The muse's congratulatory Address to his Excellency the Lord General MONCK.  
AWake ye sacred choir the night is past,  
Aurora's mantle's spread, haste, hast  
Your early joys to this Triumphant fate,  
Of the great Rescuer our Albion Advocate  
At heavens just bar, whence he received command,  
T' advance to th' stiffened Pharo'hs of the land.  
The people's suffrages in's hands he brought,  
'Tis Moses they cried by whom we're taught  
The way from Egypt's task's, thus heavenly armed,  
H' approached their Courts, 'tis Monck, who soon alarmed  
Their fatted souls, th' Locusts and flies saith he.  
The giddy factions that spread th' Isle may be  
Good tests of heaven's dislike, your troops of oaths,  
Are mustered all against you, yet here's those,  
Would feign raise more, such Saints in armour they  
Would beat God with's own weapons, and would pray  
Him from his throne. Having now corrected  
These hard taskmasters, he soon directed  
To th' wearied People, his Message was ease,  
In th' room of civil war to bring them peace,  
Th'unlimited bounds of joy at this great change,  
Had soon arrived th' Senate, th' events were strange,  
And dreadful there, hard hearts would not relent,  
But straight two forc'rers with their Tackle were sent,  
To countermiss this truth, t' possess the world,  
These were but knacks in State, we must be whirled,  
With various streams, but straight were their charms,  
By all rejected, ne'er the church's arms  
More cheerfully embraced her fathers, than th' people him,  
Who brought their news of freedom which had been  
So long an exile, nor did this prophet fail,  
In his embassage, for soon the black veil  
Of horrid Tyrarany's withdrawn, th' chains gone,  
The prison doors stand open; th' Jesuits run  
To Rome again, and shiftless here have left  
Their new raised force, Infant Schisms bereft  
Of Parents, whose errors be confuted,  
Enough with silence, ne'er points were thus disputed,  
Yet reason 'tis, no argument needs the Sun,  
T' disperse contracted vapours, appear, 'tis done,  
The Pulpits and the Press of late have been  
Filled with learned arguments against their sin,  
But all in vain, Divine and savoury reason  
That taught obedience, was soon made treason,  
By th' law of arms; The counsels and Synodds all  
Of former Churches gave rules to call,  
Such heretics to answer but we broke,  
Our father's rules, we gave the fatal stroke,  
To pious order, our zeal was sacrilege,  
In State, our tenures all turned villeinage,  
These Tories of the Church he quickly tames,  
Swarmed legions of furies he soon reclaims  
His holy soul abhorred to harken to,  
Fanatic dreams, he chaste the dreamers too,  
Nor is this heart without attendants fit.  
His valiant hand, and prudent head may sit,  
In th' chair of precedents, records must be  
Great George bigbellied with thy history,  
How innocently subtle haste thou wrought.  
Thy just atcheiuments, wisely hast thou caught  
Our Israel's foes, ensnares and chained them fast,  
From preying on their brethren, thou dost cast,  
Their darts in their own breasts, thus by thy hand  
Our twenty years red sea, is now dry Land.  
The Royal and the Noble blood was spilled,  
A sacrifice for sin, yet O their Guilt.  
Restless it was until inferior veins.  
Had given attendance in their Master's trains,  
Our hands besmeared with blood our hearts all filled;  
With mortal Feud; our word, Kill or be killed.  
Thus foundst thou us; readier to devour  
Then spare, Alas we'd lost all legal power,  
Lo Moses in the Gap here timely stood,  
Three Nations conquered, without stain of blood,  
This great physician stopped our bloody stream,  
And no vein pricked, hath subtly culled the Gem,  
And not defaced the shell, his valiant hand  
Still was of th' life-guard to his hearts command,  
The Danish and the Norman conquests were  
Founded in blood, great Princes to their Chair  
Have stepped on slaughtered Subjects, but records  
Yield not thy equal, yet no bloody swords  
Were e'er ta'en from such valiant cruel hands  
But rivers of blood fell: Th' world amazed stands  
At thy great acts which yet receive this Crown,  
'tis in the Kingdoms right not in thy own:  
Go on great Statesman get eternal praise,  
Thy hand, the sword; thy head shall wear the bays.  
Could thy just soul dispense with others right,  
All Nations sure would covet thee, how light  
Thy sceptre would be thought; Here's bound in thee  
Volum's of Government, in Epitomee  
Treasured all earthly thrones, what more's in art  
Thy head's the Senate-house, thou Senate art  
Now in thy journey by the Angel led  
We leave thee with thy Israelites; they're fled  
By divine hand in this great straight of time;  
And if they murmur, think, 'tis the old crime  
Bright Moses saw, to Canaan must they go  
Their father's rights and freedoms must enjoy.  
Great Deliverer speed on thy numerous fame  
Vast Pyramids support the Ensigns of thy name,  
Hast through the desert and yet timely stay  
At Sina's Mount, and there thy tribute pay  
To Heavens great seat; All finished, thou wilt find  
Heroic soul, thou hast pleased thy maker's mind,  
And pregnant fame in all age shall shall be proud  
To aggravate thy Name, no sullen cloud  
Dare to eclipse it, unless't suspected be  
Apostate England near kept such Loyalty.  
April .5. 1660 T. B.