THE CORONATION. A POEM.  
By Ro: WHITEHALL, Fellow of Merton College, Oxon.  Divisum Imperium cum jove Caesar habet. 
LONDON, Printed for john Playford. at his Shop in the Temple, near the 〈…〉   

The Coronation.  

GIve me an Eagles quill that dropped at Noon,  
While she was gazing on the mounted Sun;  
That I may write Great Charles his Name, & tell  
The rescued Royalist that things go Well.   

Hallowed be the Altar, let the smoke  
Ascend, dismiss the heifer from her yoke.  
Prepare ten Hecatombs, and let them all,  
Be Crowned, and march in triumph from the staul;  
For 'tis decreed, nor shall the joys we share,  
Fall short of Caesar's Amphitheatre.   

Once more we are ourselves again, and know  
To whom to pay th' Allegiance that we owe;  
We know what Kingdom mean's, but Common wealth  
Imposed upon us, and got in by Stealth.  
We know what Crowns and Sceptres mean, but States  
Came from the Netherlands, and boggy flatts.  
The good old way has an ingenious Face,  
Since when the Countryman lost half his Grace:  
He understands not Mushroom titles, he  
Was born under a King, and so will die.   

Let's take a view how we have lived of late,  
Since Moral honesty went out of date:  
Or did we live at all? hardly in troth,  
Esquire and Knights had but from hand to mouth:  
Collectors had the rest, yet all were bend  
And wished, and prayed still for this settlement:  
Without which Law had not its proper course,  
Was put to shifts, run in an unknown source.  
Two words has mended all, now out of Prison,  
(Alas, they snffered too long Ostracism.)  
Kingdom and Realm, both which have Hid their head,  
And seemed to Duck a while, yet were not dead:  
The many-headed-beast hath learned of late,  
To put a difference 'twixt Realm and State;  
And rather pay their Prince Corn, Oil and Wines,  
Then to a Corporal, or his assigns.   

Scripture will warrant Kings, and for that cause,  
Our Bible was expiring with our Laws:  
Which Year by Year grew less, that the Lay-Priest,  
At last could Grasp and Clinch it in his Fist.  
Squeezing the Nonconforming Texts no less,  
Then when they underwent the Printing-presse.   

If we reflect on Men and Manners both,  
Amongst us lately, who'd not take his Oath,  
'Twas time, the giddy World were kept in awe,  
Sentenced, forthwith to Bedlam and fresh straw?  
When 'twas a Crime to go to Church, and scarce  
Allowable ones Prayers to rehearse  
In Consecrated ground, but you might hint,  
Or hold forth i'th' Church with a Chimney in't.  
When Cunningly, and of their own accord,  
Men Stole into their Graves, without a word:  
When Plunging raised Men Higher, and the Fund  
Was Superstitious counted, (out upon't.)  
When mad Fanatic spirits took their swinge,  
Merely, because, the Law was off o'th' hinge:  
Things spawned in March, when nature is most proud,  
And brings forth Creatures, Blind, and Lame, & Bowd;  
Things, that if Aristole were with us,  
Would mend his book de Animalibus.   

As for example;— see a Fellow come,  
With Wax enough about his gouty Thumb;  
To make a nodous tumour mend its pace,  
Or Carbuncle spit venom in your Face:  
See, and admire, this Fellow laying down  
His Awl and Stirrup, is no longer clown;  
But sits upon the Bench, and winks and nods,  
As gravely, as if sent us by the Gods.   

Or see a learned Farriar, who i'th' morn,  
Was at his lawful call, his Drench and Horn:  
His beaten Ginger, and his Diapente,  
Now Leader of a gang, of about Twenty.  
And these of Nineteen minds, yet all combine  
Against the Common foe, Church discipline:  
'Tis Tyranny cries One, unwarrantable,  
A Second, and a Third Abominable;  
A Fourth, what holy Writ can for it plead?  
Why Saucebox, where it doth, thou canst not read;  
Or if ten thousand Texts were urged, you'll say,  
The Spirit meant them quite another way.   

Obstinate ignorance! 'tis such a curse  
That patient job himself ne'er knew a worse.  
This Farriar is a justice too; O yes,  
His Conscience troubled him, till he was this;  
And struts in his wide Hall, and scorns his Fellows,  
Whom he has left behind to blow the Bellows;  
Expecting when the Bridegroom, and his Bride  
Shall by his Worship shackled be and tied;  
These he together links (with's Hat on's head)  
Using this form of Words, Kiss and to Bed.   

Now must her lip take Custom, and Excise  
From him in Velvet clad, to him in Freeze:  
But above all nothing so much a Martyr  
As that poor Ell and half, her Wedding Garter:   

The Saturnalian Riots were not such,  
No such lascivious glance, or wanton touch:  
Venus would blush, nay it would Pan incense  
To be a Guest to so much Impudence:  
Pallas defend me, and thy offspring all,  
When Vulcan's made a Priest Canonical;  
A Priest! why set aside his other faults  
The Old Law put's him by, for Vulcan halts;  
What! no distinction made? no difference  
Betwixt his Sea-coal, and their Frankincense?  
Is it all one to hammer out a Text,  
And to Enucleate the same perplexed?  
Yes, yes, the rout eryes, and again yes, yes  
Our Farriar has a gift, and can do this;  
He has a call too, well; no difference though?  
No, no, the rout cries, and again, No, No.   

Thus an impetuous torrent, right or wrong  
Sweep's down the bank, and hurries all along;  
Till Neptune roused at last begins to wag,  
And puts the wind that caused it in a bag;  
The Sea's not so unruly, doth not roar  
Or foam as doth the Rout that humane Boar.   

With indignation then the Valiant Monk  
Took this same Hydra Elephant by th' trunk,  
And made him yawn; still holding by the Nose  
The late triumphant huge Rinoceroes'.   

Appear now CHARLES THE GREAT, and let the Sun  
Dance to behold his Rival's game thus won;  
Exhibiting more minutes to each day,  
And adding to his height a richer Ray:  
Break out from your Eclipse, St. George is charm  
Enough to guard your innocence from harm.   

Ascend DREAD SOVEREIGN, Sir, your Father's Throne  
Maugre the spite of Fate, 'tis now your own;  
Not by domestic force or foreign powers,  
But by solicitous entreaties yours;  
And all the sons of Earth relenting, say  
They cannot live without You here, one day.   

So the parched Earth the Sunbeam disallows  
Till overflown with moisture, and with sloughs  
An innundation comes, upon which fright  
She that but gaped before, now cries outright,  
Courting that Sun, with tears, which she of late  
For his indulgent warmth began to hate.   

FATHER of Us, and of our Country, You  
Make out our simile, and illustrate too:  
Great Ioves concern, and chiefest care, who took,  
Your Sacred Self into his 
* Sacra jovi quercus.  Sacred Oak:  
What to our Ancestors did food afford  
To us proved better than a Iona's Gourd;  
The Fame of which makes Ganymede look down  
And wish himself (this day) 
* Lord Mayor of London, who as the Coronation is Cupbearer to the King.  Sir Richard Brown  
But that the Gods, in Senate sitting, fear  
He would no more return, but tarry here;  
Who celebrating this great Festival  
And jubilee, still for more Nectar call.  
Eyeing the Malcontented Lad, lest he  
Should steal the health down hither privately;  
While this new settled Isle and neighbour Lands  
Unanimously shout, and clap their hands:  
While Whitehall sounds by Tamisis rehearsed,  
Long live the mighty Heir to Charles the first.   
FINIS.