A POEM upon Their MAJESTY'S Speeches to the Nonconformist Ministers.  
OUr Church's Ark o'er Troubled Waters road,  
Like that blessed Ship whose burden was a God;  
In vain we judged the Card or Sailors Cares,  
Our Peter's Faith, or our Apostles Prayers:  
But when our Mighty Saviour's came on board,  
The Stormy Winds and Waves no longer roared;  
At whose Approach the gloomy Shadows broke,  
And of the Light all Humane kind partake:  
No homebred Jars or Pious Frenzy burns,  
But wild Confusion into Order turns:  
We bless our Ears and Eyes, and all Admire,  
Queen Mary's Voice tuned by King David's Lyre;  
The Glorious Pair in equal Sounds agree,  
And Subjects Joys complete the Harmony.  
Let Levi's Tribe to Ergoes Bid adieu,  
Or still their Metaphysic Toils pursue,  
Through Senseless Labyrinths the People draw,  
Confound the Gospel, and perplex the Law.  
Our Royal Pair a safer passage lead,  
And in the paths of Truth and Love do tread.  
Hail Mighty Two! our common Votes approve;  
You are the God of War and Queen of Love.  
As the Sun's Beams replenisheth the Earth,  
Purges the Flood, and gives to Seasons birth;  
So your bright Ray diffused within our Sphere,  
Gives Vital Warmth to every Creature there:  
Our Heats you cool, and moderate their Force,  
And of our Passions stop th' unruly course;  
By great Examples, you our Love provoke,  
And reconcile the Cassock to the Cloak:  
Beneath your Shadow we in safety sit,  
And all our former Toils and Scars forget.  
By you the Tyrant Monsters are undone,  
And all the Force of Hell and Rome o'erthrown;  
Religious Freedom all our Saints enjoy,  
No more shall frantic Zeal the Church annoy,  
Nor shall it dread a fatal Shipwreck more,  
In Stormy Adria or Melita's shore;  
When charmed to Sense, the giddy Priesthood yield,  
And all destructive Errors quit the Field.  
What tho' we did by Sion's Waters mourn?  
The Golden Age and Golden days return.  
The Pristine Ages now we imitate,  
We imp their Grandeur, and we wish their Fate.  
When God appointed Kings with his own Voice,  
And joyful people blest him for the Choice;  
Then Kingly Virtues set the Monarch forth,  
And not Succession Crowned him, but his worth.  
Such is thy Fate, blessed Isle! and may'st thou be  
A Blessing to thy Prince as He's to thee!  
May he thy Altars build, and Temples rear,  
And late a Crown of Glory may he wear.  By John Tutchim