1679. GRATULAMINI MECUM: OR, A Congratulatory Essay upon His Majesty's Most Happy Recovery.  By ROBERT WHITEHALL, M. B. Oxon. 
— Augusto Caesare Salvo. Salvi omnes—  

THanks High and Mighty one by whom King's reign,  
We now return unto ourselves again:  
The Head affected could the Members all  
Lie otherwise than Apoplectical?  
So when a Springhead has not Passage clear,  
The Brooks subside, and gasping Fish appear.   

WINDSOR, whose lofty top mounts to the Sky;  
WINDSOR, that Writers do so Magnify?  
How had thy Name sneaked under ground, & failed,  
Had the Bloodthirsty Traitors PLOT prevailed?  
Or had so good a PRINCE by Nature died,  
Nature & Thou (as guilty) had both been tried.   

In Thee too long (for shame) without a Tomb,  
The Best of Kings lay after Martyrdom;  
Regardlessly full Thirty Years were spent,  
('Twas well his Virtues stood his Monument;)  
Whence, let Contrivers do well or amiss,  
MAUSOLUS never had the like to His.   

His Sacred Urn disturbed, who could have heard  
Without Convulsive-Fits what Good Men feared?  
The Perfume of whose Ashes cleared the Air  
More than Arabian Spices could by far;  
So that the Paroxysm had Remedy,  
Not from dull Physic, but by Sympathy.   

Ask the Physician what an Ague means,  
He'll talk of Ebullition in the Veins,  
Ferment and Circulation stopped, and chat  
What Baker knows, and Brewer from his Fat:  
Take him aside, and smile him in the face;  
Indeed quoth he, an ague's our Disgrace.   

And so it had been, with a Witness, sure,  
Had Providence not found a Sovereign Cure;  
That Providence that slumbers not, nor sleeps,  
But his Anointed still in safety keeps;  
Vouchsafing Combinations to reveal,  
When the Foundation's laid as deep as Hell.   

Whether the breathing of a Vein gave ease,  
And did the Preternatural Heat appease  
In Royal Blood whose Spirits are so purely fine,  
They of themselves might to give ease incline,  
We argue not; but I dare promise it,  
'Twas not the jesuits Powder checked the Fit.   

Summon Apothecaries, let them tell  
How often our Oaken Bark for it they sell,  
And This as well as That has proved a Spell.  
Sacred to JOVE, how could her Boughs do less  
Than yield a MONARCH Shelter in Distress?  
For which the Powers above we ever Bless.   

There lies our Fort, our Rock of firm Defence,  
Against Foreign and Domestic Violence;  
Those Signal Demonstrations have been given  
Of Preservation (maugre Spite) from Heaven;  
Prove CHARLES on Earth Immortal; whose Remove,  
May it be late, then let him Reign above.   

Breath of our Nostrils, who us Life dost give,  
Defender of our FAITH, And Us; long live,  
Lest those that practice Mischiefs on Us, say  
The Shepherd lost, the Sheep shall be our Prey:  
Rather let Day of Doom than that Day come,  
When Protestants shall truckle under ROME.   

Had Romulus not held a Wolf by th'Teat,  
That Seven-hilled City had ne'er been so great,  
Nor greedy; But now (by S. Peter's leave,)  
All Fish that comes to th' net they must receive  
Nay more, if they should come (as once'twas done)  
With Money in their mouths, 'tis all their own.   

Welcome Great Sir, to Your Majestic Seat,  
To Whitehall Royal, and Your Chair of State;  
From whence let Tamisis the Tidings send  
To Tiber, that our Fears are at an end:  
Then let the Consistory meet again,  
Fret, and lay Cap aside, to cool the Brain.    

LONDON, Printed by NAT. THOMPSON at the Cross Keys in Fetter-lane. MDCLXXIX.