A ROYAL LOYAL POEM.  
LONDON, Printed for W. Place, and are to be sold at his Shop at Grays-inn Gate in Holborn, 1660.   

A Royal Loyal POEM.  

ALL hail Great KING, whom Gods Almighty hand,  
Hath in great straits preserved by Sea and Land;  
And hath kept firm thy Loyal Subjects hearts,  
Rejoicing in oppressions direst smarts:  
And that thy Foes the vast Worlds wonder cease  
Their tumultuous waves, and sue for Peace:  
What can eclipse our joys so bright, so high,  
Settled on th' Basis of Divinity:  
For here's no new Usurper to make good  
This treasonable claim through streams of blood:  
Sparing no English Subjects to maintain  
The profuse Riot in his Rebellious reign;  
No heir not able to support the weight  
Of Government either of Church or State:  
Nay, here is no pretender to the known  
Right Great Charles hath to his three Kingdoms  
No worthy Gentleman doth envy that  
Our high born Prince should have command of what Crown:  
His birthright gives him, here's none thinks that he  
Can rule so wisely as his Majesty;  
Here's no contention, only to outvie  
Each in brave acts of liberality,  
Amazing all to see, our widowed Land  
Espoused to joy so soon, by a Monk's Hand.  
Presents on Presents pass by faithful hearts;  
Not equal to My mind nor his deserts:  
And these from loyal, Royal, Souls whom guilt  
Had never stained, of blood unjustly spilt.  
Had Fleetwod, Baxter, Haslrig, and Vane,  
Tichbourn and Ireton, with that cursed train  
Disgorg d their full cram d chests unjustly got,  
And then like Judas hang d themselves, it had not.  
Been half so well. No: let them dying live,  
And perish by degrees: let Justice give  
Them but their due: How will their conscience gripe  
Their perplexed Souls? And when grown ripe,  
For vengeance, let tortures lead them to the Tree,  
Where this accursed fruit may hanged be;   

Too tedious here to read their Elegy.  
Oh when to Oliver they tidings bring  
Of their fallen State, and Glories of our King,  
How will his hot Nose swell, and Bradshaw call,  
And curse each other for each others fall?  
There let them curse and howl with hideous yells,  
Whilst we with Bonfires shouts, and ringing Bells,  
Heighten the hatred that their Quaking friends  
Conceal, if possible, for Politic ends:  
And that will damn them too, whilst safely we  
May pray for Charles our King and Progeny,  
And drink a hearty cup tooth General,  
Who bravely, justly, wisely fooled them all.  
And with one word Fanatic struck them dumb,  
Some simply ask d if it were Scotch, and some  
Whispered is't not Spanish, some Greek, but most  
Said he was mistaken and would have it crossed  
Out, and put in Fantastic, Schismatic,  
Or Anabaptist, Brownist, Heretic,  
Shaking Sir Harry Vanes fift Monarchy,  
Or weeping Fleetwoods' quaking Anarchy,  
H. martin's Adamites, Independents,  
Saucy Lay-Elders, Superintendents,  
Any thing or all but that one strange word.  
Coined with an angry Stamp should all afford,  
That Oliver or Lambert in their breast  
Contained, troubles them more than all the rest,  
Making their Chimaera reformation,  
Ridiculous and out of fashion;  
And names of Commonwealth and Nation turned  
To the right style, Kingdom, which long hath mourned,  
Commanding reverence to God's holy Word,  
Read in the Church, by them so much abhorred:  
When Preached by none but Orthodox Divines,  
Whose life together with the Words light shines:  
Now Subjects large Estates so long detained  
From the right Owners, shall by Right be gained:  
And Universities and Inns of Court,  
England's great honour in the World's report,  
Pestered so long with Sons of the Committee,  
Excize-men, Captains, or at best some City  
Heirs: shall with Knights and Squires Sons be planted,  
And the Grave Benchers who long have wanted,  
An Audience fit for Readins, now rejoice,  
To employ their wits & wealth for th'public voice,  
When Magna Charta, the known Laws of th'Land,  
Is spoke and writ in the old Tongue and Hand,  
That it would prove a good Monopoly,  
To teach Masters and Clarks their  
When our new coin (all that was mine is gone)  
Shall bear the King's Face and Superscription;  
When noble Spain shall bring her Indies wealth  
Unto our King, wishing him peace and health;  
All Princes fearing our King's potent Strength,  
Shall court him to an Union: At length  
I fear the Gentile and unbeleiving Jew,  
To be received into our Church will sue:  
And then the World will end so soon, that we  
Terrene joys longer shall not live to see:  
This is not Fancy: for what can seem strange,  
After this great and unexpected change.  
Reader your pardon, for since the King is given  
A Subject for my Pen, I could reach Heaven  
With numerous lines. So may your Prayers with mine  
For a continuance of his Life and Line.   By Tho. Saunderson Gent. 
FINIS.