A Congratulatory POEM  Written by J. S. 
And Occasionally Published on the 23d. of April, 1685. being the CORONATION-Day of their Most Sacred Majesties, etc.  

WHen mournful Britain drooped her Conquering Head,  
And Gloomy Sorrow had her Face o'er spread,  
When Peals of Sighs disturbed the gentle Air,  
And Universal Groans presaged despair:  

In that cross Stared, in that disastrous day,  
When Heaven debated, when great Caesar lay  
Struggling with Fate, that scarcely durst obey:   
And by his constant Courage had o'ercome,  
All Death's attacts had not Eternal doom  
Urged on his trembling darted hand and given  
(Hasty to make him Habitant of Heaven)  
Commission to translate him to a Throne,  
More Glorious, Bright, and lasting than his own:  
In that sad day Clouding our Blooming Bliss,  
The Grave had swallowed all our Happiness,  
Had not most Mighty King the Powers Divine,  
Preserved the Glory of the Royal Line:  
'Twas you Great Sir, our Brighter Rising Star,  
Our Peaceful Monarch, and our God of War.  
That Uneclipsed our Night, and with a Ray  
Of mildest Majesty restored the Day:  
Dispelled those Fears, that rising to a height,  
Had damped the Nations Genus in her Flight:  
So in Arabia's spicy Fragrant Field,  
The setting Phoenix does a Phoenix yield:  
To wing the Buxom Air, whilst all the Choir  
Fly round her, and with eager Eyes admire;  
Their loss repaired, and Warble out their Joy,  
In Tuneful Nature's pleasing Melody.  
No sooner was it through the Nation known,  
That You Great Prince had filled the Awful Throne  
(Yours due by Birth, and yet deserved by Fame,  
Of Glorious Actions, that must Crown Your Name  
Till time shall be no more) but from each Breast,  
(With faded Laurels) withered Grief made haste:  
Mending her heavy pace urged on she hies  
To sorrows Region whilst our Early Joys,  
Spring fresh in every Loyal Heart and there  
Banish sad thoughts that Image of despair,  
Nor ebb, nor stand ye still but strongly Flow,  
High as the Bars of Life will let them go:  
The Muses that in mournful numbers sung,  
Their Harps have (now) to strains of Triumph strung,  
On the Theorbo louder than before,  
Resolving to be heard from Shore to Shore.  
With sweet Concordance discord to expel,  
From Mortal Minds, which makes their thoughts Rebel;  
'Gainst Reasons Power to Charm the testy bold,  
Calm the Rough Soul, and Rug●●● Nature mould:  
As Orpheus once Chief of th' A●●●●… Wood,  
Chained with his Voice Araxis Rapid Flood.  
The Gouty Mountains stagger from their seat,  
And Rocks to follow, as he made retreat;  
The Lion Nobly bold, forgot his Rage,  
And Tameless Tiger's thirst of Slaughter suage:  
Whilst listening Round him, the Wood Rovers stood,  
Harmless and Mild forgetting thoughts of Blood.  

This Sacred Numbers had the Power to do  
If Fame's Record be credited as true,  
But how much more a Muse Inspired by you.   
Favourite of Heaven, whom Guardian Angels keep;  
Those Eyes watch you that Strangers are to sleep;  
Those out-spread Wings a Shady covering make  
(The Storms of Fate to dissipate and break)  
On whom th' Immortal Rod, what less can be,  
To the Vicegerent of a Deity;  
On whom Eternal Providence does wait,  
To Crown him with a lasting happy State.  
That Providence in greatest danger seen,  
That Providence, that always stepped between;  
When Low'ring Storms presaged a danger near,  
Fearful for him, that ne'er could stoop to fear.  

Weighing the great event how Heaven inclined  
To make (as everlastingly designed)  
Mankind's delight the ruler of Mankind)   
How vainly then did Mortal Men agree,  
In opposition to heavens great Decree;  
Boldly attempting to subvert a State,  
Unalt'rably fixed by Everlasting Fate.  
A Fate, Pale, envy sunk beneath; no spoil,  
Her Breath could make the Genus of our Isle;  
Like Crystal purged off the poluting stain,  
And soon its Lustre reassumed again.  
But those hot days let dark Oblivion seize,  
Those days that brought that feavourish disease;  
Into the minds of Men to taint the Soul,  
Blot them Immortal Fame out of thy Role:  
Lest Unborn Babes their Parent's Rashness blame,  
When you to after Ages shall Proclaim:  
Loud as a Fire-stormed Cloud our Monarch's Name.  
And orderly Rank all his Glorious Deeds,  
Brighter than Crowns adorning Royal Heads.  
But stay— the Triumph comes— the dazzling sight,  
Beams Round about unusual cheering Light.  
So when Aurora does her Gates unfold,  
SOI. Tips the Clouds with Purple, and with Gold:  
Britain's Sole Glory in one place is met,  
To pay due Homage at Her Prince's feet:  
And place the Diadem where it should be,  
Crowns dimly Shine undect with Majesty:  
The Beauty and the Wonder of her Sex,  
As in desert in Royalty partakes;  
The dear self of a Monarch's Glory shares,  
Gracing the Glittering Ornament she wares:  
Hail Royal Pair may Joys past thought await,  
Your Morning wakes when softest slumbers bate.  
And all the Blessings Heaven has stored above,  
In the wide Storehouse of Eternal Love:  
Like April's Morning Dew descend upon,  
Your Royal Heads, and long Established Throne.   
FINIS.   

LONDON, Printed for D. W. 1685.