A PANEGYRIQUE Humbly Addressed to the Kings Most Excellent Majesty: ON His Auspicious Meeting His Two Houses OF PARLIAMENT, February the 4 th'. 5 th'. 1672/3. And His Most Gracious SPEECH There Delivered on that Occasion.  
By R. W.  
HONI SOIT QVI MAL Y PENSE  
DIEV ET MON DROIT.  
London, Printed by A. P. for Philip Brooksby, next Door to the Ball in West-Smithfield, near the Hospital-Gate. 1673.   

A PANEGYRIQUE TO His Sacred Majesty OF GREAT BRITAIN.  

GReat SIR! When e'er your Gracious Voice we hear  
Ravished we stand, and wish ourselves all Ear;  
Your Speech, which equal joy and Wonder breeds,  
Can be Excelled by nothing but your Deeds;  
Those Glorious Deed's Heaven sent you here to Act,  
To Scourge the Insolent, and Good Protect;  
While with a strong, and yet a gentle hand,  
You Bridle Nations, and our Heart's Command:  
Secure us from Ourselves, and from the Foe,  
Make us Unite, and make us Conquer too  
Those Fiercer Factions which men's Souls did move,  
Are by your Favour Reconciled in Love:  
And now our only Strife is to Outvie  
Each other in the Fruits of Loyalty.   

When Fate or Error had our Age misled,  
And o'er these Kingdom's black Confusion spread,  
The only Cure which could from Heaven come,  
Was so much power and Clemency in One;  
The Genius of our Nation, with disdain  
Beheld those Puppets which Usurped your Reign;  
But longed, (with their Strange Madnesses oppressed,)  
Upon your Bosom its sick Head to rest:  
So when a Lion shakes his Dreadful Main  
And angry grows, let Him that first took pain  
To tame his youth, Approach, the Haughty Beast  
Will bend to him, but fright away the rest.   

By sweet, yet secret Politics you Reign,  
Which Foreign Statesmen Pry into in vain;  
The Nations Ancient Honour you increase,  
And Heal, as well with Needful Wars, as Peace:  
Heaven, that hath placed this Island, to give Law,  
To Balance Europe, and her States to Aw,  
In this Conjuncture doth on Britain smile,  
The Greatest Sovereign, and the Greatest Isle:  
Some think this Portion of the World, was Rend  
By the rude Ocean, from the Continent;  
But whilst your Forces with the French Combine,  
You make the Lands more Terribly to join.   

Fame swifter than your winged Navy flies  
Through every Land that near the Ocean lies,  
Sounding your Name, and telling dreadful News  
To all that Piracy and Rapine use;  
Algiers with trembling Knees for Peace does beg,  
Undone byth' Valour of your Noble Spragg:  
And greater Pirates too, much nearer home,  
Who thought to grasp a power great as old Rome;  
Striving to carry all Commerce away,  
And make the Universe their only Prey:  
Are now forced to Disgorge, and sadly find  
Nature has You, Lord of the Seas designed.   

With such a Chief, the meanest Nation, blest,  
Might hope to lift her Head above the rest:  
What may be thought Impossible to do  
For us, embraced by the Sea and You:  
Lords of the world's great waist, the Ocean, we  
Whole Forests send to range upon the Sea:  
And every Coast may trouble or Relieve,  
But none can visit us without your leave.  
Angels and we have this Prerogative  
That none can at our happy Seat Arrive:  
Whilst we descend at Pleasure to Invade  
The bad with vengeance, and our friends to aid:  
Our little World, the Image of the great,  
Like that amidst the boundless Ocean set,  
Of her own growth hath all that Nature craves,  
And all that's rare, as Tribute from the Waves:  
As Egypt does not on the Clouds rely,  
But to her Nile owes more than to the sky:  
So what our Earth, and what our Heaven denies,  
Our ever constant Friend the Sea supplies:  
That friend whom whilst base Neighbours seek to gain,  
Your Thunder with their blood Purples the Main:  
The Taste of hot Arabian Spice we know  
Free from the scorching Sun that makes it grow:  
Without the Worm, in Persian Silks we shine,  
And without Planting, drink of every Vine:  
To Digg for Wealth, we weary not our Limbs,  
Gold, though the heaviest Metal, hither Swims:  
Ours is the Harvest where the Indians Mow,  
We Blow the Deep, and Reap what others Sow:  
Things of the Noblest kind our own Soil breeds,  
Stout are our Men, and Warlike are our Steeds:  
Rome, though her Eagle through the world had flown,  
Could never make this Island all her own:  
Here the Third Edward, and the black Prince too,  
Victorious Henry flourished, and now You:  
For whom, Proud Dutch, (reserved, like the Greek State,  
Till Alexander came to urge their Fate)  
Must make New Trophies, which the Couq'ring hands  
Of Mighty York, or (who in's stead Commands)  
The Matchless Rupert from the Sea do bring,  
To Adorn the Triumphs of our Glorious King:  
Whilst most Heroic Montmouth, to add more,  
Transplants the Laurels of the Belgian Shore.   

Yet need your Foes not Dread (if they'll Submit)  
Your Power, you with such Sweetness Temper it:  
Preferred by Conquest, happily o'erthrown,  
Falling they'll Rise, to be with us made one  
That Airy Liberty, whereof they Boast  
Is but a Spacious Shadow at the most:  
For they'll find on just Account of things  
No Freedom▪ like the Rule of Pious Kings:  
So kind Dictator's made, when they came Home,  
Their Vanquished Foes, Free Citizens of Rome,  
Less Pleasure take, brave souls, in Battles won,  
Than in restoring those that are Undone:  
Tigers have Courage, and the rugged Bare,  
But Man alone can, whom he Conquers spare;  
To Pardon willing, and to Punish loath,  
You strike with one Hand, but you Heal with both;  
Lifting up all that Prostrate lie, you grieve  
You cannot make the Dead again to Live:  
Whilst your Arms make your Stubborn Foes to fall,  
Your Gracious Favours needs must Conquer all.   

What you have done already is well known,  
And we with humblest Gratitude must own;  
When in your Royal Robes, you lately went  
To meet your Kind and Duteous Parliament,  
(That healing Senate, which all Storms can Calm,  
And cure the Nation with its Acts of Balm:)  
Blessings and Prayers were sent to Heaven aloud,  
By every Member of the Gazing Crowd:  
No sooner that Illustrious body saw  
Their Dearest Sovereign, but a loving Awe  
Shines in each Face, and with a greedy Ear  
Receives those Oracles he uttered there:  
Their Grateful Duties straight the Cause Espouse,  
As Highly Just to make our Lion Rouse:  
They Thank His Royal Cares so much has done,  
And Vote supplies for what there is to come.   

Ah! blessed fruits! such happy Union brings,  
The Loyalst Subjects with the best of Kings:  
Subjects that to maintain this needful War,  
Freely will part with what he fain would spare:  
Their public Purse they offer— Let all go,  
Rather than Truckle toth' encroaching Foe:  
When our King's Honour, and our Country's good  
Is touched, we value neither Coin nor Blood:  
Cursed be he, those Sacred bonds that parts,  
" Kings greatest Treasures, are their Subjects Hearts:  
And there your Majesty hath such a share,  
No Earthly Monarch may with you Compare.   

But our Weak Muse begs Pardon, that she dare  
I'th' Face of Dazzling Majesty appear:  
She only meant, her own full joys to sing,  
Succeeding Times, shall Bays and Olive bring  
To Crown your head, whilst you in Triumph Ride  
O'er Vanquished Nations, and the Sea beside:  
Whilst all the Neighbouring States shall unto You,  
Like Joseph's Sheaves, pay Reverence, and Bow.   
ITER BOREALE.  
FINIS.