BRITANNIA ITERUM BEATA: OR, A Poem-Narrative OF Her Gracious MAJESTY'S Departure from LISBON, With Her Thrice-Welcome Arrival at PORTSMOUTH.  
By W. W.  Veni jam AUGUSTAE Oceani VICTRIX. Juvenal: 
— Omen habes magni clarique triumphi,  
Regem aliquem capies.—  
Printed at London by James Cottrel, Anno 1662.   

BRITANNIA ITERUM BEATA: OR, A Poem-Narrative Of Her Gracious Majesty's Departure from Lisbon, etc.  

NO Victories o'er the Dutch, do I here sing,  
Nor what new Treasures from the Indies bring  
Our dancing Fleet; but from a Neighbouring Mine,  
What's greater far, the Treasure KATHERINE.  
Till now I thought, the Portuguez in vain  
So eagerly did Blow the Indian Main  
In quest of Gold, when his own private Store  
Can show far richer than their Dirty Ore.  
But see the Reason, sure, he did intent  
To make our Britain Wealthy, and to lend  
Us Lisbon's All: Nay, and to sent it home,  
Suppose our CHARLES obliged would become.  
He's bound; she comes: yet it that Nation knew  
To falsify their Word, it can't be true:  
For sure, me thinks, I see fair Lisbon's Strand  
Walled round with Thousands, which though drooping stand,  
Do living Bulwarks seem, to keep her there;  
Yet do they fall, when she doth once appear:  
And those that thought her Passage to deny,  
Now walk a Breach, that she might pass thereby.  
Fain would they have her stay, fain have her go;  
At one time questioned tongues speak I and No.  
Each bended have two Knees; the one to pray  
The Gods for Wind, the other Her to stay.  
Each pleasant, yet sad Face, a double Eye  
Doth bear; the one doth weep, whilst t' other's dry.  
Great Contradictions sure, doth reconcile  
That Peace-make Cheek on which Tears meet a Smile.  
'Tis strange; and none but such a Saint as she  
Of such a Miracle could Actress be.  
Hold! hold your Medley-Mourning; 'tis in vain:  
See where she comes, heading her Virgin-train.  
The Crowd strait make a circling Lane, that she,  
Though going from them, yet might with them be:  
And like a Labyrinth, they run it round;  
But the Way out to Her's not long unfound.  
She saw their Drift; yet angry not, looked down  
With such a Brow as never knew to frown,  
Upon the kneeling Throng on either Hand,  
Whose Knees were couchened by the yielding Sand.  
Here casts an Eye, there Nods; here throws a Smile:  
So parting Nurses Children do beguile.  
But see, she now unto the Bank is come  
Which parts great Neptune's Kingdom from her Home;  
Where she surveyed, as proudly there did stand  
A floating City under the Command  
Of Neptune's eldest Son, which that did bring  
A Present to Her from the Oceans King.  
She kindly doth accept it; but what's more,  
Resolves to thank Him on the British Shore.  
Then Smiles a Farewell, looking round about;  
And thus she puts the People out of doubt:  
Steps on the Boat; where whilst this Foot did stand,  
The other is kept Prisoner by the Land:  
But sure it was not long; for smiling, She  
Again looks back, and strait it was set free.  
No sooner entered, but the Sailor's shout;  
And cry, They Portugal have in their Boat.  
And well as heavy lading might they fear,  
When Lisbons' Hearts, and sad ones, all were there.  
Now scarce their Oars had struck a triple Stroke,  
But they, unto a greater Bulk of Oak  
Resign their precious Fraight; where Sails they hoist,  
And sleeping Anchors, with a hideous Voice,  
They call from the Deep: so doth Charon roar,  
When tugging he, Styx Waves do bend his Oar.  
The rais'd-now Canvas swells, 'cause proud to know  
Their CHARLES his KATHERINE doth stand below:  
And strait into a Canopy they spread,  
Although unfit for their great Mistress Head:  
Who checks their promptness, bids the Vessel stay;  
Which they strait hear, and crouching do obey:  
The Reason she, almost forgot a Thing,  
Designed a Present for great Britain's King:  
A precious Thing indeed; it was her Heart,  
Which would take leave before it did departed.  
The Brutish Seamen cry, Their Wind doth fail,  
When strait the People's Sighs do swell their Sail.  
Which plainly doth their Mountain-Grief express  
To let her go, and yet their willingness.  
But what far stranger is, I'll tell you, they  
Can water lend, if shallow were their Bay:  
For now sad Lisbons' Pavements do drink more  
Then ever did her large and spongy Shore.  
But wind nor water wanting, doth she go,  
Gliding from what her Eyes direct her to:  
Till crawling distance at the length had made  
Of Lisbons' Towers and Bulk, an Azure shade.  
Then do her sad and gloomed Eyes survey  
The lofty Banks of the wide-gaping Bay:  
Whose distance seemed willing to let her out,  
Till their sharp Nooks advancing, put this Doubt,  
Whether they did not all intent to meet,  
And so to hinder the glad-passing Fleet:  
Who void of Fear, with a Majestic Pride,  
Doth cut her Channel, and through it doth ride  
Unto her Mother-Ocean; where fit Gales  
Do gladly whistle in her willing sails;  
And puffs her on so fast, that what a Land  
Spacious once seemed, seems now a heap of sand.  
And now the Queen her Portugal can't see,  
Yet sees her Portugals Epitome.  
But 'twas not long; for whilst she looked about,  
Her Eyes returning, find the spot washed out.  
The Sun at length, though posting he did ride,  
Who was at Sea, had from his Wain now spied;  
And therefore leaves the Spheres, cause he did know  
The Sea had then Divinity below  
In greater store: here he dances, here he plays;  
Here he falls, here he baths his choleric Rays.  
But when he found that he was looked upon  
With greater lustre far, then was his own,  
Blushing looks down; and then, for anger he  
Will needs go drown himself there in the Sea.  
The Night follows; veiled with a Mourning-Cloud,  
His Sister-Moon doth bring his Milky-shrowd:  
The Stars his Torches; all the Planets run  
Now to the Burial of their Brother-Sun.  
They all descended are now to the Deep,  
And yet they do their Heavenly station keep:  
For when the Sailor doth his forehead rear  
Unto the sky, they to him there appear:  
Then looking down into the Ocean's Brine,  
He also doth observe them there to shine.  
Why doth the foolish Sterns-man look so high,  
When he may sail, now, by the Ocean's sky?   

By this time had sad Cynthia almost gone,  
In both her heavens, her procession:  
But bolder now, by grief, resolves to see,  
Before she went away, that glittering she  
Sol fell by: through the crystal venter's in,  
Where slumbering lay the thoughtless Queen, within;  
And boldly dared to reach her veiled eyes,  
Which feel, unveil, then bid their Mistress rise;  
Who angry roused, doth with one single breath  
Two Miracles; both give, and take from death:  
She life unto the buried Sun strait gave,  
And bids the Moon go take his watery grave.  
No sooner spoke, but Moon and Night are fled;  
The thankful Sun, now peeping, rears his head:  
E'er since, sad Night attends the Moon; the Sun  
Dances, glad of his Resurrection:  
They both, by turns, thrice seven times did shine  
Upon the Poup, the Flanks, the lofty Pine,  
Which from the spreading middle up doth sprout,  
Of her so mountainous, yet moving root;  
Whilst the poor Britons long, and their fears,  
Do think it more than thrice three seven years.  
But see now, how the Sailors thronging stand,  
Who shall discover first, and show the Land  
Unto the ready Queen, whose wand'ring eyes  
Do fetch long Journeys in the seas and skies  
In vain; when a too-forward seaman cries,  
With cheerful Voice, See where Great Britain lies!  
Then did directly point at that which he  
Nor any of his Fellows, sure, could see:  
But for his credit, at length there appears  
A Bank, which to the skies his sharp Head rears.  
He seen, sees; and as the Queen drew nigher,  
The Hill grows proud, and still strutteth higher.  
And now, each gentle Gale affords their Eyes  
More than thrice welcome fresh Discoveries.  
The British shores are crowded all along  
With a still praying and expecting throng;  
Who furnished, since their own eyes could not do't,  
Each with a glazen eye to play the scout;  
These wand'ring to and fro, at length did meet  
A happy one with the advancing Fleet.  
He joyed, cries out, See how they cut the Main!  
See how attended with a scaly train,  
The wooden hills do roll! see how they show,  
With Sails, like walking mountains topped with snow.  
But 'twas not long, that only this, and some  
Were happy; for now, all cry out, They come!  
And whilst they gazing stand, each private eye,  
Without a help, each Pulley can descry.  
Now Peasants dancing, from aloft do give  
A welcome to the Queen, with a Long live!  
The courchying Shepherdesses too, stand by,  
For joy, clad in the gay months' Livery.  
The Queen observes, and bids the Pilots ride  
Nearer unto the high Cliffs craggy side;  
Over whose top, the wealthy soil doth peep,  
To see her new Queen, while she's in the deep.  
The panching Rocks fain would fall asunder,  
That they might welcome her with a thunder,  
Such as they know will do the neighbouring Forts,  
With roaring Echoes of their Guns reports.  
The trees all bow, and drooping seem to stand,  
Because their roots now tie them to the land:  
But by their messenger, the Wind, they strew  
Those waves with leaves, o'er which the Queen doth go.  
From whom, these soft amusements stole the thought  
Of landing, till she to her Port was brought;  
To whose blessed shore, the Pilot with glad pride,  
His sad and melancholy Bulks doth guide;  
Grieving, since past all dangers of the sea,  
They in the Haven now should shipwrecked be:  
And now, thus to receive their heaviest doom,  
As banished Traitors, when returned home:  
They only to their King their lives resign;  
But these, their dearest All, their KATHERINE.   

The Sails now flagging fall, the Streamer too,  
Which used, with dancing courtship, so to woe  
The wind into the sails, now hangs his head;  
The fluttering Jack resolves no more to spread.   

But see! the flaming shore doth now express  
The better contrary, in its excess:  
And whilst her sands, the Queens advancing feet  
Do bless, a thousand thousand hearts them meet;  
And thrice thrice-loyal ones are all thrown down,  
To pave a Causey for them, to the town;  
Whose gates she with the like joy enters through,  
As London's did great CHARLES, not long ago.  
The People's shouts now fill the smiling skies,  
They Vows, with sparkling Bonfires sacrifice;  
Where round them doth a busy small crowd stand;  
Each hath a liberal, though little hand.  
The Pavements all, do by their lustre shine,  
Whilst some alloy their heat with lusty wine.  
The Channel drunk, yet gulping, doth he go,  
And whistles joy, as he reels to and fro:  
And whilst some, sweeting, do the Bells employ,  
The Steeples know the cause, and dance for joy.  
The lofty Towers, which o'er the rest do clime,  
Do, with their singing Cannons too, keep time.  
In fine, nought else but general Joy is seen;  
Each action echoed with Long live the Queen.  
The tongue-tied Babe, which can nor speak nor go,  
Doth, with his shrug and smile, express it too:  
His little gellyed hands, joined, seem to pray  
Both for his Queen, and many such a day.   

Great CHARLES, ere this, had heard a fresh Express  
Speak Portmouths joy, and Britain's happiness:  
He strait glad London leaves; the first time he  
Did leave her, that, he gone, she glad could be.  
Her streets have fires too; but her hearts within  
Have more, to sacrifice them to their Queen;  
To whom, ere this, he swelled with joy doth bring  
Great Britain's All, wrapped up in her great King:  
And now they interview; but what they say  
Is for the gods to speak, for us to pray.   

May he now tie their hands, which tied their heart;  
And may the world give end before they part.  
May from them both, to future England spring  
Such as himself, a good, a valiant King.  
May also after-ages from them shine,  
With such as she, a virtuous KATHERINE.   

To this, let all but seamen cry Amen:  
May our blessed Queen ne'er go to Sea again.   
FINIS.