ODE TO THE KING, On His Return from IRELAND.  By THO. SHADWELL, Poet Laureate, and Historiographer-Royal to Their Majesties. 

WElcome, thrice Welcome, Sir, from all the Harms,  
The rough Fatigues, & threatening Dangers past,  
To your Britannia's, and Maria's Arms;  
By each alike with Eager Joys embraced.  
Both equally did for your Absence Mourn,  
And both alike Languished for your Return.  
For wheresoever abroad in Camps ye appear,  
We not for Us, but for your Person fear.  
In your Great Breast so much does Valour burn,  
You urge so home, so much yourself expose,  
Your Courage does affright your Friends, as well as Foes.   

Your Troops, when charged to March by your Command,  
Astonished with Prodigious Wonder stand,  
To see the Crowding Bullets fly  
At unregarding Majesty;  
While their Great Leader is concerned no more  
Than at some gentle and refreshing Shower.  
But soon they Recollect, are soon Inspired  
To act such Deeds as He alone can teach:  
By his unparallelled Example fir'd,  
They press towards That which they can never reach.  
You not alone your Troops Command, but show  
What you would have 'em Bear, what Do;  
Who, with Amazement, find all first Performed by You.   

Most with Impatience Toil, and Hazards bear;  
Some grieve at Wounds, and apprehend each Scar;  
But your Vast Soul alone Enjoys the War.  
Not the fierce Lover shows more cheerful haste,  
Meeting the beauteous Nymph to be Embraced,  
As the Reward of all his Service past;  
Than you to join in Battle with a Foe:  
So much your Mighty Mind does Glory prize,  
In your erected Look fierce Joy you show,  
And kindled Virtue flashes in your Eyes,  
While you all Hazards, Wounds, and Death despise.  
You to your Dangerous Wound would give no rest;  
You would not be at leisure to be Cured:  
The pain of which sound room in every Breast,  
Unfelt by you alone; or else endured  
With that Great Temper, and that Godlike Mind  
Which in your Sacred Breast alone we find.   

That Wound, at which the Astonish Muse  
Aid to all Numbers, did refuse.  
A Wound, which deeply pierced each Generous Heart:  
Which your Three Kingdoms tenderly did feel;  
A Blow, which made all injured Princes start,  
And all the Great Confederacy Reel.  
The only Holy League, that e'er was made,  
A League oppressed Mankind to free  
From the most Barbarous Foe did ere Invade  
With Sword, and Fire, and Treachery.  
But Heaven of you took such peculiar Care  
That soon the Royal Breach it did Repair,  
And saved your Great Allies from all Despair.  
And now through all the League, in every Heart  
Your vigorous Influence does itself exert;  
You, like the Soul, are All in every Part.   

When Cozening Fame did the false Tidings spread  
Through France, That our Nassau was Dead;  
The Great Faux Brave, void of all Shame,  
Loudly to Europe did Proclaim  
How much he did your Sacred Person dread:  
By the most Barbarous, and Abject ways;  
Such as the Turk, or Tartar scorns to use.  
Thus, thus he did your Awful Valour praise,  
And his own Fear to all Mankind Accuse.  
Who in his mean, and Savage Joys must find  
More of a Woman, than a Hero's Mind.  
Who, with no Decence, than his Joy could bear,  
With no sound Temper can Support his Fear,  
(Tho Bullets he resolves not to come near)  
When you, Sir, at the Head of this Great League appear.   

Now, since so many, and so great Affairs  
Employ your Royal Mind with Cares;  
And you the mighty Weight alone Sustain,  
Your happy Subjects you with Arms defend,  
Instruct with Manners, and with Laws amend;  
I, from Mankind, could no Indulgence gain  
If, from the Public Good, you longer I detain.  
Welcome, Great Prince! from Toils, and Arms,  
To soft Maria's Beauteous Charms:  
Who in your Absence Reigned so well,  
And did so much the Virgin Queen excel,  
No more shall we old Tales of our Eliza tell.  
Welcome, Great Sir! to fill your British Throne:  
Britain, with Justice, you may call your own;  
Which to a Mighty Kingdom you advance.  
From a poor Province, to Insulting France.   
FINIS.   

Books Newly Printed for James Knapton, at the Crown in St. Paul's-Church-yard.  
A Congratulatory Poem on His Highness the Prince of Oranges' coming into England. By Tho. Shadwell.  
A Congratulatory Poem to the most Illustrious Queen Mary, upon Her Arrival into England. By Tho. Shadwell.  
An Ode on the Anniversary of the King's Birth. By Tho. Shadwell.  
The Squire of Alsatia. A Comedy, Acted by Their Majesty's Servants. Written by Tho. Shadwell.  
Bury Fair. A Comedy, Acted by Their Majesty's Servants. Written by Tho. Shadwell.  
The Fortune Hunters, or, two Fools well met. A Comedy, as it is Acted by their Majesty's Servants. Written by James Carlisle  
The True Widow, a Comedy, as it is Acted by Their Majesty's Servants.  
The Widow Ranter, or the History of Bacon in Virginia. A Tragicomedy, acted by Their Majesty's Servants. Written by Mrs. A. Behn.