TO THE KING'S MOST Sacred Majesty, UPON THE HAPPY BIRTH Of the PRINCE of SCOTLAND and WALES. June the 10th. 1688.  
A POEM, by William Niven, late Master of the Music School of Inverness, in Scotland, and now Practitioner of the Harpsicon, Flute, and Flagelet, at Deans-Court in Old-Bayly-street, in London.  
GREAT SIR, the heavens did wished for Tidings bring  
On Christ's own day; for Joy all Loyals Sing,  
And at Your Sacred Feet their presents fling:  
Pardon me then by Love, to shuffle in  
The Widows Mite; and my Muse Dream begin.  
Me Thought the ROSE and THISTLE seemed to Die,  
And mournful Sounds did from the HARP still fly;  
In a Harsh Tone some did the Orange Cry,  
Others spoke Danish most imperfectly:  
And some did blow the OLIVERIAN Note  
A Commonwealth. May the Pox be their Lot.  
May dropped her Tears, because she did not bring  
The Glorious Flower, that now doth Crown the Spring;  
Me thought the Monsieurs Friskingly did Dance,  
And Swore, Time would French King make King of France.  
The Hoggan Moggan Buttered still their Throats,  
To Teach all the Plantations their Dutch Notes:  
Whilst Loyal-Hearts Kneeling at Heaven's Shrine,  
Did Invocate, to send Thee Plant Divine:  
Some Sordid Sots, did like to Thomas Prate  
In Unbelief, and spoke they knew not what.  
Most did forget that the Great Power Divine,  
To Abraham made the Promised Seed to Shine.  
Some Foolish Harpers Tuned their Harp so high,  
They seemed to Play for Crown Antiquity:  
Scotland Cried Credo, took the t'other Bowl,  
And Drank to th' Royal Hance with all Their Soul:  
And still did say, England with Patience Wait,  
The King of Kings shall Happy make our Fate.  
Your ROSE yet smells, You have a MARIGOLD  
Shall Cure Confusion, and Great Joys unfold.  
England with Joy, did strait make this Reply,  
My ROSE Revives, just as it seemed to die,  
The Fragrant Smells, that it in Plenty yields,  
Doth fill the Skies, makes glad your Scottish Fields.  
Do by your THISTLE prick those that Rebel,  
I'll Cure Confusion by my ROSES Smell.  
If Devil-Rebellion enter some Saul's Heart,  
Our David, by the HARP, will act his part.  
Scotland, I'll wait the pleasure of heavens King.  
Who Comfort and Great Joy to's all will bring:  
Strait▪ by Command, the happy Tenth of June  
Brought forth the Pearl Adorns the English Crown:  
My Muse awaked all was reduced to Joy,  
Cannons did Roar, the Cry was A Brisk BOY;  
I joined and said, We're Crowned with Blessings now,  
Let all the Nations to Jehovah Bow:  
Thus filled with Joy, I Run and could not Tarry,  
Till I by these Applied, the whole Hail MARY,  
The Lord is with Thee, and by Thee has Brought  
The Gemn Desired, and the Pearl still Sought:  
Let's Cheerfully Contented Anthems Sing,  
May MARIGOLD such Pleasure yield each Spring;  
Long live the PRINCE, long live the QUEEN and KING.  
AMEN.   

With Allowance.   

London, Printed by Mary Thompson at the Entrance into Old-Spring-Garden ●n at Charing-Cross, Anno Domini MDCLXXXVIII.