A Pindaric ON THE DEATH OF OUR LATE SOVEREIGN CHARLES II. Of Blessed Memory.  
By Sir John Parson's Bart.  
LONDOD: Printed for Edward Brewster, at the Crane in St. Paul's Churchyard. 1685.   

A Pindaric ON THE DEATH OF OUR LATE Dear Sovereign.  

Stanza I.  
O Fate, what has thy erring hand performed!  
How many tearless Victims hast thou made,  
Wasted in sighs,  
Wept to no use of Eyes!  
Could but thy angry doom have stayed,  
Millions of Subjects should have been formed,  
Since here were none  
That could atone,  
Not one of which, but would have blest  
The hour, you had given him his Eternal Rest;  
Had you but spared Our God Our Prince! Our King!  
Ah! from whence can this dire hardship spring?  
Nay, of the fair kind too, you should have had  
Numbers that would have hearty been glad  
In their full tide of Youth, and beauty's bliss,  
To have exchanged their Lives for his:  
So Great! so Good! so kind to all!  
His was a Universal fall!  
Who therefore Saviour like would not have died,  
To have reprieved a wretched World beside!   

II.  
Not from their doubts and needless fears,  
But from their hearty sighs and tears,  
From all the sad reflections thought can bring,  
Of so beloved a Monarch, such a King.  
Take him apart from all his Power,  
As doth His mighty Successor,  
Survey their virtues all.  
Their Greatness in their Affability,  
Their Maxims, Notions, and Philosophy,  
With their Inimitable Company,  
In every act and thought, the Gentleman so much in gen'ral.  
The knowing World could ne'er dispute,  
Were there no Succession, Right, or Laws,  
Their Virtues alone had made them absolute,  
Gained sure the first, confirmed our Second Cause.   

III.  
But to return  
To th' Prince we mourn!  
Let him be Dumb that speaks his Praise  
With less Devotion than his Altars raise.  
Let baffled Nature weep, th' Element dissolve into a tear,  
And with their liquid sorrow drown the present Year.  
For methinks when summoned such a Monarch is to die,  
The Earth should quake, and in Convulsion bear  
Us Mortals, with an equal fear;  
And Thunder should deform the Sky;  
And not doubted had been, but that the Powers Above,  
Which ever did his Royal Person Love,  
Thoughtless with joy for such a pleasure to receive,  
Forgot the manner of his taking leave.   

iv  
Make him amends ye Powers, ye have him now;  
And fancy not you can too much bestow;  
He was an Angel here,  
And must be more than Angel there: Hearts,  
Nor can you tear him from his Throne, and Subjects  
And not restore him all his vast Deserts!  
Give him but leave to shine, which he will do,  
Where e'er he comes, to grace and credit you;  
And as heretofore 'twas owned, confessed,  
Recorded in immortal Verse,  
Ours, to be the Monarch of the Universe,  
With other Prince's Adorations blessed,  
And nothing could be thought or done abroad,  
But must be first consulted with our God;  
So, mark but the difference now he comes above to shine,  
His! with the Soul of any Royal Line,  
And they'll ne'er thank you for his Company,  
Who make so much a brighter Deity:  
Nay, take the whole race of Princes to your aid,  
Muster your Divinities,  
And in the high Robe of Heaven dress  
The Soul of every Prince and Princess,  
Great CHARLES, naked as he left our Land,  
In him so much Majesty appears,  
Such were his Virtues, and his Ancestors,  
He will outshine you all, and still command.   

V  
With a Godlike Patience here he Swayed;  
And in his very Sickness,  
Which did attack him in such strange Excess,  
The Hero bore so well the sad Distress,  
He humoured the Distemper he obeyed,  
Not to Insinuate, but bring on the doom that stayed.  
In all's Behaviour no Reluctance could be seen,  
When's Eyes burst Fire, his Mind was all Serene,  
And with a sensible and quiet Courage bore  
That torrent Death, that wafts him to the shore,  
To th' promised Land, which other Princes do inherit  
For all their toil of heavy Government,  
Their hours of anxious Thought and Discontent,  
Which our great Saint did almost always share,  
With Factious slaves, that only would obey for fear;  
So that our Prince makes sure his double claim,  
Not from his Titles only, or his Name,  
But from his Immense and everlasting merit.   

VI  
And now Great JAMES, whose Royal word is Fate;  
Whom to serve well, is to be blessed, and great;  
To you I bring a Dying Muse that wants Relief;  
To you, O saced Sir, She fly's, as big with Grief.  
But O what Comfort can She hope to find,  
From so afflicted, so distressed a Mind!  
Never did Prince bewail so much three Kingdoms gain,  
And though every heart seems bend  
To him, and's Sacred Government,  
He can't enjoy it yet, but wears his Crown in Pain,  
There's none that will, but may read his vast Concern,  
And from his Natural Love, and Princely Carriage Learn.  
And now my Muse forbear, retire, and grieve no more;  
Since you see Kings are Mortal Men,  
'Tis most true the one, Great CHARLES!  
We hearty deplore.  
And 'tis as true, in JAMES, we have that one again.   
FINIS.