Regale Lectum Miseriae: OR, A KINGLY BED OF MISERY: In which is contained A DREAM: WITH An Elegy upon the Martyrdom of CHARLES, late King of ENGLAND, of blessed Memory. AND Another upon the Right Honourable the Lord Capel. With a Curse against the Enemies of Peace, and the Authors Farewell to England. By JOHN QUARLES. Printed in the Year, 1649. To that Patroness of Virtue, and most illustrious Princess, ELIZABETH, The sorrowful Daughter to our late Martyred Sovereign, CHARLES, King of England, etc. Most virtuous Princess: AS this subject, which my zealous presumption presents to your serious view, is a compound of joy and grief; so I hope it will furnish your Royal breast, as well with the raptures of joy, as the principles of sorrow. Madam, I am confident that I may, without adulation say, that your Royal Father's death, gave a life to Virtue. And as we have a sufficient cause to deplore the absence of his Person, so we have an undeniable reason to rejoice for the presence of his perfections, which will build everlasting Pyramids in the hearts of those, which were his loyal Subjects. Madam, although Heaven hath been pleased to diminish your joys in this miserable Kingdom, yet no question but he will hereafter multiply your pleasures in his own. In the mean time, may the Glories of heaven, and the Meditations of your incomparable Father's virtues, keep a constant correspondency with your Royal heart, as it is the unfeigned prayers of him, who dedicates himself to your Highness' perfections, and is MADAM, A sworn Servant to your Virtues, JO. QUARLES. To the Reader. Courteous Reader, I Have not much to say in my own defence for the weak performance of this work, which I confess was hammered out of a disturbed mind; therefore if there be any thing in it contrary to thy disposition, I shall desire thee to moderate thy passion, and pardon my imbecility; for it is generally known that errors in grief, are incident to all: as for the errors of the Press, I suppose them pardonable, in respect that it hath received many interruptions, and hast, joined with fear, are conductours to mistakes: Now Reader, my occasions beyond Sea advise me to bid thee adieu; the worst that I can expect to suffer abroad, is but the extremities of War; and the best that I can expect at home, is but the worst of miseries: if therefore there be a necessity of suffering, I conceive it to be the best of sufferings to suffer with the best of sufferers, whose faithful Subject I am, and thy Servant, Reader, (if thou art Loyal) JOHN QUARLES A Dream. Morpheus' (thou Turn-key to all humane sense) Unlock my brain, that I may fly from hence, Out of this Cage of sleep, let me not lie And drown my senses in stupidity. My thoughts surprise my thoughts, I cannot rest, I have a Civil War within my breast; I'm full of thoughts: what uncontroled streams Flow from the fancy's Ocean? Oh! what dreams Have sailed into my stormy mind? And bring No other burden with them but a King, A King! could I but kiss that word, and not be thought An Idolizer; 'tis too great a fault To kiss his hand. Nor can I think it strange. For times, & manners needs must have their change. 'Tis true, I dreamed methoughts my watchful eyes Observed a King, and then a sacrifice; And ravished with that majesty and grace I saw united in his modest face, I ran to kiss his hand, but with a fall I waked, and lost both King, and kiss, and all. And thus restored to my former sense, I thus proceeded in my thoughts; from whence Arise these fancies, what? did fancy mean To cause a sudden fall to intervene Between a kiss and me? 'twas an abuse, That runs beyond the limits of excuse. I was enraged to think that I should miss (Being so near his hand) so sweet a kiss. I checked my fancy; which was too precise To make me run so fast, yet lose the prize. Thoughts, follow thoughts, and when the first is spent A second rises, which does oft prevent An inconvenient action, many time A second thought gains virtue by a crim: The first being banished, reason thought it good To place a second, where the first thought stood, And then I found my active fancy play▪ d The Politician, and that thought allayed The former flames of passion in my breast. Then was I pleased with what my thought expressed Which was to this effect— Me thoughts I saw A grieved King, whose very looks were Law. He sighed as if his tender heart had taken A farewell of his body, and forsaken This lower world, his starlike eyes were fixed Upon the face of Heaven, his hands commixed. His tongue was parsimonious, yet my ear That was attentive) could not prevail to hear This whis'pring echo: Oh be pleased t' incline Thy sacred ears; was ever grief life mine? Was ever heart so sad? was ever any So destitute of joy, that had so many As I have had? though all be snatched from me, Yet let me have an intetest in thee. Oh Heaven! and there he stopped, as if his breath Had stepped aside to entertain a death. My soul was ravished, and the private dart Of new-bred love, struck pity in my heart. I could not hold, but silently bequeath Some drops unto the ground, my soul did cleave Unto his lips, for every word he spoke Was ponderous, and would have easily broke The obdurest heart; I turned away my eye, And suddenly methoughts I did espy A sacrifice; which when I did behold, My blood recoiled, and my heart grew cold: I was transported, and methoughts the place Whereon I stood, seemed bloody for a space: I trembling, cast my wearied eyes about, Thinking to find my former object out, But he was gone; and in his room was placed A many-headed monster, that disgraced The very place, they vanished, then appeared A large pretending rout, as well be-eared As Balam's Ass, methoughts they did excel The Ass in ears, but could not speak so well. Methoughts they called a Counsel to contrive Their high designs, and zealously dissive Some great Offenders that they thought too wise To live amongst such ears, such cast-up eyes. One I observed amongst the studious race " That had (methoughts) a bonfire in his face: " Another I descried amongst the pack " That seemed to bear a Kingdom on his back: " Another I beheld which pleased me best, " That could not rule himself, yet ruled the rest: " Another I espied which seemed to look " And read, but at the wrong end of his book: " Another I observed, which seemed to weep, " And in conclusion, prayed himself asleep: " Another I descried, among these Brothers, " That vowed 'twas right, because he'd please the others: " Another he stood up, and wisely broke " His long-kept silent lips, and thus he spoke. Come! let's no longer now be kept in awe, I'm sure our welfare is the Supreme Law, A King, that's nothing but a power that is Subordinate; the Laws are ours, not His; Is't not the People makes a King? well, then If we let him be King, we're fools, not Men: For now we have him in his own made snare, We'll keep him fast, oh that we had his Heir! Come, let's proceed, and if our plots hit right You shall be Lords at least, and I, a Knight. And let Malignants prate, their Purses shall Pay tribute for their tongues at Gold-smiths-hall: And if they grumble at what we shall do, We'll make them pay their lives and money too; The day is ours, let's not abuse that power Which Heaven hath lent us; for sweet things prove sour If not made use of, have we not been poor And others, rich? Come let's increase our store: Had we but our deserts, might we not crave The privilege of all that others have? All's ours, and yet our miseries are such That we are rich in little, poor in much; Alas! our tender hearts are filled with pity To see so many blind in one poor City; If they would please in a true zealous fashion To moderate their long-continued passion, 'Twould much rejoice the Saints, & we will pray That they may live until a wiser day; The are very pious People, and we could Both live, and die together, if they would But furnish our desires with every thing We want, and dote not too much on a King; He's but a man at most, and yet they must Adore his Person, though he be unjust. I could not choose but laugh the other day, I 'spy'd a Cavalier that closely lay Perdue to kiss his hand, and by and by He starts away, and when he was as nigh (That which they call a King) as his own length His legs (not having that sufficient strength His haste required) received a sudden fall And overturned himself, his King, and all: The sight much pleased me, being very near, I never helped the King, nor Cavalier: I soon retreated from that happy place, And left them both in a distracted case; But as I went, I was so blest to meet An upright Sister, whose dividing feet Srept with such innocency, that my heart Did almost leap upon her to impart My new-bred joy; her very looks betrayed Her heart, indeed she was a lovely Maid; I bowed myself, and zealously embraced The small circumf'rence of her bending waist, I kissed her mouth, and having done that duty, My lips divided, and I praised her beauty; Extremes of joy did almost make me faint: I thought, oh! here's a Sister for a Saint; I was amazed, my very soul did move Between the great extremes of fear, and love; She smiled upon me, and that very smile Proved a Restorative, and for a while I mused; at last my lips began to break As that smile had licenced them to speak; Oh! than my mouth being rammed with words, let fly Both wit, and language, and did soar as nigh As our Remonstrance, oh! how I did heat Her ears with my discourse, it was so neat As if my ready mouth had been the School Of language, yet she pleased to call me Fool; But 'twas in jest I'm sure, or were it not 'Tis nothing, since my good hath forgot My Sister's weakness, and indeed we men Must bear with Sisters failings, now, and then; They often trip in zeal, and sometimes take A fall, and love it for the Givers sake: Our greatest faults they'll pardon for a buss, Come, we must bear with them, they bear with us: But after she had called me fool, she checked Herself; I wisely owned it with neglect, I spread my cloak upon the ground, and there We cooled our passions in the open air: Sister, said I, you have been pleased to spend The name of Fool upon your faithful friend, It was my worth you rashly did eclipse, And I'll have satisfaction from those lips That gave th' affront, let me no longer stay, My fury will admit of no delay. Dear Brother, she replied, if it be so You must have satisfaction, take't below; You soar too high at first, I must detest Your lofty play, the middle way is best; But if you are resolved, you shall not say I'm obstinate; for if you will, you may: I soon returned her thanks, and with my hand I pulled her close, and made her understand What I had seen: but oh how she was pleased! Ah verily (said she) the news has eased My longing heart. But when the King fell down Thou wert unwise thou hadst not snatched His Crown. 'Tis rarely spoken Sister, had I had The Crown, I should have made a gallant Lad; Should I but sway the Sceptre of this Land, I'd make my Subjects die at my command; I'd lop the great ones off, and make the low Subordinate to me, I'd make them know The reins were mine; but at the first I'd steal Into their hearts, and fool them with my zeal. I would declare unto the world, and take An Oath, I acted for Religion's sake: I'd fill them full of novelties, and then Sister thou knowest the common sort of men (Like flies) will buzz about my newmade light; I'd call them Babes of grace, and make them fight With Cerberus himself in my defence, My Soul now tells me, 'tis a rare pretence: I'd hire some babbling Preachers to infuse Division; and to flatter them with news. I'd plump their souls with promises, that they, Should never fail to swear; what should I say; I'd make my Preachers urge them all to join And fight for God; then will their▪ Plate be mine: This is an art that lies above the reach Of every brain: I'd suffer all to preach And sow sedition, every one should be At least a Saint, and preach upon a Tree: And if my great occasions should require Large sums of money, then would I inspire A Public Faith; and if it would not rise That way, I'd make the bellows of Excize To puff it up; this is a cleanly way To sweep up money, Soldiers must have pay. Sister, thou knowst▪ 'tis no disgracing stealth To make Religion rob the Commonwealth: What though Malignants rail at our designs, We can extract our livings from their fines: I've spoke enough, now Sister, I'll divorce My nimble tongue from this profound discourse: Now give me leave to dedicate my heart To thee (my Patroness) before I part. Brother, alas! I am a harmless maid, And we you know, are easily betrayed By men's delusion: if your love be true, The zeal of my affections light on you; You know we ought to love, and none can be More honest in their harmless loves than we, For we may love each other in the spirit, And pray, and preach together, and inherit Our own desires, whilst others send their cries To their beloved's, and yet lose the prize. Sister, thou hast exactly satisfied My large desires: my happiness betid The thriving Spirit, truly, 'tis a pain To part, but that I hope to meet again: London, (that nest of worth) that yielding place, I am resolved to view, within the space Of forty hours, where I intent to spare Some time, and see some Brethren I have there. It is a goodly place, as fame relates, For there the Sisters live, and all the States; Truly, th' are very godly, and pretend Just like ourselves, to be a faithful friend To King, and Monarchy, when as Alas— And then I waked, and let the other pass Unuttered, but indeed I do confess I wish that I had heard a great deal less, And yet (to speak the truth) I was perplexed Because I could not hear what followed next. This was a midnight's dream, I was in pain Till night had lulled me in her arms again, And for the space of half a tedious hour I was disturbed, till sleep had gained some power Over my slumbering senses, but at last Called to the bar of sleep, I there was cast: I had not long in peaceful pleasure slumbered, Before an interposing Dream encumbered My quiet fancy, suddenly my ear Was filled with such a noise, as none could hear Without much fear, as if th' incurved back Of burth'ned Atlas had begun to crack. Me thoughts I saw the heavens how they begun (As if they'd scorned the glory of the Sun) To frown upon the earth, which seemed to flame Like sulphurous Aetna, from whose bowels came Whole Regiments of Spirits which disturbed The air, whose fury hated to be curbed; Me thoughts they were ambitious to expel Some Potentate, and make his seat, their Hell: Me thoughts at last (I slumbering) seemed to hear A single voice that whispered in my ear, Yet thund'red in my heart, which made me groan At every word; expressed in such a tone Which would with great facility have turned A Tyrant's heart, or else consumed and burned His breast to ashes, and if language could Move pity in a flinty-soule, this would. He bolted forth his griefs, like claps of thunder, As if each word should cleave a heart in sunder; His voice being guarded with a pleasing force, I sacrificed my ears to his discourse; Me thoughts my soul, my very ears were blest In giving audience, whilst he thus expressed. Oh Heaven! oh Earth! how can they choose but frown To see them make a football of a Crown? How long shall I be made an aimed at mark Of pointed envy? shall they make me dark That I made light? and shall that light devour The former principle? Unhappy hour When my abused willingness was made A Stalk-horse unto those, who have betrayed An Island unto tyranny; whose Laws Oppress true Subjects, and make me the Cause: Malicious age, and will their fury have No end, until it send me to my grve? A grave most peaceful place, for I'm sure There's no Rebellion; there I'll rest secure Where neither grief, nor care, shall dare torment My sublime soul, there, there lies true content. There there's the death of sorrow, and the life Of peace, and there a period to all strife. There's none can mock my woes, there none can try A King, nor make a Garrison, but I, And what I spoke, my soul protests is true, I am no slave to death, but unto you My soul's my Gods, and Tyrants do your worst, Jobs soul was free, when's body was accursed. But you bloodthirsty Zelots, learn to know You never can rise high, if I fall low. I fear no threats, let torments all conjoin Themselves, at last ye'l find them yours, not mine. What though I suffer here, my sufferings shall Advance my soul; May they not make you fall? Let out my life, go make a streaming flood And bath yourselves in my diffused blood. Let loose your Furies, give your passions breath, And let them bait my body unto death. I am resolved, my heart shall fly above The reach of fear, and view the God of love; Consider well, what glory can accrue From my destruction, to such souls as you; Be not too rash, but know a cause that's died In guiltless blood cannot be justified, A prosperous vice shall never claim a right To perpetuity, 'twill but in-right A total ruin, 'tis a greater Fame To die with virtue, then to live with shame. Ye seek for truth, and yet you go the way To make the field of truth a Golgatha; There is a great antipathy between Faction and Peace, and yet my eyes have seen How you (whose restless spirits still increase With Faction) seem to study for a Peace; Do not mistake, for they that will compose A difference, must never do't by blows. The want of apprehensions may descry You nourish Spiders, and destroy the Flie. Who glorious in a crime, will in conclusion Receive a curse, and with that curse confusion: I long to be resolved, pray tell me why Ye think ye cannot live, except I die? Your thoughts are vain, 'twill be a tainted breath That had its derivation from my death. Am I Basilisk? and can my eyes Devour you? for you know my body lies Subject to be destroyed, not to destroy (By taking up of Arms) your Kingly joy: But you suppose, if I should long survive, I would become laborious, and contrive Some new designs, & with my numerous forces Divert the stream of your unlawful courses; Make reason your Companions, walk a while, Consult together, stride not o'er the stile When as the gap lies open, they're unwise That will (when they foresee a harm) despise Preventing means; for if you take this life From my enjoyment, ye'le beget a strife That will not end, and when that strife is bred, Then will my wrongs survive, though I am dead, And you that caused my guiltless heart to bleed Will find another to revenge the deed; Ask Heaven's forgiveness, for ye cannot crave Leave to abscond your crimes, within my Grave: Be well assured, that every drop which parts Out of my veins, shall cleave unto your hearts Like tangling birdlime which will hold you fast, And vengeance too, shall find you out at last, heavens all-surveying eye must needs observe Your late unpolished actions, which deserve As many torments as th' enraged hand Of vengeance can impose, or Heaven command: Did I not labour with a serious breast During the Treaty, to restore some rest To this distempered Kingdom; but the gales Of Malice, were oppugnant to my sails; My heart was loaded with the large increase Of hopeful thoughts, my soul was filled with peace But at the last my hopes proved useless dross, And then I lost a Crown, and found a Cross; Heaven hear my wish, oh grant I may commence A Doctor, in the art of Patience! It matters not how poor my Person be, If at the last I may be crowned with thee. Thou know'st the secret corners of my heart Which is at they disposing, for thou art The King of Kings, and unto thee i'll pay The tribute of my soul, both night, and day. I am thy Subject, give me grace to stand Firmly obedient to thy just command. When for my sins I shall receive thy blows, Oh give me power to suffer, not oppose! Pardon my Enemies which have been strong, And always studious how to do me wrong: And though they have vented that which is untrue, Father forgive, they know not what they do. They hate their King, & are not pleased with any, O grant, good God, they may not find too many. The chiefest of their work, is to devour; (Stones have usurped their hearts, as they my power) Against the sound of Peace, their ears are barred Oh never sure, was Pharaohs heart so hard. They disrespect their King; it was not so With Shadrach, Meshach, and Abeduego; Their tongues have vilified me oftentimes, These three were never guilty of such Crimes; Their hearts had vowed obedience to their King, And never tried by force of Arms to bring Their own Designs to pass; but their submission Sent comfort to their souls, and much contrition To him, whose more than seven times heated breast Did soon regret what his hot rage expressed. But well, since thus it is, I'll strive to sway The Sceptre of my miseries, and lay A good foundation, that my Foes may build Their torments on my breast, which shall be filled With true content, I'll labour to support, (But yet must yield, when death shall storm the fort) I cannot start at death, I know it brings A finis to my ancient griefs, and sings Anthems of Peace: how happy's he that can Fly to his God and scorn the rage of Man: Thunder ye Sons of Tyranny, let rage Flash from your sulphurous souls, strive to engage The flames of Aetna too, and let them dash Against my breast; I'll own them as a flash; Flatter your souls, prepare your hands to do A deed, that Heaven will not advise you to. I pity you, my heart cannot forbear To sigh; and Nature too, commands a tear; Oh that my head (like to a Fountain) could Furnish my eyes with tears, oh then I would Begin the morning, and conclude the day With Drops, and wash the black-browed night away; Oh let my language whet your dull belief, 'Twas you that filled my flowing heart with grief, And now my Torments more and more excel, Heaven grant me breath enough to bid Farewell, Farewell; sad word, that like a bolt of thunder Hath more than cloven my reaving heart in sunder. Death's nothing like the sorrow which I find Raising a tower of woe within my mind. Thou partner of my soul, how can I die And leave thee here to weep a Lullaby To my indulgent babes, how can it be That I must leave so dear a spouse as thee? Poor hearts, If I must go and leave you all Confused together in the common hall Of this enraged world, what will ye do But mourn for me, as I have mourned for you? Oh where will you retire yourselves, and spend Your groaning hours, oh what regarding friend Will give a minute's audience, or relieve Your pining wants, or mean to hear you grieve? What Nation will regard, or entertain (A royal) though a miserable train? This is a sorrow that divides my breast; This is a grief that cannot be expressed Without a fractured heart, this is a wound That makes confusion active to confound. Were it a possibility to have Ten thousand Lions lodged within this Cave, (This trunk of mine) they could not more torment My heart, than this unbounded discontent; Should all the Tyrants in the world contrive A way to make a dying soul survive With living pain, they never could exceed The Tyrants of these Times in such a deed; I have been long imprisoned; and at last Called to the bar; how soon I may be cast Heaven knows, not I, for they that were so bold To bring me thither, will, if not controlled, Force me to death, their very looks declare Their resolutions, whilst their hearts prepare To suck my veins; Ah thus they have betrayed me, And smile to see how glorious they have made me They swelled like mountains, and at last brought forth The Mouse of Reformation, whose worth Is seated in all lofty brains, and hurled Through every corner of th' enquiring World. But why should I insist upon your Crimes? May heaven forgive you, and send better times: I know my days are short, 'tis therefore meet To leave this Crown, and buy a winding- sheet. Be gone terrestrial pleasures, for ye are But Gaolers to your Keepers, and ensnare Your fond believers, go, my heart's no tomb To give you burial, seek some other room; Fly then my soul; but stay, what hand is this That seems to hold me from my longed-for bliss? More sorrows yet; will not th' Almighty please 'T afford my soul on earth a minute's ease? Oh thou that mak'st my harvest full of pains, Grant that my working soul may reap the gains; Grief's grown a Politician, and it keeps A strong reserve; what eye is this that weeps These briny tears into my fluent heart, As if those floods should drowned me ere I part? What voice is this I seem to hear? what tones Are these that lavish out themselves in groans? What ails my thoughts? what near related breath Is this that seems to breathe a sudden death Into my panting breast? methinks I hear A female voice, cry, must I languish here? Hardhearted death, why art thou thus unkind To take him hence, and leave me here behind To weep his obsequies, draw up thy boe, And send me whither I desire to go. Shoot, shoot, oh Death, thou shalt not be withstood, Come, dip thy arrows in my crimson blood, Fear not, let fly, and let thy rovers hide Their twi-forked heads within my wounded side: Oh Heaven, since thou wert pleased to join our hands And hearts together, let thy strict commands Urge death to strike us both, that we may fly, And dedicate our souls t' eternity; Alas, what joy, what comfort can accrue To me, when he shall bid this world adieu. I lived within his heart, but ah, if he Shall quit this earth, what life remains in me. Alas sad heart, what canst thou do but pine? Never could grief be paralleled with mine; I am the Sea of grief, all streams do tend Towards me, for ah my sorrows know no end: The sturdy winds of care, and trouble blows Into my soul, my Ocean always flows And never ebbs; oh miserable age; How am I made a subject to their rage Whose pare-boyled souls observes no other diet But blood; and seem to rest in our disquiet; You all-exceeding Tyrants, if ye thirst For royal blood, be pleased to take mine first, Mines but a draught, you'll quickly swil it up, Alas, it will not yield each soul a sup; You are the fountains from whose breasts do spring The streams of murder, and your souls can sing Nothing but bloody notes; you can contract The body of all mischief, and enact What pleases you; But will you subjugate Your legal King, whose patience is your hate; But if you seek his fatal overthrow, Ye'le murder more than thousands at one blow; But why do I thus languish breath in vain, On those whose fury have no ears? refrain My trembling tongue; Tyrants; I'll leave you here, And turn my thoughts to Charles, whose life's as dear To me, as death is cheap to you; Alas, My heart is full, I cannot let thee pass Without a sigh, nor can my eyes forbear To wash thy sad remembrance with a tear. Has Heaven decreed it? must we be divided Dear King; and must our sorrows be derided? Thou great Recorder of my thoughts, to thee I will resign; command, and I will be A subject to thy will; Oh let me have Thy gracious pardon, than a speedy grave, For ah, what comfort can my wasting breast Hope to receive, when I am dispossessed Of such a Joy? alas where shall I seat My heart; tears are my drink, and sighs my meat, These pallid lips of mine shall never dare To own a smile; I'll live with grief and care, Except my God will please to take me hence, And make his glorious Kingdom my defence; Was it not grief enough to be absented Five years from him, whose absence was lamented With real drops, yet than I could obtain Some hopes to see him in his throne again. But hark! methinks my Fancy seems to hear An air of comfort breathing in my ear, It is the voice of Charles, whose pleasing breath Seems to advance me from the shades of death, Methinks I hear his language, which distils Out from the Limbick of his soul, and fills My pining heart with a triumphing joy His voice revives me, but his words destroy. He thus proceeds;— Oh thou that are the vine Which twists about this twining heart of mine, Approach my presence▪ and I will declare How great my sufferings, and my comforts are: First I was tossed, and banded to and fro From place to place, permitted not to go Without a guard, a guard that did pretend Rather to act a murder, then defend: Then was I hurried to that fatal place Of London, where I know I must uncase My willing soul, which shall rejoice, when they That are my Judges shall presume to lay Their accusations on me, and dcclare My new-coined faults, with their pretended care. And to advance their plots, they first infer I am a Tyrant, and a Murderer, Nay, and a Traitor too; if so it be That I'm a Tyrant, where's my Tyranny? Or if a Murderer; I here require To know whose blood it was that quenched my fire. Suppose (but Heaven forbid) it should be true, It was against my God I sinned, not you. Oh what an Age is this, where seeming Reason Pretends to make me Traitor, without Treason! Death; come, and welcome, to my heart, I know That my Redeemer lives, and that I owe A debt to Nature, which cannot be paid Till these condemned corpse of mine are laid; Now grief be gone, and let my comforts take Possession of my soul, awake, awake My slumbering senses, I'll triumph and sing, For I have found, that Death hath lost her sting; My soul informs me, that I must lad down This Mortal for a true immortal Crown. I'm ravished with delight, me thinks I have A Heaven within my bosom, to enslave The Hell of torments; grief must stand aloof, Not daring to approach within my roof; The pleasures of this world do seem to run, And fly (like mists) before the morning Sun, They're all but transetory; and can lay No claim to perpetuity, to day They seem like messengers of Joy; to morrow They prove sad Heralds, & proclaim a sorrow. As for the Joves of heaven, they far sermount My souls arithmetic, I cannot count Those numerous, delights, which always be Attendants to the souls eternity: Thou great Redeemer, to whose sacred power I now address myself, my longed for hour Is almost come, there's but a little blaze Remains behind, and yet methinks my days Seem tedious to my soul; I long to throw This burden down, that presses me below. But since thy pleasure must be done, not mine, Call when thou pleasest; for my soul is thine; I'll not resist thy hand, but kiss thy rod, I am thy Creature, thou my gracious God: Come my indulgent joys, and let my breath Inhabbit in your ears before my death. Thou Consort of my heart, why dost thou wast Those pearly drops, why do they make such haste To leave the sweet possessions of thy eyes? What? wilt thou make a watery Sacrifice? Oh do not weep, Heaven is not pleased to see Those gliding streams, which trickle down for me; My tender Babes, oh why do you stand by And imitate your Mother's stormy eye, Restrain those tears; for every drop you shed Falls on my moyst'ned heart, and there hath bred A brim-filled fountain, which at last will drowned My heart, and give your selves the greatest wound. Let not, oh let not, your sad eyes express So great a sorrow, for my happiness; Cheer up; cheer up dear souls, & learn to keep Those tears, or weep, to see your Mother weep. Weep not for me, I'm going to receive A lasting Crown, oh leave (for heaven's sake) leave Those heart-infringing groans, why do ye vex My Heav'n-desiring soul, and thus perplex Your pensive hearts, forbear, and be appeased, Be not displeased, with what Heaven is pleased; Oh how can ye expect that he'll fulfil Your large desires, if thus you thwart his will? Come smile upon me, and that smile will give My heart a great encouragement to live, Death's but a speedy passage from this life, Unto a better, and concludes all strife Between this World and us, whilst here we draw Corrupted air we're subject to the law Of grief and care, which daily circumvents Discordious hearts with griping discontents. Be not dejected at my death, but rather Rejoice, to think that heaven will be your father, Comfort your woeful mother, that hath been A careful Parent, and my loyal Queen; Give her that full Obedience which is due, And Heaven will be affectionate to you. Oh let the fear of God be always placed Before your eyes; Let virtus be embraced; What ere ye do, be careful to reserve A spotless mind, which will at last preserve Your heaven bred souls, let not your fury's rage Into revenge, but labour to assuage The flames of anger, let them not aspire Beyond your reach; Passion's the worst of fire: Be not too much addicted to the hate Of any, but be wisely moderate, And when your hands begin to undertake A consequential work be sure t' awake Your slumbering reasons, labour to advise With heaven and he will crown your enterprise With full success; and if your foes should chance To gain the day, permit your thoughts to glance Upon your private Crimes, and learn to know Th' effect can never absolutely show The justness of a cause, for oftentimes Just Heaven is pleased to pardon private Crimes With public means; God knows my cause was just And yet he laid my Armies in the dust: Shall I repine because I daily see My foes prevail, and triumph over me? No, no I will not, they shall live to die, When I shall die, to live and glorify The General of Heaven, within whose Tent I hope to rest, where Time will ne'er be spent. But now, ah now, these lips must bid farewell, Methinks I hear (Deaths Orator) the Bell, Plead for an issue, and I must not stay, Death comes in haste, and I must post away: Come then my tender Babes, & dearest Spouse (Thou that wert always constant to thy vows) And let those short-lived arms of mine enclose You all together, ere I do repose My earth-defatigated limbs: forbear To drench my farewell in so large a tear; My dear Relations, if my wasting glass Afford no sand, I must be gone; Alas Tears cannot hold my soul; and woe may have More privilege to take, than he that gave; My journey's almost ended, and I must Take up an Inn, and lodge myself in dust, Then shine upon me with the beams of mirth, That I may say, I saw a heaven on earth, A pleasing smile, or two, will make me know No pain in death, but if in tears you flow, Oh then— — But know, my dearest, Heaven will be A fitter husband for thee far than me. Thou needest not fear thy foes contriving harms They cannot keep thee from his folding arms, As they have done from mine; oh may we meet, I dare not say, within a winding-sheet; For I am sure those weeping Babes will miss Th' unwelcome absence of so great a bliss, But when thy husband, heaven shall please to bring Thy soul into his Choir, oh then we'll sing Prolonged Anthems, where we shall combine Our souls together, in a place divine; Till then— oh why, why does thy trembling hand Frieze within mine? Ah me, why dost thou stand And gaze upon me? are thy veins afraid To entertain thy blood? has grief betrayed Thy fainting heart to death? wilt thou precede My resolutions, give me leave to lead The way to heaven; Alas, and wilt thou die Because I cannot live? cast back thine eye Upon thy Royal Issue, do but see How fast their sighs do fail in tears to thee, Oh let the sight of them revive thy heart, Cheer up, and give me courage to depart; For they that die because another dyes, Usurp a Death, and make themselves a prize; Do not, oh do not, thus torment thy soul For my departure, if you must condole, Condole my stay, my soul desires to be Dissolved (Indulgent God) and rest with thee; A bed of Roses; that's a fading sweet, Oh there's no comfort to a winding sheet, A Grave's the best of Palaces; for there Is neither whining grief nor pining care: Why should we scorn this earth that entertains Our wearied bones, and hides us from our pains? Earth is a place of worth, yet would I have Not any dote upon't but for a grave: Now death; march bravely on, and let thy dart Sing as it flies unto my obvious heart, What? art thou daunted? dost thou fear to kill Because I am a King; what? daunted still? Why dost thou look so pale? what, art thou charmed By Majesty? or has thy self disarmed Thy self, or else art thou ashamed to do So foul a deed, or wilt thou not imbrue Thy shaft in Royal blood? Come, lay aside Thy fear, and shoot, or else my foes will chide: But hold a while (nor do I bid thee stay, Because my soul's desirous of delay) Once more thou sole Commandress of my breast, Draw ne'er, before I fall into my rest, Approach unto me, let these lips of mine Entail a farewell on those cheeks of thine, Weep not, but let thy tender knees salute The ground with mine let's labour to confute Our sorrows with our prayers, and recommend Our souls to heaven, whose glory knows no end; Thou great, thou glorious, thou all-ruling King, Thou Rock, thou fountain, thou eternal spring Of Grace; we that are clothed with the night Of sin, present our selves into thy sight, And with unfeigned hearts devoutly pray That thou wouldst send thy Son to chase away Our soul-absconding clouds, that thou mayst take A pleasure to behold us, for his sake We beg this needful grace, in whom we know Thou art well pleased, and to whom we owe A debt unpayable, oh therefore let Thy satisfying mercy pay our debt; Oh hear our prayers, which strongly do importune Thy gracious pardon, though it was our fortune To be unfortunate, yet let us be Indulgent Father, fortunate with thee, Forgive our youthful sins, and speak some peace Unto our souls, and as our sins increase, So let thy mercy, more, and more abound, That having lost our sins, thou may'st be found; Heal our back-slidings, guide us in thy way, That so our feet may never go astray; Oh bless these blessings, which thy blessed hand Bestowed upon me, let them fill the Land With good examples, guard them from their foes And send them patience, when thou send'st them woes. Hear me for them, oh God, & them for me And hear our Saviour for us all, and be A Father, and a Husband to them all, And let me rise in mercy when I fall: Strengthen their souls, and teach them to renew Their patience, when my soul shall bid adieu To this infatuated world, oh let Their hearts seclude all grief, for 'tis a debt That must be paid, let thy exchequer take Such ill-coyned treasure, as my soul can make, Oh grant (dear Father) this my great request, Then take me when thou pleasest to thy rest. So, now my joys, be cheerful, let's create A heavenly mirth, and let our sorrows wait Upon our pleasures; let our watchful eyes Observe our Maker's great Immunities. Let's first observe how his free hand provided For us, before we were, how he divided The water from the land, and made it dry To entertain our feet, and made the sky To give us light, and afterwards he made Poor helpless Man, that suddenly betrayed Himself to ruin, and by deviation, Abused the glory of his free Creation. But see the bounty of our God above, Who quickly turned his fury into love, And sent a speedy balsom to make sound The deadly anguish of so deep a wound: And shall we be ungrateful? shall we not Remember him, that never yet forgot To pity us? and shall we waste our days In vain contentions, and not give him praise That gave us his own Son? whose willing breath Redeemed our souls from everlasting death. Alas, how miserable had we been, Had his spontanious death not stepped between Vengeance and us, and shall we then deny What he requires, if he command that I Retire unto him, shall my soul refuse To run unto him, and embrace the news, Oh no, it must not, he's accursed that shall Desire to stay, if Heaven be pleased to call. Death hath no ears to hear complaints, 'tis vain To weep for that which tears cannot regain. You my sad standers by, when death shall send A Message to my heart, forbear to spend Offensive tears, but rather joy, that I Am gone before you to Eternity; Where now me thinks, I see you all, and hear The lofty Seraphims salute my ear With heav'n-bred raptures, which does even woe My soul out of my ears, I long to go And fill myself with melody, and sing Perpetual hallelujahs to my King: So, now my wasting lamp begins to blaze, Come Death, and put a period to my days, Let out my life, that I may fly unto My God, and bid this loathed world adieu: Adieu vain pleasures of unconstant earth, Adieu false joys, and world-derived mirth: My dear Relations, I must now express A farewell to you all, and then address My self to Heaven, within whose Court I shall (My soul now tells me) shortly meet you all. Till then enjoy what heaven shall please to give, And rather study how to die then live. Make use of time, and languish not in vain Those hours which cannot be recalled again, Comfort each other, and if fortune frown, Smile ye at fortune, lay your sorrows down Before the face of Heaven and he'll relieve Your pining wants: oh let your hearts not grieve For food and raiment; labour to be true, And he that feeds the Ravens will feed you. Oh let your morning thoughts be sure to mount To heavens high Altar, give him an account Of all your actions; they which every day Make their accounts to God, prepare a way To go to heaven. But time will give me leave T' express no more; my soul begins to cleave Unto a blessed Eternity, my heart Declares unto me, that I must depart; Time whets his scythe: Oh do not ring my knell, With sighs and sobs, farewel, my Joys, farewell. So, now the Loadstone of this world shall have No art t' attract my soul, I'll not enslave Myself to earth: shall transitory toys Surrept my soul from heavens eternal Joys? Oh no, they shall not. Now I'll dedicate My self to thee (my God) who didst create Both soul and body; thou that know'st the thoughts And hearts of Kings, and numerates their faults, Pardon what I have done amiss to thee, Forgive my enemies. Thou know'st I'm free From what I suffer for; thou know'st my hands Are clear from blood, thou know'st that my Commands Were not tyrannical, thou know'st my breast Was never stained with Treason; My request O God is this, that thou wouldst make them know (And timely feel) what a most wilful blow Th'ave given to their Consciences; oh turn Their flaming hearts to thee, which daily burn Against thy servants, cause them to relent; And let their griefs induce them to repent. Be merciful to them, as they were cruel To me, and mine, oh quench the blazing fuel Of their desires, gives them not their deserts, But wash my blood from their unfountained hearts; And as for me, presented to thy eyes Supposed (as an atoning Sacrifice) By them whose sevenyears malice have contrived My downfall; when my body is dislived. Receive my soul into thy glorious Tent, And make't a member of thy Parliament; Now farewell world, and dirt-composed Crowns, Farewell earth's smiles, and fortunes surly frowns. Farewell to you that thus my life expel, Oh may my farewell, make you all farewell. Reader; the sound of death hath made me start Out of my slumbers, and my wakened heart Trembles within me; Oh what shall we do? Oh may I never dream, to dream thus true: But since 'tis so, (kind Reader) let thy eye Survey the paths of his sad Elegy: Lavish not out your tears too fast, but keep A strong reserve, your eyes must bleed, or weep. Till than adieu; and when I meet thee there, Reader, assure thyself, I'll spend a tear. AN ELEGY UPON That never to be forgotten CHARLES THE FIRST; Late (but too soon Martyred) KING of England, Scotland, France and Ireland. Who with unmoved Constancy, laid down His Life, t' exchange it for a heavenly Crown. January 30. 1648. — In adibus Regum Mors venit— Printed in the Year, 1649. AN ELEGY UPON That never to be forgotten CHARLES' THE FIRST. WHat? do I dream? or does my fancy scatter Into my various mind a real matter? What ails my thoughts? what uncorrected passion Is this, that puts my Senses out of fashion? Where am I hurried? what sanguinious place Is this I breathe in, garnished with disgrace? Why? what's the reason that my eyes behold These waves of blood? Does the Red sea enfold My shivering body? Oh what stormy weather Was that which violently tossed me hither? Where am I now? what rubicundious light Is this, that bloudies my amazed sight? What Reformation's this that's newly bred, And turns my white into so deep a red? Awake my fancy, come delude no more, Say; are my feet upon the English shore? Sure not; these are usurping thoughts that rain Within the Kingdom of a troubled brain: If this be England, oh what alteration Is lately bred within so blest a Nation; My soul is now assured; for I see Those lofty Structures where mild Majesty Did once reside; abounding with a flood That swells (and almost moats them round) with blood, England, sad object, that wer'● lately crowned With a most glorious prince; how art ' thou drowned In Royal blood? was not thy master-veine Opened of late; ah, who can stopped again? Look round about thee, and thou shalt descry How every face imports an Elegy. Review thyself, see how thou art ingrained With guiltless blood? was ever Land so stained? Needs must your hearts expect a cloudy night Now Sol is set, and Cynthia wants her light: And dost thou think, O England to immure Thyself in blood, and always rest secure? Oh no, assure thyself there is a hand That rules above, which will correct thy land: Be well advised, oh Nation; learn to know That language cannot ebb, when blood shall flow All hearts all eyes, all hands, all tongues, all Quillt Will think, will weep, will write, & speak their wills I'll not invoke; this Subject will invite Th' obdurest hearts, and teach that pen to write Which never framed a Letter, and infuse The seed of Life, into a barren Muse▪ Thou gre●● Instructor, teach me to distil An Eagles Virtue's, with an Eagles quill: Raised by a f●ll, my Muse begins to sing The melancholy farewells of a KING. And is he gone I did not the doleful Bells Dissolve, when as they t●ld his sad Farewills'. If he be gone? what language can there be Remaining in this Land, except, Ah me. Ah me, Ah lass, how is this Realm unblessed In such a loss?— I cannot speak the rest: My Heart is full of Arrows shot of late From the stiff Bow of a commanding STATE, Each wound is mortal yet in spite of pain I'll pluck them out, and shoot them back again; And when my tongue shall empty out my heart, Let Death surprise me with a single Dart▪ I'll strive t' outface Rebellion, and my eyes Shall s 〈…〉 n all new invented Tyrannies; Sorrow will not be tongue tied, tides must run Their usual courses, till their strength is done▪ I have a stream of grief within my breast, That tumbles up and down, and cannot rest: I am resolved let death distwade) to speak What Reason dictate▪ or my heart must break▪ I'll mount the Stage let standers by behold My Actions, for my sorrows must be bold; I fear not those, whose powers may control The language of my tongue, but not my soul. Advance dejected souls, hear reason call, Let not the truth be passive, though we fall. Blush not to own those tears, which you have spent In private, for a Public discontent; Let not your tongues be (Prisoners to your lips When Justice calls, oh let not fear eclipse The light of truth, rouse up yourselves draw near When Justice finds a Tongue find you an ear. The day's expired, bright Sal hath drawn his head Within the curtains of his Tethean bed, Where shall we hide our slumbering souls, and lay Our wearied limbs, till he renews the day? A day! Alas, have not our wretched eyes Seen a great fall? can we expect a Rise? Should Heaven (who justly may) command his powers T' expel this light, as we have lately ones, What should we do? where should we find a sun, That have by too much doing quite undone Our wilful selves? by snuffing out that light Which he inspired, to guard us from the night Of sad confusion, ah, how could we spoil So pure a lamp, and so usurp that oil Which was ordained to nourish us? We run To light a Candle, and put out the Sun; In vain we waste our times, and range about To look for new lights, now the old Light's out, We seek; and we may find; but heaven knows when Old lights were made by God, & new by men. Shake England for thy Grand Upholders down, Thy feet have lately spurned against thy Crown, Thy hands are daubed with blood, one ruin calls An other, to the others funerals; Destruction thunders, and the earth is filled With doleful echoes; blood that hath been spilled By unjust hands (like seas) begin to roar, As if 'twould take revenge upon the shore: The whistling woods and their subjected springs Sends forth Elegious blasts, each corner rings With unaccustomed sounds; All things express (By their prognosticating looks) unhappiness; Deploring Philomela does now repair Contristed notes, upon her Thorny seat; She has forgot those sweet no turnall notes. Which lately charmed all sorrow, now she dotes Upon her woeful, he prolixed tones, And finds no sweetness in her bitter groans: The Commons of the air conspire to throw Their Sovereign down, and will not fly so low As formerly; but are resolved to be Oppugnant to the Eagles Majesty. How pregnant is Rebellion every where, Not only here on earth, but in the air? Can thunder roar, and not the lofty sound Be heard? can Cedar. fall unto the ground, And not be seen? can Mountains shrink away And not observed? nor can there be a day Without a Sun? nor can there be a night Without some darknesie? can there be a light Put our unwanted? or can murder be Committed upon sacred Majesty, And not lamented? sure no humane heart Can be so brazen, as not to impart Some sorrow to the world, for such a loss, When gold is gone, how useless is the dross: Now mournful Muses, light your Torches all, T' attend your glory to his Funeral; Shall, our Maecenas die, and you stand still, And not appear upon Parnassus' bill? Away, away, invoke Apollo's aid, Tell him that your Maecenas was betrayed To an unlawful death, and you desire To sacrifice a verse; and then retire: Could I translate my heart into a verse, I'd pin it with my soul upon his hearse. Could I command the world, I'd make it burn Like a pure lamp upon his sacred Urn: Could I command all eyes, I'd have them make (As a memorial for great Charles his sake) A sea of tears, that after ages, may Lament to see, but not lament to say He died without a tear; and it should be Called the salt sea of flowing Loyalty: Could I command all hearts, I'd make them spend Some drops of blood upon his tomb, and send Millions of sighs to Heaven, that may express His death was England's great unhappiness; Could I command all tongues, I'd make them run Divisions on his praise, till time were done; Could I command all hands, I'd strike them dead Because they should not rise against their head. Could I command all feet, I'd make them go And give the Son that duty which they owe To his deserts—. I'm in a desert, and I know not where To guide my steps, that path which seems most fair, Broves most pernicious to me, and will lend My feet a good beginning, but no end. Great charles's, oh happy word, but what's the next (Bad's th' application of so good a Text) Is dead; most kill word; what is he dead? Nay more (if more may be) he's murdered: Ah than my thoughts are murdered; my sad eyes Shall never cease to weep his Obsequies: I'll turn this place into a bubbling spring Of briny tears; and then I'll freely bring A Sacrifice to sorrow, which shall be A flaming heart that's crowned with Loyalty: Now could I spend an age in thoughts, and tire The night with sighs, methinks I could inspire Sorrow itself, and teach it to proclaim What ruin waits upon our new-bred flame: But 'tis in vain, persuasions have no power On them, whose resolutions can devour Both Law and Reason, two most horrid crimes In these pernicious, these contentious times: Come then my thoughts, and let us ruminate Upon our sorrows; oh unhappy Fate, Why didst thou snuffle out Charles his royal blaze In the Aurora of his well-spent days? But 'tis in vain to blame thee, for thy hand Cannot refrain to strike, if God command; Heaven saw he was too good to be enjoyed By us; but not too good to be destroyed For his own glory; let's rejoice, we had So good a King; but grieve to think how bad We used his goodness; we may justly say, He gave in mercy, what he took away In judgement, for his own commands appointed We should not touch, (much more slay) his anointed And yet we have, (as if our hearts had sworn To contradict his will) abused and torn His own Vicegerent, to whose thriving hand He gave the Sceptre of a glorious Land: But now (unhappy land) thy glories fled, Thy Crown is fallen, and thy Charles is dead; Go then, deplore thyself, whilst others sing The living virtues of thy martyred King; His glory shall survive with Fame, when they Shall lie forgotten in a heap of Clay That were the Authors of his death, their bones Shall turn to ashes, as their hearts are stones: But did my tongue express that they should be Forgot; oh no, their long-lived Tyranny Shall be perpetual; hark, misfortune sings The worst of Tyrants, killed the best of Kings He was the best; what impious tongue shall dare To contradict my language, or impair His living worth, and they that go about To blast his Fame, oh may their tongues drop out. Pardon oh heavens, if passion make me break Into extremes, who can forbear to speak In such a lawful cause? may we not claim A Privilege to speak in Charles his name. Is any timorous? then let them keep Their language, and reserve themselves to weep; Is any Joyful? let them keep their mirth To please the Tyrants of this groaning earth. Is any sorry? let them keep their grief Till Heaven shall please to send their souls relief; Did ever Island find so great a loss? Was ever Nation crowned with such a cross? Could ever Kingdom boast they had a Prince That could be more laborious to convince The errors of his times, or contradict The dictates of his rage, or be more strict In his Devotions; ne'er did Prince inherit So rich a Crown, with so enriched a Spirit. He was the best of Conquerors; he made Conquests of hearts, although he was betrayed By some inferior spirits, which he found Had lately started from the lowly ground, And were not worth a Conquest; yet he gave Them more respect than their deserts could crave. None could observe during the time he stood Before his pilate's: that his royal blood Moved into fury, but his heart was prone To hear their speeches, and retort his own; But when they found his language did increase With sense, he was desired to hold his peace, And some related that their furies bred, Because his at enclosed his royal head. Good God, what times are these, when subjects dare Presume to make their Sovereign stand bare; And when they sent him from their new made place Of Justice, basely spit upon his face, But he whose patience could admit no date, Conquered their envies and subdued their hate Ah who could blame our Sovereign to decline Their ways, and say, were ever grief like mine? First when his feet approached into the Hall, The ill-tuned tongues of sycophants would call Aloud for Justice, though they never knew What Justice was, yet still they would renew Their most confounding, and discordious notes, And bawl for Justice with their sluce-like throats; But he, that Lamb of Patience, never vented A word of anger, but with speed prevented Their louder cries, and with a pleasing breath Replied; If Justice can be gained by death, Yea shall not want it, only be content, Yea may as soon endeavour to repent, As now ye do to spill my blood; advise, Your souls will suffer for your forward cries; Having thus spoke, immediately he stepped Unto the bar, where for a time he kept Himself in silence; like a sun he shined Amongst those gloomy clouds which had combined Themselves together, plotting to disgrace His orient lustre, and impuled his face: And with a thundering voice, they first salute His ears with Tyrant, Traitor, and impute Murder unto him: With a pleasing smile He looked upon them, and a little while He made a pause; but by and by, he broke His silent lips, and moderately spoke To this effect: May I desire to know From whence this great Authority doth flow That you pretend to act by? If it be Derivative; I shall desire to see, And know from whom; till than I shall deny To give my tongue a licence to reply. You are our Prisoner Sir, you ought not to Demand what your appointed Judges do, For our Authority 'tis known at large Unto our selves; pray answer to your Charge, Or else we shall proceed. I thought t' have seen My Lords and Peers together, that had been A means to make my fading hopes renew, For most of them I know, but none of you. As for my Charge, I own i● as a thing Of small concernment, as I am a King You cannot try me: what your new made laws May do, I know not, have a care and pause Before you act in Blood, strive to convince Your stubborn hearts, & know, I am your Prince; YE are but abortive Judges, have a care, Ye may be tangled in your own made snare; Proceed: ye can but throw me to the earth, They which p 〈…〉, needs must own the birth; God knows my heart; 'tis not my life that I Account of, but my Subject's Liberty, That's all that I desire.— Sir, now we must A little interrupt You: 'Tis unjust A Prisoner (as you are) should be allowed So great a Privilege: Y'ave disavowed Our known Authority, and make a sport Of real Justice, and affront the Court; Feed not your guilty heart with such delay. Waste no more time, for Justice will not stay. Pray give me leave to speak, great Charles replied. You ought not, Sir, to speak: w' are satisfied Already of your guilt, you must prepare To hear your Sentence, and you must forbear Your vain and weak discourses. Is it so, He then replied, that I am forced to go Away unheard (Alas, 'tis not the voice Of Death can daunt my breast, ye may rejoice At my destruction, though you have no ear To entertain my language, Heaven will hear. Take notice People, that you King's denied To speak: Was ever Justice ruled by pride? Thus having laid the burden of their spite Upon his head, they sent him from their ●ight. But he (that was inspired by Heaven) did show A countenance that did import their woe, More than a sorrow for his death, his face Was died with honour, theirs with foul disgrace; His patience was their passions, and they found His mind a kingdom, where his heart was crowned With constant love: Oh that I could rehearse His living Virtues with a living Verse! But now my Pen must leave Him for a time, And dwell upon the mountains of that crime Which they committed: Put a King to death! Oh horrid action! what venomous breath Pronounced that fatal Sentence? May it live To poison Scorpions, and not dare to give The least of sounds to any humane ear. Sure he was deaf himself, and could not hear The cadence of his language: for the sound Had been sufficient to inflict a wound Within his marble heart: Oh such a deed Stabs Kingdoms to the hearts, and makes them bleed Themselves to death; to lose so good a King, By such base means, will prove a viperous sting To this detested Land.— — If Kings transgress, And prove Tyrannical, we must address Ourselves to Heaven, and by our Prayers desire Th' assistance of his mercy to inspire Our souls with true obedience, that we may Strengthen our selves, and passively obey What actively we cannot; for King's reign By God, we therefore ought not to maintain Our rage against them: He that shall control The actions of a King, burdens his Soul With a most ponderous crime: If to suppose But ill of Kings be sin; oh how have those Transgressed that have destroyed their King, and made Him subject to bad Subjects, that betrayed Their souls to Tyranny! Oh Heaven forgive What they have done, and let their sorrows live Within their Souls; Oh make them to behold Their errors; Let not Conquest make them bold. Here stop my Muse, le's labour to accost Our former Glory, Charles, though we have lost His sacred Person, yet we must not lose His happy memory: Ah, who can choose But sigh, when as they seat his glorious name Within their serious thoughts! If ever Fame Received a Crown, it was from Him, whose worth My wearied Quil's too weak to blazon forth: And when the best of my endeavor's done I shall but light a Candle to the Sun. Yet will I spend my strength; a feeble light Placed by a greater, makes it shine more bright. He was ('tis not unknown to all the earth) A Prince by virtue, and a Prince by birth. In the exordium of his Reign he swayed The Sceptre of this Land (till time betrayed Cupid and Mars) with a Majestic brow, And made his cheerful subjects hearts to bo● In honour, and it could not be expressed Whether he ruled himself or Subjects best. He was a Prince, whose life and conversation Impoverished vices, and enriched his Nation With good examples; Honour never found So sweet an harbour, Virtue never crowned So rare a heart; Love reigned within his eye, And there was clothed with Divinity: Virtue and Majesty did seem to strive Within his Royal breast, which should survive In greatest Glory: but 'twas soon decided, Martha and Mary would not be divided: No more would they, there was a sympathy Between them both; for if the one should die, The other could not live, they were combined Within his breast, and could not be disjoynd. O happy is that Land, where Virtue shall Meet Majesty within a Princes Hall. He was a King not only over Land, But over Passion, for he could command His Royal Self, and when approaching trouble Assailed his mind, his wisdom would redouble His present patience, and he would allow The worst of sorrows, a contented brow; His undivided soul was always free To propagate the works of Piety His heart was still attracted to good motions, By the true Loadstone of his firm devotions. He always studied how to recompense Good deeds with full rewards: as for offence, He sooner would forgive it, then impose A punishment; his meekness made his foes Grow supercilious, and at last they made A private snare, and zealously betrayed The Lord of England's life, whose free consent Granted them a Triennial Parliament To salve the Kingdom's grievances: but they Took not the grievances, but Him away. It could not be distinguished which did reign Mars or Apollo most, within his brain: He was a Cesar, and the equal fame Of War and Wisdom dwelled upon his Name: As for his Martial parts, Edge-hill will bear An everlasting record, how his care And resolution did maintain that Fight, Till day submitted to th' encroaching night. Although Heaven's General was pleased to bring Such small conditions to so great a King, We must not judge, that 'tis success that can Procure the title of a valiant man; For that will but instruct him how to fly Upon the wings of popularity. As for his Theologick parts, I may Without presumption absolute say, He was a second David, and could raise A lofty strain, to sing his Maker's praise: Read but his Meditations, and you'll find His breast attained an heav'n-enameld mind. Now Reader, close thine eyes, and do not read My following lines, except thy heart can bleed, And thou not die. Ah, here's a mournful text, Imports a death: Suppose what follows next, And 'tis enough. Oh that I could engross The Language of the world, t' express this loss! Break hearts, weep eyes, lament your Sovereign's And let Him swim unto his Funeral In Subject's tears; oh had you seen his feet Mounted the stage of blood, and run to meet The fury of his foes, and how his breath Proclaimed a correspondency with death; Oh than thy diving heart must needs have found The depth of sorrow, and received a wound That Time could not recure, oh such a sight Had been sufficient to have made a night Within this little world, hadst thou but seen What soule-defending patience stood between Passion and him: with what a pleasing grace, (As if that death had blushed within his face) He looked upon his people, which surrounded His mourning Scaffold, whilst his thoughts abounded With heavenly ruptures; his Angelic voice Taught joy to weep and sorrow to rejoice; Tears blinded many, that they could not see So bloody, so abhorred a Tragedy, He looked as if he rather came to view His Subjects, then to bid them all adieu; Fear had no habitation in his breast, And what he spoke, was readily expressed: heavens sacred Orator divinely typped His tongue with golden languages, and dipped His soul in Love's sweet fountain, so that all That loved, admired and grieved to see him fall. While or he (submitting Prince) devoutly prayed That Heaven would pardon those that had betrayed His body to the grave; as from his soul He had forgave them all, and did condole Their sad conditions; having spent his breath, He yielded (like a Lamb) unto his death. Much more he uttered; but my burdened Quill Recoils, and will not prosecute my will: My Pen and I must now abrubtly part, Pardon (oh Reader) for love binds my heart With chains of sorrow: let me crave, what I Shall want in Language, that thou wilt supply In Meditation; But before I let My Quill desert my hand, I'll make it set This Traguses▪ comic period to my story, Charles lived in trouble, and he died in glory. FINIS. Habakkuk chap. 1. ver. 13. Thou art of purer eyes (O God) then to behold evil, and canst not look on iniquity: Wherefore lookest thou upon them that deal treacherously, and holdest thy tongue when the wicked devoureth the man that is more righteous than they? AN EPITAPH. Upon Caines, having killed their Abel, laid Him underneath, whom they betrayed And forced to death (Kind Reader) know Religion was his overthrow. Lament, lament, this fatal loss, England never had a Cross So Great as This; Let every Eye Keep tears to weep his Elegy. I may presume to say, a Tomb Never had a richer womb. Go not till your sorrows have Offered tears unto his grave; Fail not to spend some real groans, Except your hearts are turned to stones Now methinks his ashes cries Guiltless blood's a Sacrifice, London lately lost her heart, And is sick in every part, Nothing could appease but blood, Death took her King, and left a flood. FINIS. AN ELEGY UPON The Right Honourable, the LORD CAPELL, Baron of Hadham; Who was beheaded at Westminster, for maintaining the ancient and fundamental Laws of the Kingdom of ENGLAND. March the 9 1648. Heu●jrc●t, aut fuctis vivat ubique suis. Disturb me not, my thoughts are mounting high To build a Nest for capels memory. Fool that I am, I do not mean, a Nest, No, nor a Kingdom neither that's the least Of all my thoughts, It is a world, that shall Be ruled by capels echo; hollow all Ye sacred Muses, and conspire to bring materials to this work, and learn to sing; For should ye weep, your eyes might undertake To drown that world, which I intent to make. Forbear; your tears are useless, you must now Gaze upon death with an undaunted brow, Capell has taught us how to entertain The palled looks of Mars, by him we gain The art of dying, and from him we have The definition of a Noble Grave; Rare soul, I say, thy ever active Fame Shall build a world upon thy pregnant name, And every Letter of thy Name shall raise A spacious kingdom, where thy ample praise Shall be recorded, every harkening ear Shall prove Ambitious, and admire to hear: 'Twill be a glory, when the world shall say 'Twas bravely done, his Sovereign lead the way, And he (as valiant Soldiers ought to do) Marched boldly after, and was always true To sacred Majesty; his Noble breath Disdained the fear of a Tyrannic death; Death added life unto his thoughts, for he Contemned a life, if bought with infamy. The very birds shall learn to prate, and sing, How Capell suffered for his Royal King. Rouse than ye stupid sons of Morpheus; Let This shining Sun of English valour set And rise within your horizons, your hearts I mean, and teach you how to sing in parts The Anthems of his worth; Oh understand That this was he, whose death hath filled the land With living sorrow; this was he, whose glory Shall lend the world an everlasting story. You lust-obeying Tarquins, that permit And tolerate your pleasures, to commit Adulterated actions, and command England, our poor Lucretia, to stand Subject to our libidinous desires, And cannot help herself, heaven grant your fires May soon expire, that at the last we may (Like Tarquins) see you banished quite away, Say, will your hung'ry appetites receive No satisfaction? have you vowed to leave No Noble blood? Alas how can your meek And tender consciences; thus roar. and seek Like greedy Lions, scenting up and down To find your prey in every Royal Town. Where is that zeal which was in former times A golden pretext, to your drossy crimes? Do you not think of heaven? have ye forgot▪ There is a God? or will ye own him not; Where is Religion (your upholder) fled? What? is that murdered too; or have ye spread A veil upon her, that she may not be Observed, or owned, but in necessity, Has not Religion all this while maintained Your unjust cause? what money's ye have gained Was for Religion's sake, which still supplied Your wants, but now ye're full, that's laid. Unhappy is that land, whose people brags, That they have put Religion up in bags. Money precedes Religion now; but stay Precipitating quill, I've lost my way, Nay, and my subject too, how came my mind Thus much to deviate; oh where shall I find My former subject? shall my thoughts object His memory, and own him with Neglect: No, no, they shall not come my Muse, repose Let's think upon your Friend and let our foes Remember us, Capell, thy worth shall fill The black mouthed concave of my mourning quill. He was a Pompey, but received his harm From Tyrants, not from Caesar's noble arm. He had an Army in his mind, could call Virtue to be their bold faced General; He had no Pride, no Faction to create Or nurse division in his peaceful State; He had a Court of Justice in his breast, But not to tyrannize to make inquest After the sons of Loyalty, or bring Illegal Judgements: to their legal King; He had a heart that never used to hide The heat of envy, or the flames of Pride, He had a Conscience never used t' exact Upon a widowed Kingdom, or extract The treasures of a Nation, to defray His own desires, he never used to play The Devil in the habit of a Saint, Or teach his Agitators how to paint A vice with pleasing colours, or prepare His ready eyes to shed a zealous tear With a false heart, he never strived to please, And turn the People's hearts with Peters-Keyes; And to conclude, he never would desire Other men's fuels to maintain his fire; Now Reader, thou hast heard he had a mind Not mortgaged unto baseness, but inclined To honourable actions; It was he That was the Emblem of true Charity, Yet some unworthy Spirit have expressed He was a son of Rome, because his breast Was filled with pity, and would still relieve The Poor, whose wants, instructed him to grieve. False are those base reports, he was a man Always reputed a great Puritan, And not a Papist, and he had a care To have that hated Book of Common prayer Read to his Family, himself would join His aid to any thing that was Divine; The Church did seldom fail to entertain His Honorable self, and his domestic train, Until this blessed Reformation spread Itself abroad and struck Religion dead; And then indeed his Conscience would refuse To let him hear some Rabshekah abuse His Gods Anointed, and his real heart Could not endure to hear time-servers dart Arrows of envy at his King, and rail Against his Consort, labouring to entail Disgrace upon their names, and fill the earth With heaps of errors, and rebellious mirth; These things▪ his heart abhorred, he could not hear His King abused with a patient ear: He was the soul of Loyalty, his mind Was always active: for he still inclined His thoughts to goodness, striving how to bring Peace to his Country, honour to his King? He was a man that always used to fly Upon the wings of true solidity; He was complete, and rich in every part, His tongue was never traitor to his heart; But now, ah now (I shall make death too proud To speak it he hath lately left this cloud, This world of envy, and is gone t' inherit Those joys which wait upon a noble Spirit: Now, now he's gone to heaven's sublimer court, Where Justice lives, a place were false report, Shall find no ear; a place where none shall die For being rich, or wise; their Loyalty Shall be respected; there, the weeping eyes. Of Orphans shall be pitied; there, the cries Of Ladies pleading for their Lords, shall find A full respect; where Virtue is refined, There must be happiness, oh think but where It is, (kind Reader) and brave Capulets there: There, there, he rests who stoutly trod the stage Of blood, whose life, whose death no age Will ever parallel his courage gave A life to death, and pleasure to a grave; He had a pleasing countenance, his face Did seem to blush, but 'twas for their disgrace, And not his guilt, he hever seemed t' express The least of fear, but hasted to address Himself to heaven, and like a Stag, he bayed At his unsatisfied hounds and laid His use before them, and contemned their power Because he knew they only could devour His little world; but for his soul, that went Before a more conscientious Parliament, Where now he rests in peacefulness, and doubles His pleasures, whilst his foes survive in troubles, There rest heroic Capell, and enjoy Those rich delights which time cannot destroy; Rest thou, whilst those are restless which denied To let thee rest on earth, whose hearts are tied In bloody fetters, which conglutinates Their souls, and leads them to the worst of Fates. But now my Quill grows weak, I must forsake These sable paths, I dare not undertake So great a journey, for my feeble Pen Begins to stagger, grief can teach me when I shall begin, but will not prove my friend, And lead my sorrows to a peaceful end: My thoughts increase, this subject would infuse A youthful life, into an ancient Muse. My heart's composed of raptures, and my hand Receivs new strength; methinks I could command The spacious world, and teach it to express His praise on earth, though not his happiness In Heaven, where now I'll leave him, and retire; I'll cease to write, and practise to admire. Ye have killed, and condemned the Just, and he doth not resist you. Jam. 5.6. AN EPITAPH. UPON The Right Honourable. A tower is fallen, and it lies Represented to thy eyes: Therefore, Reader, if thy breath Had an interest in his death, Vnfix thy thoughts, and post away, Reason forbids a Tyrant's stay: Lavish out your hearty cries, Open wide your flowing eyes, Record his worth, and let all hearts Dote upon his living parts: Can any think upon his Name, And not labour to proclaim Perpetual praises to his worth, Engaging hearts to set him forth: Let all men say, and not repent, Lo here lies Murders compliment Dignum laude virum musa vetat mori.— A CURSE AGAINST The Enemies of PEACE. PEace, peace, Rebellious Vipers; you that cry▪ Advance Mechanics, down with Majesty, Cease your vain wishes, may ye never rest, That love no Peace; nay, may ye ne'er be blest That envy Zion; ah I shall Zions glory Be thus abstracted, and thus made a story To after-ages; hath your hungry zeal Devoured all your senses at one meal? What do ye mean? do ye intent to try A Reformation with Phlebotomy? Or has your hellbred thoughts found out a way To turn a Canaan, to a Golgotha? Hath the Tartarian Counsellor invented Such thriving plots that cannot be prevented. Leave off base acts Mechanics, and begin To deal uprightly, and reform within: Bury your aged crimes, and then go call Your straggling senses to the funeral. Thus I advise you, if this will not do, Assure your selves I'll learn to curse you too. May heaven whose frowning countenance doth show An angry resolution, overthrew You, and your prick-eared Progeny, and make Your children suffer for their parent's sake; May ye all beg, and wander up and down Like vagabonds, be lashed from Town to Town; And may the Lodestones of your crimes attract Ten thousand plagues, and may those plagues exact Upon your lavish souls, let impious Fate Blush, if she chance to make you fortunate. May torments pursue torments, and still grow. Till Rithmatick be nonplussed, and o'erthrow Your treason-loaded hearts: And if this Curse Will not succeed, may't yield unto a worse For you, that this declining age may see The just rewards of your impiety. Let baseness be entailed unto your names, Too strong for all recovery; Let shames And lasting infamies remain In deeper Characters then that of Cain. May your souls burn, till heaven shall think it good To quench them in your generations blood, That all the world may hear you hisse, and cry Who loved no Peace, in Peace shall never die. THE AUTHOR'S FAREWELL TO ENGLAND. ENgland, farewell; th' affections that I bear To thee, I cannot name without a tear; I must be gon' my troubled Conscience loathes To stain its welfare with thy newmade oaths, Heaven knows my heart, I truly hate disorders, And pity them that live within thy borders. As for myself, I cannot stoop so low, To be subordinate to them I know Are but inferiors, though they have of late Converted Monarch● into a State; Though heaven conceals his anger for a time, Giving them leave to dote upon a crime; A day will come to plague their souls, and then They'll prove but devils in the shapes of men. And so farewell, poor England, quite farewell Where Furies reign, there needs must be a hell. Anglia, jam quantum, quantum mutata vetustas, Nunt caput as sceleris, qui caput orbis erat. FINIS.