AN ANNIVERSARY ODE, UPON The King's Birth day. May 29. Written for this Year 1654. being his 24 Year.  
To his Majesty.  
HAGUE, Printed for Samuel Browne, 1654.   

An anniversary Ode, Upon the King's Birthday, May 29. Written for this Year 1654. being his 24. Year.  
To his Majesty.  

(I)  
THe day ennobled by your royal Birth  
Is now again returned,  
But not so bright as when to her our fumes first burned,  
A smile so pleasant dimples not the Earth,  
Nor cast the flowers such fragor forth:  
Nor shines the Sun so clear, but hides his Rays as if he mourned.   

(TWO)  
The winged Chorus warbles not a Song  
With sweetness crowned and Art,  
But lame and wrinkled, such as wants the chiefest part.  
Sweet Philomela's throat is yet unstrung:  
Nor do the Nymphs yet dance along  
The Plains, but sigh, alas they want the master of their sport.   

(III)  
And that is you, Great Sir, their joints are numb  
Less them your eyes inflame.  
The Birds delight to sing no accent but your Name,  
And daring not, are either hoarse or dumb.  
The Sun wants light too till you come,  
For it is you must make our day, & not his sickly beam.   

(IV)  
Arise Great Planet then in your own Sphere,  
And our Devotions deign  
To celebrat your rise. Their powers each choir shall strain  
For acclamations to salute your ear.  
The Sun shall put on looks most clear  
Not with you to vie lustre, but show how much yours his stain.   

(V)  
Nymphs to your name shall measure many a round,  
Upon the flowery green;  
And earth, by influence of your eyes, be gay again,  
And every where with fragrant Roses crowned,  
Which now droop on their stalks frost bound,  
And being your flowers, care by no eyes but yours to be seen.   

(VI)  
Soon, with good Omens, dawn that happy day  
Wherein your royal seat  
Glad we shall with your sacred lustre see .  
Then to the Pomp each eye glad tears shall pay,  
Prayers each pious heart, and say  
Long may dread CHARLES, your Presence make your Britain truly great.   

(VII)  
Till that day comes to th' joy of Earth and Heaven,  
(For come it surely will,  
If Justice has her sword, and equal Balance still;  
Or if to Muses to see aught 'tis given)  
Think these dire fogs which shall be driven  
Fore you, but sent to try how then your virtue can dispel.   

(VIII)  
affliction is the best of Schools, and gives  
Lustre to happiness.  
You are a mine of Gold, think each year of distress  
Another heat, by which Jove only drives  
You to refine, till he achieves  
Your worth fit for the height he means you, than his little less.   

(IX)  
As doth the Sun by an Eclipse endear  
Himself in our esteem:  
So shall you brighter rise with a triumphant beam  
After so many and so dark a year.  
And long shine in your Native Sphere,  
Whilst farthest seas shall hardly bound your power, or stars your fame   

(X)  
Good by its want is known: then dearly may  
Your People after wars  
Prise you & peace like Gems long lost, & double cares  
With duty their late error to repay.  
Be their joy many a genial day,  
Then late, with Palms & Laurels crowned, afcend the Throne of stars.   
FINIS.