Anglia Rediviva: A POEM ON HIS MAJESTY'S Most joyful Reception INTO ENGLAND.  
LONDON, Printed by R. Hodgkinson for Charles adam's, and are to be sold at the sign of the Talbot in Fleetstreet, 1660.   

Anglia Rediviva, A Poem on his MAIESTEIS most joyful Reception into England.  

ALL, that despairing, and despaired of men,  
When suddenly restored to Health again,  
Feel at the welcome change; All, that we know  
Of overwhelming Ravishments, that grow  
In the swift passing through the high extremes  
Of cold despair, into the quickening beams  
Of full enjoyment, scarce makes up the sum  
Of England's joy to see her Prince at home.  
As, of the Heavenly Bodies we infer  
Their magnitude from their Eclipse; And here  
Below we by the shadows measure heights;  
So must we calculate the ruinous straits,  
We were reduced unto, before we guess  
At th' Elevation of our Happiness.  
Torn by the fury of Fanatic winds  
Up by the roots, poor Britainy now finds  
Herself turned Floating Island: But her shore  
No sooner kissed his Royal feet, and wore  
Their fair impression, when her wavering ceased,  
And she became firm land again; so blest  
Upon that sacred touch, that she grew sound  
All on the sudden, closing every wound,  
That bled so long: This healing touch revived  
Her drooping state, and promised a long-lived  
Felicity, which nothing else could bring,  
For her King's-evil was to want her King.  
And all her children (Monsters she not owns,  
Though such there be, that with unnatural frowns,  
Or false smiles greet the Triumph of this Day)  
With full consent of Hearts and tongues do pay  
Their Prayers, and Loyal duty on their knee.  
First unto God, then to his Majesty.  
Hark, how the mouths of Canons learn to speak  
Love and Allegiance; Better so to break  
The willing air with loud and loyal sounds,  
Then be the Instruments of death, and wounds.  
To make our joys appear, we Bonfires light,  
As Emblems of our Love; A flame more bright,  
That burns, yet lessens not within our heart.  
Bells ring, to show the Church must have a part  
In this Day's Jubilee; and that we own,  
As a main point of our Religion,  
Our duty to the King. No Sex, nor Age,  
But throngs to act their Parts, as on a Stage,  
Of Homage to their Prince: They rend the skies  
With such a volley of loud shouts, and cries,  
As if they meant the Inhabitants above  
Should Hearers be, and witness of their love.  
But let the pressing Multitude give room;  
Behold, the noble General is come  
With low obeisance Majesty to greet,  
And lay himself down at the Royal feet.  
This, this is he, whom kinder stars have sent  
Of all our joys to be the Instrument;  
He, whom the heavens reserved for such a season  
To rescue England, and disarm black Treason.  
O, may that horrid Monster ne'er be found  
To raise his head again on English ground;  
Down in his native Dungeon let him roar  
For e'er, and wallow in his own foul gore.  
Long live our George, that hath this Dragon slain,  
To crush the breed, should any yet remain.  
What this Knight was that aftertimes may see,  
I'll draw his Picture for Posterity,  
He is all Inside; Nothing of bark, or shell:  
Made up of solid greatness; scorns t' excel  
In a gay formal outside: One, that can  
Seem little, and be great within. A Man  
Only by his high actions understood,  
Born for his Country, and his Sovereign's good.  
He doth the work, whilst others say fine things;  
And all our Hopes to an enjoyment brings:  
Cares not with gilded promises to please,  
But silently contrives our happiness.  
Some hope, some fear, some censure, and some rail,  
He minds them not, but still drives home the Nail.  
Not the mistrust of unbelieving friends,  
Nor force of open foes obstruct the ends  
Nobly prefixed unto his generous mind;  
He cuts his way through all, makes every wind  
Serve his well laid Design, until he bring  
To this distracted Realm Peace, and the King.  
Him the succeeding Ages will admire  
More than the present can: Great heights require  
Some distance to be sully seen: When we  
Lie blended in forgotten Dust, shall he  
Stand a fair Precedent of Loyalty.  
From this loved subject I must part: My eye  
Calls me away, struck with a glorious train  
Of Nobles, hasting to revive again  
Their tarnished Lustre at the brighter Ray  
Of Majesty: see, how they humbly lay  
Themselves before him, so to rise the higher;  
They were of smoke, they're now pillars of fire.  
You, that are stars of the first Magnitude,  
Have dearly learned to understand your good:  
Nor raise, nor cherish by your influence  
Vapours (though on a sanctified pretence)  
That reek from corrupt, illaffected minds;  
Raised up, they soon convert to blustering winds,  
Into black clouds condense, and last of all  
On your own heads in storms, and thunder fall.  
All your tanscending lustre of the Crown  
You hold, as Planets theirs do of the Sun.  
Well may you shine in fair Conjunction,  
But are eclipse it in Opposition.  
Next comes the House of Commons, th' other Leg,  
On which the Nation stands: These do not beg  
(Like those, who last sat there) their Sovereign  
To part with, but to take his Rights again.  
Nor, like those State-Phanaticks, will they mould  
New Governments, but rest upon the old;  
And in an equal temper keep alive  
Our Liberty, and his Prerogative.  
All terms and Articles are banished hence:  
They're for our Enemies, but not our Prince.  
I know you are too generous to bring  
Into the Nation, a fettered King,  
And so to change by a false courtesy  
His Banishment into Captivity.  
Have not our Laws already marked the Bounds  
Twixt Him, and us? O, do not lay the grounds  
Of fresh debate, lest you unravel all,  
And we to our late Anarchy do fall.  
But what fresh joy is this, that now appears  
So bright, so loud unto my eyes and ears?  
O 'tis the famous City come to see  
With open hands, large heart, and bended knee  
Their long-mist Sovereign; whom to restore  
Their's none have acted, none have suffered more.  
You, (when the raging sword had quite hewn down  
Both Law, and Lawgivers; laid flat the Crown,  
And brought the sacred Head— Here I must leave,  
Or the sad memory will quite bereave  
This day of all his joy) 'twas you, that dared  
Stand in the breach; unarmed, and unprepared,  
Meeting the violence of an armed force,  
An English heart to you was foot and horse:  
Your stout opposing brought them to that sense,  
That they were starved into Obedience.  
If naked loyalty our ruin stop,  
What may we not from your Militia hope?  
Still may your Arms the Person guard, your Purse  
The Royal splendour feed; You can't disburse  
On higher interest, nor make a venture  
In which more Glory, and more Profit centre.  
So Earth lends Heaven some vapours, which again  
Are gratefully returned in fruitful rain.  
The World knows not a Monarch, like our own,  
So seasoned, so prepared for a Throne:  
Nature hath done her best, Fortune her worst,  
And both to fit him for us. They are cursed  
Beyond all punishment of Law, that dare  
Advance a sullen Thought against the Prayer  
Poured forth by the whole Nation this Day,  
That long may He Command, and we Obey.  
And now (Most Glorious Prince) in name of all,  
That Throng to Solemnize this Festival,  
Give your poor Subject leave humbly t' impart  
The fervent motions of his Loyal heart.  
More flourishing than May I wish your Reign  
(The Month, that gave you first, and now again  
Restores you to us); And that Heaven a Bride  
As fruitful too may suddenly provide.  
That you Outlive the Oldest, and out do  
The best of former Kings; That you may know  
No sorrows, but what are already past,  
To give your present Joy the higher Taste.   
FINIS.