their bodies did appear, as though  
The angry Sun  
Had not on them sent forth his Beams alone,  
But his Spots too.  
Ladies wear Patches not to Grace,  
But to Hid their blushing face.  
Their cheeks which lately painted were with Red  
In sable colours now are clad:  
So in an Evening you might see the Sun  
Setting in Purple Blushes, yet anon  
A dark and blacker Night comes on.  
Their Beauty in those Sable weeds adorned  
Did seem, as if for Its own Death it mourned▪  
Those Clouds arising in that Sky,  
Truly foretold a Tempest nigh:  
When the Black Sails we see appear,  
We, like Aegeus, needs must fear  
Death and Destruction near  
The people's whiter skins were speckled o'er,  
And all the common Rout the Royal Ermine wore.  
And Black Spots now  
Don't only show  
(As 'tis in Maps) the Places, but the People too.   

31.  
Hold nimble Muse!  
Check the lose rains, and stop thy hafty speed!  
Ah wherefore (like that Roman Lady) thus  
Lov'st thou to drive thy Chariot o'er the Dead?  
Alas, dear Muse, thou spendst thy time in vain;  
Nor wilt thou Laurel here, but Cypress gain.  
Thou'lt meet with nothing here but tears, and sighs, and woes;  
wherever thou strik'st thy Foot, a Fountain flows:  
And must thy Noble Pegasus then  
(Like Diomedes Steeds) be Fed with Men?  
Thou that canst with mighty lays  
Another Thebes for thy Great Master Pindar raise;  
Whilst Towers (like their Guards within) advance;  
And Marbles nimbly, as thy Strings, would Dance:  
Now thy breath in vain consumes;  
Nor wilt thou Here Build Walls or Palaces, but Tombs.  
In urns and graves such pleasure to be had?  
Dost thou, like Orpheus, Sing among the Dead?  
And shall the Laurel which adorns thy brow  
Only on Graves (like fatal Mandrake) grow?  
Come, come, fond Muse, away!  
See where on Thames thy guilded Barge does stay;  
Let it to Isis thee convey:  
Thy Phoebus Steers thee; and thy Barge shall move.  
Swift as Himself doth Sail i'th' Crystal Thames Above.  
And whilst to Mighty CHARLES thou cut'st the stream,  
The Silver Swans by thy Barge-side shall swim.  
Singing, Like Thee; and Crowned, Like Him.   

32.  
The Muse retiring to her Native Town  
Straight clapped her wings, and back again she flew:  
So Bright a Majesty She could not view;  
The Bird of Athens looks not on the Sun.  
What dazzling Lights do there  
From yonder Coach appear?  
'Tis CHARLES his Chariot comes, and in it move  
As Glorious Stars as in His Wain above.  
Behold the King himself, and the Queen too!  
The World upon an Axletree moves truly now.  
Did but the Sun this Glorious Train espy,  
He would believe he had Mistake the Sky,  
And think that This is Heaven Below.  
Yonder's that Wondrous Monarch, who Defeats  
Both foreign Foes, and native Wits:  
Who on a Tripos of Three Kingdoms sits,  
And (like Apollo) at once Inspires Poets, and makes them Mad:  
So whilst the Sun doth in his Chariot go,  
And on the Stars around his beams are shed,  
He both Enlightens, and Obscures them too.  
What joys, Great Sir, to us You bring!  
Bells for the Dead at London shall not Ring  
So fast as ours to welcome here our King.  
How do those wretched people moan!  
Not that they Dye, but that their Prince is Gone:  
They only grieve that CHARLES away is driven;  
Hell's greatest Torment is the loss of Heaven.   

33.  
Since unto us, Great Monarch, you resort,  
Each College shall a Sanctuary stand,  
Shall be at once a Temple and a Fort,  
To Guard You from the Foe by Sea, and from the Plague by Land.  
With Charming Verse (like Conjurers) we'll lay  
The Stalking Belgic Foe i'th' bottom of the Sea:  
With Armed Rhymes we will the foe disperse,  
(Like Irish Rats) we'll Murder them with Verse.  
Like mighty Nero, that Poetic King,  
We'll Burn their Floating City, whilst we Sing.  
Pindar himself, Great CHARLES, shall Fight for Thee,  
Marshal his Forces under thy command:  
He (whose famed House a Garrison did stand,  
And stopped that mighty Conqueror's hand)  
Squadrons of Stanza's he shall bring; and be  
As Famous for his Wars and Victories as Herald  
Thus the Ancients very fit  
Made Pallas Goddess both of War and Wit..  
Thus Poets like Great Caesars do appear;  
One Hand a Poem, th' other a Sword doth bear.  
The valiant Troops unto the Sea do throng,  
And Drown their foes (like Siren's) with a Song.  
Thither courageously they go;  
Conquer, and Sing their Conquests too.  
Down all opposers, like the Main, they Beat;  
And gain a Fame as Boundless too, as That:  
No wonder Phoebus God of Poetry  
Doth Rise so glorious from the Sea.   

34.  
But ah, just Heavens, as for that other Foe,  
Yourselves have brought, as if you meant to show  
That none should boast a Conquest over CHARLES, but You:  
Enough, enough, we quit the field;  
'Tis Piety and Valour here to Yield:  
Not others, but ourselves we Conquer now;  
And Victors are, good Heavens, as well as You:  
So doth the Palm Arise by Bowing down;  
Not unto Other Conquerors alone,  
But to its self becomes a Palm, and its Own Head doth Crown.  
So Daphne once pursued by the bright God of day,  
Became a Laurel while She Fled away.  
When Heaven itself gins to war,  
He the best Soldier is who most doth Fear;  
That lies perdue upon the ground in Prayers,  
Fills up the Trenches with his Tears;  
Shoots ardent Sighs; and stead of guns  
Discharges Volleys of deep Groans.  
Thus doth our Monarch wage His Holy Wars,  
Counts it the noblest Onset when He Flies,  
By Prostrating Himself He Climbs the Scars;  
And Riseth nearer up to Heaven, by Falling on His Knees.  
Behold, the Mighty power of CHARLES his Prayers!  
For Heaven itself is Conquered with his Tears:  
Thus Heaven and Stars Above do show,  
But yet are in the Waters seen Below.   

35.  
Such was our Prince's pious care,  
London with Oxford did its Monarch share;  
For Thames and Isis but one River are.  
When He departs, with joyful heavy mind,  
He leaves Himself in His Fair Queen behind.  
Thus when our Athens did Great Neptune lose,  
Minerva for its Guard arose.  
To You, Great Queen, returns our Trembling Muse;  
One only Smile She begs thus low;  
And thinks Herself a Queen, if She might Worship You.  
Her Presents merit no esteem,  
Unless made Precious by Your Royal Beam:  
So when the Sun doth gentle Rays bestow  
On some dull Vapour in the Skies below,  
Of a dark Cloud He makes a Glorious Bow.  
But Pardon, you Divinest Pair,  
That thus my Humble Muse should dare  
Before such Royal Majesties appear:  
Thus the Lark's Tenant both of Earth and Skies;  
No Bird Lies Lower, and none Higher Flies.    
FINIS.