Monumentum Regale OR A TOMB, Erected for that incomparable and Glorious Monarch, CHARLES THE FIRST, King of Great Britain, France and Ireland, etc. C. R. In select Elegies, Epitaphs, and Poems. Printed in the Year 1649. EPITAPH. BEhold the Mirror of a Prince Portrayed! The living Emblem of glorious shade. Whose Chair of State was late a Scaffold made. One, than whom never any did profess More Zeal to th' Public, and received less; Of more desert, and brought to more distress. That real lustre to our Royal Garter; That late inlarger of our City's Charter; Whose Crown the Crime that made this Monarch-Martyr! Adien Dear Prince; Death, like a loving friend Hath Crowned thy sufferings with a peaceful end, While headless we our ruin must attend. Nor can we less expect, Judgement's at hand To scourge the follies of a sinful Land▪ " What Brightman wrote we would not understand. " From th' fatal period of a Charlemagne, " Wain should a Kingdom in her Charles-wain: " But Prayers nor tears might call him back again. " Lord's should resign their Patents to the Sword, " Lurdane should equal any English Lord. O brave Platonic Level! Martial Board! CHRONOSTICHON Decollationis CAROLI Regis, etc. tricessimo die Januarii, secunda hora Pomeridiana, Anno Dom. MDCXLVIII. Ter Deno jani Labens ReX SoLe CaDente CaroLVs eXVtVs SoLIo SCeptroqVe SeCVre. CHARLES!— ah forbear, forbear! lest Mortals prise His name too dearly; and Idolatrize. His Name! Our Loss! Thrice cursed and forlorn Be that Black Night, which ushered in this Morn. CHARLES our Dread-Soveraign!— hold! lest Outlawed Sense Bribe, and seduce tame Reason to dispense With those Celestial Powers; and distrust Heaven can Behold such Treason, and prove Just. CHARLES our Dread-Sveraign's murdered!— Tremble! and View what Convulsions Shoulder-shake this Land, Court, City, Country, nay three Kingdoms run To their last stage, and Set with Him their Sun. CHARLES our Dread-Soveraign's murdered at His Gate! Fell Fiends! dire Hydra's of a Stiff-neck't-State! Strange Body-Politick! whose Members spread, And, Monsterlike, swell bigger than their HEAD. CHARLES of Great Britain! He! who was the known King of three Realms, lies murdered in his Own. He! He! who lived, and Faith's Defender stood, Dieed here to re-Baptize it in His Blood. No more, no more. Fame's Trump shall Echo all The Rest in dreadful Thunder. Such a Fall Great Christendomene're Patterned; and 'twas strange Earth's Centre reeled not as this dismal Change. The Blow struck Britain blind, each well-set Limb By Dislocation was lopped off in HIM. And though She yet lives, She lives but to condole Three Bleeding Bodies left without a Soul. RELIGION put's on Black. Sad LOYALTY Bulshe's and Mourn's to see bright-Majesty Butchered by such Assassinates; nay both 'Gainst GOD, 'gainst LAW, ALLEGIANCE, and their OATH. Farewell sad Isle! Farewell! Thy fatal Glory Is Summed, Cast up, and Cancelled in this Story. AN ELEGY On The Meekest of Men, The most glorious of Princes, The most Constant of Martyrs, CHARLES the I. etc. Most cruel Men, CAn you a winged souls swift flight restrain, and lure her to her widowed home again? Or bound the wander of the floating blood? And to his purple channel charm his flood? Can you a gasping hearts fallen heat repair, And into breath coin the unfashioned air? Can you unweave the Nerves, then twist their thread And to th'unravelled corpse refit the head? Who can do less than this, should fear to kill: Best pulling down is by a Builder still. But cool debates you can embrace no more Than Caesar's Lion, who his Teacher tore. From meaner gore, and Subjects courser flood, Your curious Treason thirsts your Prince's blood: And fleshed in under-slaughter, boldly brings Raised appetite to diet on your Kings. No Epicure like thriving Murder's found: Her Stream tastes foul, unless her Spring be crowned. But though who Thrones and Majesty betray, As largest guilt, so reap the largest prey, And sage projecting Hell her snares might fear, But that she bids, high pay, and damns some dear: Yet few have levelled at a Prince's fall, But such whose claim did for succession call: Whose bordering title tired to be kept down, Cast trains less for his ruin, than his Crown. But here the desperate Rebel strikes at sway, Not for who shall succeed, but that none may: Deeming the crimelesse daring, of less height To ravish Sceptres, then to break them quite: As if an ampler beam of power were hurled To hatch a Chaos, then create a world. No concealment leads this murder in; That were too much the Modesty of sin, No closet-ambush, unsuspected pill, No mingled cup, no secret drug must kill, Success hath raised them up to opner crimes, Rolfe was an Instrument for doubtful times. A mock Tribunals built, a pageant Court, Which but for matchless crimes, might pass for sport, So frail and lawless; Faith hath no defence To credit, 'tis at all but insolence. No fond Romance, no famed Arcadia treats, Of such Eutopian, frantic Judgement Seats: At whose dire black decrees, we wondering stand, As some pale Ghosts dim taper, and cold hand Did waftus through the shades, until he brings Where Fairy Traitor's murder airy Kings: While slumbering we invoke the morning's light; To chase the Legend-vision from our sight. High in this dream, in this fantastic Bench, Bold apparition Bradshaw doth entrench. One whom the genuine Bar did seldom see, Whose obscure tongue scarce boasts a seven years Fee. Whose Lungs are all his Law, whose pleading noise And silence, dearer then discreeter voice. Whose conscience wears a face for every dress; Religion justifies the Savages. Factioned, and byased, for who gives most fair, Chameleon through, only not hired with Air. Whose insolence no presence can relax, Whose carriage wounds his King worse than the Axe. This needy Orator, now richer dressed, And higher placed, is Image still at best: Who though from hell, he his glib dictates hold, As Satan talked i'th' Idols tongues of old; Yet the close drift of this bright pomp and shrine, Is nor the Devil, nor He, but worse design. The Ephesian workmen great Diana made, Not for Diana's sake, but their own trade. Our Sovereign's sighs, the People's louder groan Is not black Incense burnt to Bell alone; But strew their Altars round, and we shall meet An undistinguished rapines numerous feet. The Bloody Rebels conscious of their slain, Like the first murderer, the guilty Cain. Though just Remorse looks nobler than offence, Prefer continuance to penitence. Weigh crimes 'gainst mercies, down the Balance bear, Much with their sins, but most with their despair. Their own pale fears arm to this desperate thrust, their King can pardon, but they cannot trust. The haughty Tigers dare the Lion's spite, And force bold inroads through their Sovereign's right; But if retireing from encroaching pride, They make their proper confines bound their tide: A faithful truce is struck, peace shuts in wars, And fresh assurance springs even from their jars; One equal desert shrowds their pastime still, And each intrust their slumbers to one hill. But jealous guilt, nor fence, nor safety hath: A Rebel is a Tiger without faith. But though stung conscience press to be secure, And would be wary when she can't be sure; Yet oft she most encounters what she flies, And all her ruin in her Refuge lies. For had their Foes conspired, and framed a pit. Whose train, whose deepest artifice should hit: They none so speeding, none so fleet could bring, As what themselves have shaped, their slaughtered King. By this, they naked lie to weakest eyes, And quit their ablest guard, their long disguise; Whose strength like men's in ambush, still hath been Not from their strength, but cause their strength's unseen. Whom shall they combat now in's own defence, And whom bring home only by driving hence? Whom shall they disobey to serve his will? Whom shall their Canon court, and humbly kill? Whose omnipresence space shall reconcile; Be here, and yet be hence a hundred mile? Whose doubtful seal shall, while it is betwain, And burnt from phoenix cinders bud again? They, whose thick vows, exalted hearts and eyes, High as the skies, and stable as the skies; Who know their lives are frail, short recompense, And cheap oblation weighed with conscience: Will now no longer gorge their venomous pills, Nor by elusions steer enlightened wills; Nor prise the shame of finding former sin At the sad rate of wading farther in. But haste returns as vigorous as mistake, And hate the ghastly dream the more they wake: No longer brook a Tyler or a Cade, Those Dunghill Tyrants whom themselves have made: Which like dire comets mounted in the air, Rain plagues on earth, whose vapours placed them there. They find this hot impatience 'gainst the throne, Is by its embers but to light their own. Like him, who raised his Gods adored head, To make his own blaspheme it in the stead. Hence their Agreement, chains and shackles throws As not what we Agree, but they impose; Gild the peircing'st flames with specious smoke, Glozing in our consent, which is their yoke. Were their dark arts soft as their glistering shows, Did their thronged chapplets scatter nought but Rose: Did they a Freedom give, was ours before, Which the King's slaughter were but to restore, Yet the Acceptance ought to prove ours still, And none obtrude a bliss against our will: 'Tis not a Liberty we needs must have, And he is only free, who may be slave. Nay, were't our keen request, and eager cry, It might so fall, 'twere nobler to deny; Their bounty, us might to our ruin arm, And better not bestow, then give to harm: Who weapons one, who seeks himself to kill, Bestows a murder, and a Liberal iii. And such is theirs, and worse, for they afford. Not only means to kill, but prompt the Sword. men's frenzy bated now, and could endure To hear of physic, though 'twere far from cure; When cruel they break in, and crying, save, Entomb the Nation in their Sovereign's grave. The Heathen Brutus did at murder stay, Who, though he durst eject, he durst not slay: His bare deposing too, no shelter brings, But that it fastened on the worst of Kings: The Public curse had blasted all his praise, Had his attempt been up ere Tarquin's days. Where shall they build their plea, who at once do Destroy the best of Men, and Princes too? Whose rooted Thrones fair growth did less improve From clear unenvied claim, than Subjects love, Whose boundless worth, and rate had given Him sway, Though His descent and title were away. And now, since virtue vice doth best descry, As strait shows straightness and obliquity; His prudent sway, her beauty best affords, Drawn out, and shadowed by usurping Lords. Whose early first decree so loathed hath stood, By framers guilt, and injured strafford's Blood. Who suppled Laws, and gauged them to their wills, Not to support their Rights, but strengthen Ills. No resolves steady, no vote tumult strong, But ratified, or cancelled by th' next throng: Such floating levitieses their coin disgraced, Till cheap irreverence the mint defaced. Whence poorly conscious of their ticklish sway, They sweat to husband and improve their day; Working to steer their low designs about, Ere the next Faction shake their title out: They lease their interest, each suffrage rend, As the two Houses were their Tenement: Who chaffers best, buys mercenary throats, Reaps plenteous harvest in the next days votes: They shear the People, bear their fleece away, Not as their Orphan-wards, but happier prey; Place and preferments pass their market-curse, Not to the worthiest men, but strongest purse Succeed by families, relations scale, Make Patriots not our choice, but their Entail Desert, or hold their stations with the Tide: Ruin, or ruined, as Factions side. Near acting right, now suffering this alone, Their Usurpation fell with CHARLES His Throne. Who Antidote to all the ills of these, And all their poisons strict Antipodes, Who when his crowns soared highest, did even then Remember still he was a King of men, Made their advantage to compass to his own, And ranked their freedom equal with his throne. Ne'er checked their Liberty till't licence stood, Nor asked their goods, but for their greater good. Who i'th'loud prejudice five Members sin, (Which hung Reforming out, but Ruin in) Armed with the Guards of unoffended State, Like one that would not crush it, but debate: Like Titus tamely wished confederates leave, Ask (bate his Empire) and they should receive, Which fertile showers of grace so thick expressed, They fell too weighty on their narrowed breast: And as the clamorous channels shallow womb Would force the bounteous Sea her streams resume And from his banks doth foul contractions take, And for a Chrystal-flood repays a Lake: So their unsound receipt his bounty slew, Returned in Poison, what He shed in Dew. Nor did a happier arm His gifts dispense, Which private threw but vast munificence: When hands Himself had raised would reach Him down, And nerves His Alms had strengthened, shake His Crown. The Vultur's Rapine doth at Bounty stand; Who though she gorge the prey, she spares the hand, The Giant Elephant obeys for bread; And can forgo his rage where he is fed. Where shall unthankful men for place intrude? Nor Air nor Desert shrowds Ingratitude. Yet as the equal Sun o'er all doth tend, Though some use light only to see t'offend: And both the barren Bramble and the Flower Partake the juice o'th'undistinguisht shower: Because the teeming Clouds descending flood Designs the many only, not the good: So His impartial bounty Blessings threw, Nor did the Recompense, but Gift pursue. His Temperance might an Anchorite, rigour tell▪ And make the Palace Standard to the Cell. Not that its Laws from the thin board proceed, Where to abstain is Avarice or Nèed; Or that the coarseness of the Cates might please, Like the great Consul caught a parching pease, But from the strict chastising Plenties wings, And the severest use of highest things. His Table grasped the seas, the earth, the air. Yet ne'er His surfeit was, nor others snare. His Bowels massacred none, nor did in enrage, Till Subjects blood the Prince's wine assuage. No Orphans swum about his riotous cup, Like his who killed, but first drank Clitus up, Unbattered Chastity his reins and law, Firm 'gainst the lustre of all threating thaw, Which though it want the checks of mean restraint, Where charge chills sin, and makes the goatish faint; Where Continence is dread lest Vice succeed, And trembles at the issue, not the deed: Nay thought seem fortfyed with plea, and they Who sin with Him, might seem but to obey, At least the guilt might large alleys endure, Since few deny where Sceptres do allure: Or stand the vigour of a storm or rape, Where He was King, as by descent, so shape: For He their title had to back his own, Who to the goodly feature give the throne. Yet all was frail to Him, and soon suppressed, Who set His Sceptre first o'er his own breast: And that His Crowns be in full square combined, He made His fourth Dominion be His mind. Not like that Romans ch●st, but timorous care, Where to be chaste, was not to see the fair: Who found his breast not proof against the flames, But to escape, did bid remove the Dames. But as firme-sighted Eagles range the skies, And eye the Sun when strongest lustre flies; So His keen managed view severely sees, Not frailty to corrupt, but Judge the piece. And could i'th' dazzling round securely stay, To bless the potter, not abuse the clay. Wise justice, such as mercy might dispense, To spare the Men, but punish the offence. Not to endanger Law, but temper doom, To kill despair, and yet make none presume. And here to match the births of strictest wills. Where naked virtues are but glistering ills, He lays His balance at the Temple gates, The Sanctuary Shekles are His weights. He quarter's all His day with constant prayers, No business shall dispense, no pleasure dares. Limnes Copies to His Court: doth rain and hold By Constancy the careless, Zeal the cold. His intent thoughts do their perplexed decry, His bend knees, stiff, His fixed, the wand'ring eye. Humble, the arrogant; His vigorous, dead; His awe, irreverence; affiance, dread: Makes all His practice dictate this alone, They had two Kings t'obey, Himself had one. But Calm and Sunshine, undistracted ease, Yield but the Trophies of well-ordered peace; But He was furnished through, and had a stock, As for Fates fawn and courtship, so their shock. And though some c●ses make the task as great To manage temper, as to master heat, Though a sound prudence may deserve as well, To wave assaults, as courage to repel; Yet, here the generous lustre justly springs, Less from the Sceptre, than the Sufferings. For as the rage of these tempestuous times Was His Misfortune only, not His crimes, (' Less Socrates' the Lightnings blame must bear, Because it Lightened when he took the Air: Or ' less the drought lies still at th' Christians gate, 'Cause Drought and Christians were contemporate) So His harsh draught had some ingredients mixed, Which ne'er on Prince or Man till now were fixed. No Agony so tempered, no such Cup, Unless when God helped Man to drink it up. Where though the sufferings, rival none endure, 'Cause one so sound received so sharp a cure; Yet we may safely give Persuasion this, Those Jews then these less knew they did amiss. His first affliction from rude Tumults came, From them the fuel, but elsewhere the flame, Their trunk and boughs build the instructed pile, But worse men light and fan the flames the while. That waves and winds should mix united stocks To bruise, and threaten Ships with shelves & rocks, Provokes our wonder less than moves our grief, Because they want the sense of our relief. Nay, were their rage, design, and shipwrecks, spleen, Yet there might clear pretence, and plea be seen, Since our encroachments they but pay with spite, And do but check usurpers of their right: For words we to commerce and traffic melt, By them is inroad and invasion felt. But should this sea, these winds conduct their threats, To th' awful palace, where great Neptune sets, Should their swelled surge make his bend Trident groan, And dash their foaming billows 'gainst his Throne: Then might they pattern us, than we might see, That winds and waves at least are wild as we. Nor was our frenzy, fit, our uproars, blasts, Or cloud that outs not light, but overcasts; But, like that fatal inauspicious day, When all the less and larger birds of prey, Conspired to force the Eagle from her throne, Because her eyes were clearer than their own: When the vast air seemed to th' thronged muster scant And with oppressing load the Element pant. The injured Eagle girt in this distress, When reason nothing could, and force could less, She arms her active plumes with swiftest spring, Darts through their ranks, & saves herself by wing. But Eagles they are well when freed from rape, And need no reparation but th' escape: Review the sun with undishonourd eye, And build again their towering nests as high. But Princes scape not, though they are not slain. They may the wound, but cannot fly the stain. Yet hath our mischief father arts, and can Distress Him both at once, as King and Man. Our sharp alarms forbidden his shortest stay, He may advise for gone, but not which way. We set His mazed resolves at gaze, and start, Else 'twere not to drive hence, but bid Departed. Else had our fury lessened of its spite, W' had forc▪ d Him to a progress, not a flight. But like a pilot huddled up i'th' dark, Himself surprised, and His unfurnish't bark, Whom unexpected tempests do constrain, And from His harbour drive into the main: No tackle tied, no anchor weather proof, But waves invade below, and winds aloof; Distract and tossed, not bound for any road, Nor can return, nor can hold out abroad. Such was His mixed distress; how, what, or where, Uncertain all, but dangers certain were. By this self-pregnant sin improves to th' full. Affront at London, Treason grows at Hull: A bold repulse succeeds perplexed abode, Despised at home, thrives to refused abroad: Place tutors Place, on City's Cities call, He may not here be safe, not there at all. When lo the spreading mischief not content To force up breaches in one element, Invades His Navy, doth insulting stand O'er the joint Trophies both of Sea and Land. To gild this rapine for the vulgar eyes, They chase Him through all His capacities; Shift lights and distances, until they see Another self in Him, which is not Herald Vex stills, and Crucibles, the furnace ply, To sift and drain a Chemic Majesty. At last their careful sweats auspicious how'r, Drops Him apart, distinguished from His power. But the afflicted quill, whose penance lies Through all His thorns, must stories martyr rise: What hardy plume dares register His cares? When foreign close, to sour His home affairs; When Ireland charitable fame untells, Adopts the worst of ven'mous beasts; Rebels. When Edenburg out-villained Carthage hath, And Scotch more slippery proves then Punic Faith, When they can trade their King, and beat a price For's Blood, to ingrain their crimson Avarice. Whilst we un-king His Fame, dethrone's repute Word our artillery, and libels shoot. Shift His restraints, and bound him with new hedge, Not for enlargement, but fresh pawn and pledge To now prevailing Gaol; snare Him with Shapes Of nearer ills, to prompt him to escapes. So the close practised foulers treacherous gin, Already seized of prey, the lost bird in; Yet hath attendant dogs, whose disciplined throat, And busy roaving aid their threatening note; Till th' feathered prisoner scared with mixed mishap, Unskilled i'th' guile of the industrious trap, Struggles and flings with unsuccessful coil, Till motion weaves inevitable toil. When varied bondages some beams afford, To chequer plots, dissembling some accord; Which though smooth-phrased rough sense doth still control THE un-crown his head, or else un-king His soul. When all of Menial trust, whose cares expense Hearty with long experienced confidence, Paid diligent homage to his justest will, Must see their desolate ranks, and courses fill By rough unpractised homespun Colonies Of Russet Courtiers, and instructed spies, Whose treacherous attendance, and sly drift, Makes all their servi●e but Officious shrift. When the pure Altars sacred sons must flee His reverend approach, when single He Must both His Priest, and Congregation stand, Or some rash Korahs' foul unhallowed hand Corrupt His virgin gums, and raise a smoke, Not to appease His deity, but choke. When the revolted Cassocks plum their darts, With crooked Sophistry's perverted arts: To reason down His faith with studied power, And drown His soul in that confederate shower. To heighten these, when some, whose nobler name In His declining Banner arms their fame; Whom yet ignoble envy bend awry, Or Faint Devotion, cooled to Indifferency, Conspired the Church's battery; His weights, Took balance from her cause, not from their hates; He poised thin calumny, by ponderous good; Her sole, and yet unconquered champion stood. When warmer onsets, like the searching ploughs, More fertile wounds on natures yielding brows: Were not the scar, but tillage of his heart, Cares thriving husbandry, and fruitful smart, Where what was sown a Cross, sprung upon a sheaf, And Virtue, Harvest, though the Furrow grief. His glorious own Record gave this presage, Which next to hallowed writ, and sacred page, Shall busy pious wonder, and abide To Christian pilgrimage the second guide: Which reconciles (till now) the eternal hates 'Twixt simple piety, and fraudulent States. Shows how all Michiavell in Solomon lies, And Cunning makes men wilily, but not wise. Bottomes a stable Throne, whose secure chance Shall steady sit, or in her fall advance. When ghastly Death's astonishing Arrest In all her terrors, and grim wardrobe dressed, From a green Treaty nipped ere fully blown, And soft amusements of a restored throne, He meets with cheerful combat, and armed breath, A vigorous Resignation, not a Death. When His unlimited forgiveness flies High as His Blood's shrill voice, and towering cries, Not spun in scanty half denying prayers, But Legacy obliging to His Heirs. CAROLI 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. I Come, but come with trembling, lest I prove Th' unequal Greece of Semele and Jove. As She was too obscure, and He too bright, My Theams too heavy, and my Pen too light. And whilst, like Midas, I presume to sit In wise Apollo's Chair, without HIS wit, Is it not just t'expect, that He, who dares Higher than Midas, should wear longer Ears? May I not fear Patroclus Fate, and feel The dangerous honour of Achilles' steel? Just like that busy Elf, whose venturous Pride Found none but Titan Titan's Coach could guide? Why; he'll not stand in Verse. Can I enclose Him, whom the greatest Liberty of Prose Wants room to hold? And whose unwieldy Name Is big enough to fill the Trump of Fame? An Individual species? like the Sun, At once a Multitude, and yet but One? One of such vast Importance, that He fell The Festival of Heaven, and England's Hell? One, who for Eminence was these two things, * De Catone vetus dictum, Ultimus Romanorum, Primus Hominum. The last of Christians, and the first of Kings? One so diffusive, that he lived to all, And One that died the whole world's Funeral? For Charles being thus dismounted, and the Swain High shooed Boötes leapt into the Wain, Is not old Beldame Nature truly said T'advance her Heels, and stand upon her Head? Does not the Judge, and Law too for a need, The Stirrup hold, whilst Treason mounts the Steed? Is not God's Word, and's Providence besides Used as a Laquy, whilst th' white Devil rides! Sure all things thus into Confusion hurled Make, though an universe, yet not a World. And so our Sovereign's, like our Saviour's Passion, Becomes a kind of Doomsday to the Nation. If Dead men did not walk, 'twould be admired (The Breath of all our Nostrils thus expired) What it is that gives us motion. And can I, Who want myself, writ Him an Elegy? Though Virgil turned Evangelist, and wrote, Not from his Tripod, but God's Altar taught; Though all the Poets of the Age should sit In Inquest of Invention, and club wit, To make words Epigrams; should they combine To crowd whole stock of Fancy in each line; Sell the Fee-simple to advance one sum, (As Eglis spoke but once, and then lived dumb) 'Twere all as inarticulate, and weak, As when those men make signs, that cannot speak. But where the Theme confounds us, * 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. Longin. 'tis a sort Of glorious Merit, proudly to fall short. Despair sometimes gives courage; any one May lisp him out, who can be spoke by none; None but a King; No King, unless He be As Wise, as Just, as Good, as Great as Herald When Late Posterity shall run t'advise With Times impartial Register, how Wise This Great-one was, they'll find it there enrolled That He was ne'er in's Nonage, but born old. View him whilst Prince of Wales, and it appears His wisdom did so antedate his years. That He was Full i'th' Bud, and's Soul divine, Nestor, might be Great Grandfather to thine. View him again, where he so ripe was grown, As not to rise, but drop into a Throne. How did those rays of Majesty, which were Scattered in other Kings, concentre here? As if he'd got King Sapours sphere, and proved How each Intelligence his Orb had moved: Wise Charles, like them, sat steering at two Helms, King of himself, but Father of his Realms: And just as if old Trismegistus Cup Had by his thirsty Soul been all drunk up, His understanding did begirt this All, As 'twere Ecliptic or Meridional. Suppose a Diet of all Christian Kings And Bishops too, convened to weigh the things Of Church and State: Nay add Inferior men, Those of the Sword, the pencil, and the pen. From th' Sceptre to the Sheephook, Charles in all Must have been Umpire Ecumenical. He lived a Perpendicular; The Thread His Wisdom was; Humility the Lead, By which he measured Men and Things; took aim At actions crooked, and at actions plain. He and all from him into Cubes did fall, And yet as perfect as the Circle, all. 'Twas He took Nature's Breadth, & Depth, and Height, Knew the just difference 'twixt Wrong, and Right. He saw the points of things, could justly hit, What must be done, what may; what's just, what fit. As if, like Moses he had had resort Unto God's Council, ere he was of's Court. Hence his Religion was his choice, not Fate, Ruled by God's Word, not Interest of State. Others may thank their stars, He his inquest, Who, sounding all sides, anchored in the best. His Crown contained a Mitre; He did twist Moses and Aaron, King and Casuist. When the Mahometan or Pope shall look On his Soul's best Interpreter, his Book; His Book, his Life, his Death, will henceforth be The Church of England's best Apology. Thus Dove and Serpent kissed, as if they meant To render him as wise, so innocent. His own good Genius knew not, whether were His Heart more single, or his Head more clear. Virtue was his Prerogative; and thus Charles ruled the King, before the King ruled Us. He knew that to command, his only way Was first to teach his Passions to obey. And his incessant waiting on God's Throne Gave him such meek reflections on his own, That, being forced to censure, he expressed A Judge's Office with a Mother's breast. And when some sturdy violence began T'unsheath his sword, unwilling to be drawn He but destroyed (and so soft mercy can) The malefactor, to preserve the Man. Even Hell's blind Journeymen, those Sons of Night Who look on scarlet murder, and think't white, Unwillingly confessed, The only thing Which made him guilty was, That He was King. He was Incarnate Justice, and 'tis said Astraea lived in him, yet died a Maid. We want an Emblem for him: Phoebus must Stand still in Libra, to speak Charles the Just. And yet though he were such, that nothing less Then Virtue's mean stretched to a just Excess Flew from his Soul; He, like the Sun, was known To see all excellence, except his own. His Modesty was such, that All which He ‛ E'er spoke or thought os' self, was Calumny; But yet so mixed with state, that one might see It made him not less Kingly, but more free. He was not like those Princes, hot ' express A learned surfeit, a sublime excess, Send to dispeople all the Sea of Fish. Depopulate the Air to make one dish, (Such skilfull' luxuries, as only serve To make their minds more plentifully starve) Whatever Dainties filled his Board by chance, His only constant Dish was a Evagr. l. 1. c. 21. de Monachis quibusdam, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. Temperance. His Virtue did so limit him, his Court Implied his Cloister; and his very sport Was self-denial. Nay, though he were seen So robed in purple, and so matched t' a Queen, As made him glitter like a Noonday Sun, Yet still his Soul wore sackcloth, and lived Nun. b Evagr. l. 1. c. 13 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. Simeon the Stylite in his Pillar penned Might live more strict, but not more innocent. So wise, so just, so good, so great and all, What is't could set him higher, but his fall? When he caught up by a Celestial Train Began his second, and more solid Reign. How to that Heaven did this Pilot steer Twixt th' Independent, and the Presbyter, Placed in the confines of two shipwrecks? thus The Greeks are seated 'twixt the Turks and Us. Whom did By zantium free, Rome would condemn; And freed from Rome, they are enslaved by them. So placed betwixt a Precipice and Wolf, There the Aegaean, here the Venice gulf, What with the rising and the setting Sun, By these theyare hated, and by those undone. Thus virtues hemmed with vices, and though either Solicits her consent, she yields to neither. Nay thus our Saviour, to enhance his grief, Was hung betwixt a Murderer, and a Thief. Now Charles as King, and as a good King too Being Christ's adopted self, was both to do And suffer like him; both to live and die So much more humble, as he was more high Than his own Subjects. He was thus to tread In the same footsteps, and submit his Head To the same thorns: when spit upon, and beat, To make his Conscience serve for his retreat, And overcome by suffering: To take up His Saviour's Cross, and pledge him in his Cup. Since than our Sovereign, by just account, Lived o'er our Saviour's Sermon in the Mount, And did all Christian Precepts so reduce, That's Life the Doctrine was, his Death the Use; Posterity will say, he should have died No other Death, then by being Crucifi'd. And their renownedst Epocha will be Great Charles his Death, next Christ's Nativity. Thus Treason's grown most Orthodox; who since They said they'd [make him the most glorious Prince In all the Christian World] 'tis plain, this way They only promised, what they meant to pay. For now (besides that beatisick Vision Where all desire is lost into fruition) The stones, they hurled at him, with intent To crush his fame, have proved his monument. Their Libels his best Obeliske; To have A fit Mausóle, were to want a Grave; His Scaffold, like mount Tabor, will in story Become the proudest Theatre of Glory, Next to the blessed Cross: and thus 'tis sense, T'affirm him murdered in his own Defence. For though all Hell's Artillery and skill Combined together to besiege his Will; And when their malice could not bringed about To hurt God's Image, they razed Adam's out, (Like men repulsed, whose Choler think's it witty To burn the Suburbs, when they can't the City) Howe'er they stormed his walls, and drained his blood, Which moted round his Soul; yet still he stood Defender of the Faith, (and that which He Found sweeter than revenge) his Charity. This then the utmost was their rage could do, [It showed him King of his afflictions too.] Untempted Virtue is but coldly good, (As she's scarce chaste, that's so but in cold blood) To scorn base Quarter is the best escape, (As Lucrece died the chaster for her rape) These two did Charles his Virtue most befriend, His glorious hardships first, and then his end. Death we forgive thee, and thy Bourreaux too, Since what did seem thy rape, proves but his due. For how could he be said to fall too soon, Whose green was mellow, & whose dawn was noon? Since Charles was only by thy courteous knife Redeemed from this great injury of life To one so lasting, that 'tis truly said Not He, but his mortality is dead— To weep his Death's the treason of our eyes; Our Sun did only set, that he might rise. But we do mock, not cheat our grief, and sit Only at best t' upbraid ourselves in wit, And want him learnedly: such colours do Disguise disasters, not delude them too. For though, I must confess, a Poet can Fancy things better than another man, He can but fancy'um; and all his pains Is but to fill his belly with his brains. He may both Petrified and famished sit, That wears his thoughts, and only dine's on wit. Were I a Polypus, and could go on To be those very things I think upon, I would not then complain: but since I know To call things thus, is not to make them so, Great Charles is slain: and say we what we will, Yet we shall find, judgements are judgements still. For though 'tis true, that his now-immense So ● Doth hold commensuration with each Pole; Though he doth shine a Star more fixed and bright Then where the year makes but one day and night; And, lest he fill the Zodiac, doth appear Not in the Eighth, but Empyraean Sphere; Yet we his Rise may our Descension call, As Libra's mounting is poor Aries fall. He was the only Moses that could stand Betwixt the sins and judgements of the Land. And what can we expect, our Lot being gone, But that a Hell from Heaven should tumble down On our more sinful Sodom? (unless we Are damned yet worse, to an impunity.) King's are Gods once removed. It hence appears No Court but heavens can try them by their Peers. So that for Charles the good to have been tried And cast by mortal Votes, was Deicide. No Sin, except the first, hath ever passed So black as this; no Judgement, but the last. How does our Delos, which so lately stood Unmoved, lie floating in her Pilots blood? And can we hope to Anchor, who discern Nought but the tempest ruling at the stern; Whilst Pluto's Rival, with his Saints by's side, Drawn by the Spirit of avarice and pride, Being fairly placed in the Chair of scorn Sits brewing Tears for Infants yet unborn? Vast stocks of misery, which his Guardian-rage Does husband for them till they come to age? When future times shall look what Plagues befell. Egypt and us, by way of Parallel, They'll find at once▪ presented to their view The Frogs and Lice, and Independents too. Only this signal difference will be known 'Twixt those Egyptian judgements and our own, Those were God's Armies; but th' effect doth tell That these our Vermin are the Host of Hell. Pausanias and Herostratus will look Like Pygmy-Sinners writ in Time's black-book. The Spanish Fleet, and Powder-plot will lack Their usual mentions in our Almanac. — Nay, which is more, c Socrat. l. 7. c. 10. hoc Alarichi responsum recitat. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 Alaricus his name Will scarce be legible ' th' leaves of fame, When Cromwell shall be read. Nature was ne'er So blessedly reformed, since Lucifer. O for a Jeremy to lament our woe! From whom such tragic Rhetoric might flow, As would become our misery, and dress Our sorrows with a dreadful gaudiness! For next those hover judgements, which the fall Of One so great, so good, makes Vertical. (And rushing down, may only be withstood. If Charles his prayers cry louder than his blood) I say next that, It is our second Cross We can't grieve worthy of so great a Loss. To weep upon this subject, and weep sense, Requires we should be born ten Ages hence. The greater are the heights an Artist's hand Designs to take, the farther he must stand. And as when Sol's in's Zenith, He implies His dazzling glory best, that shuts his eyes, So, where the Theme's ineffable, the way To speak it is, d Herodor. l. 3. Psammetichus ad Cambysem, cùm Amicorum vicem lacrymis lugeret, suam verò silentio, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 etc. Not to know what to say. A DEEP GROAN, FETCHED At the Funeral of that incomparable and Glorious Monarch, CHARLES * THE FIRST, King of Great Britain, France and Ireland, etc. TO speak our Griefs at full over thy Tomb (Great Soul) we should be Thunderstruck and dumb; The trivial Offerings of our bubbling eyes Are but fair Libels at such Obsequies. When Grief bleeds inward, not to sense, 'tis deep; lost so much, that 'twere a sin to weep. The wretched Bankrupt counts not up his sums, When his inevitable▪ ruin comes: Our loss is finite when we can compute; But that strike speechless, which is past recruit. weare sunk to sense; and on the Ruin gaze, As on a curled Comets fiery blaze: And Earthquakes fright us, when the teeming earth Rends open her bowels for a fatal birth; As Inundations seize our trembling eyes; Whose rolling billows over Kingdoms rise. Alas! our Ruins are cast up, and sped In that black Totall— Charles is Murdered. Rebellious Giant hands have broke that Pole, On which our Orb did long in Glory roll. That Roman Monsters wish in act we see, Three Kingdoms necks have felt the Axe in Thee, The Butchery is such, as when by Cain, The fourth Division of the world was slain▪ The mangled Church is on the shambles loyed, Her Massacre is on thy Block displayed, Thine is thy people's epidemic Tomb, Thy Sacrifice a numerous Hecatomb. The Powder-mine's now fi●'d; we were not freed, But respited by Traitors thus to bleed. Novembers' plots are brewed and broached in worse, And January now completes the Curse. Our Lives, Estates, Laws, and Religion, All Lie crushed, and gashing in this dismal fall. Accursed day that blotted'st out our Light! May'st thou be ever muffled up in Night. At thy return may sables hang the sky; And tears, not beams, distil from Heaven's Eye. Cursed be that smile that guilds a Face on thee, The Mother of prodigious Villainy. Let not a breath be wofted, but in moans; And all our words be but articulate groans. May all thy Rubric be this dismal Brand; Now comes the miscreant Doomsday of the Land. Good-Friday wretchedly transcribed; and such As Horror brings alike, though not so much. May Dread still fill thy minutes, and we sit Frighted to think, what others durst commmit. A Fact that copies Angels when they fell, And justly might create another Hell. Above the scale of Crimes; Treason sublimed, That cannot by a parallel be rhymed. Raviliack's was but under-graduate sin, And Goury here a Pupil Assassin. Infidel wickedness, without the Pale; Yet such as justifies the Cannibal. Riot Apochyphall of Legend breed; Above the Canon of a Jesuits Creed. Spirits of witchcraft; quintessential guilt; Hell's Pyramid; another Babel built. Monstrous in bulk; above our Fancies span; A Behemoth; a Crime Leviathan. So desperately damnable, that here Even Wild smells Treason, and will not appear. That Murdering-peece of the new Tyrant-State, By whomed hath Shot black Destinies of late; He that belched forth the Loyal Burleighs doom, Recoils at this so dreadful Martyrdom. What depth of Terror lies in that Offence, That thus can grind a seared Conscience? Hellish Complotment! which a League renews, Less with the men, than th' actions of the Jews. Such was their Bedlane Rabble, and the Cry Of Justice now, 'mongst them was Crucify: pilate's Consent is Bradshawes' Sentence here; The Judgement hall's removed to Westminster. Hail to the Reeden sceptre the Head, and knee Act o'er again that Cursed Pageantry. The Caitiff crew in solemn pomp guard on Mocked Majesty as not to th' Block, but Throne, The Belch agrees of those envenomed Lies; There a Blasphemer, here a Murderer dies. If that go first in horror, this comes next, A pregnant Comment on that ghastly Text. The heavens ne'er saw, but in that Tragic hour, Slaughtered so great an Innocence, and Power. Bloodthirsty Tigers! could no stream fuffise T'allay that Hell within your Breasts but this? Must you needs swill in Cleopatra's Cup, And drink the price of Kingdoms in a sup? Cisterns of Loyalty have deeply bled, And now damned the Royal Fountain Head. Cruel Phlebotomy! at once to drain The Median, and the rich Basilick vein: The tinctures great that popular murder brings, 'Tis scarlet deep, that's died in blood of Kings. But what could Israel find no other way To their wished Canaan then through the Red Sea? Must God have here his deading Fire and Cloud, And he be th' Guide to this outrageous Crowd? Shall the black Conclave counterfeit his hand, And superscribe their Gild, Divine Command? Doth th'ugly Fiend usurp a Saintlike grace? And Holywater wash the Devil's face! Shall Dagons' Temple the mocked Ark enclose? Can Esau's hands agree with Jacob's voice? Must Molech's Fire now on the Altar burn? And Abel's blood to Expiation turn? Is Righteousness so lewd a Bawd? and can The Bibles Cover serve the Alcoran? Thus when Hel's meant, Religion's bid to shine As Faux his Lantern lights him to his Mine. Here, here is sins non ultra, when one Lie Kills this, and stabs at Majesty. And though his sleepy Arm suspend the scourge, Nor doth loud Blood in winged Vengeance urge, Though the soft hours a while in pleasures fly, And conquering Treason sing her Lullaby. The guilt at length in fury he'll inroul With barbed Arrows on the traitorous Soul. Time may be when that John-a-Leyden King His Quarters to this Tomb an Offering bring, And that Be-munstered Rabble may have eyes To read the Price of their dear Butcheries▪ Yet if just Providence reprieve the Fate, The Judgement will be deeper, thoughht be late. And After times shall feel the curse enhanced, vanced. But how much 've the Sin bequeathed, ad- Mean time (most blessed shade) the Loyal Eye Shall pay her Tribute to thy Memory. Thy Aromatic Name shall feast our sense, 'Bove balmy Spiknard's fragrant Redolence, Whilst on thy loathsome Murderers shall dwell A plague-sore, blayn, and rotten ulcers smell. Wonder of Men and Goodness! stamped to be The Pride, and Flourish of all History. Thou hast undone the Annals, and engrossd All th' Hero's Glory which the Earth e'er lost. Thy Privilege 'tis only to commence. Laureate in Sufferings, and in Patience. Thy wrongs were 'bove all sweetness to digest; And yet thy sweetness conquered the sharp test: Both so immense, and infinitely vast, The first could not be reached, but by the last. Mean Massacres are but in death begun; But Thou hast Lived an Execution. Close coffined up in a deceased Life; Had Orphan-childrens, and a Widow-Wife. Friends not t'approach, or comfort, but to mourn And weep their unheard plaints, as at thy urn? Such black Attendants Colonied thy Cell, But for thy Presence, Car'sbrook had been Hell. Thus basely to Be Dungeoned, would enrage Great Bajazet beyond and Iron Cage. That deep indignity might have lain Something the lighter from a Tamerlain. But here Sidonian Slaves usurp the Reins, And lock the Scepter-bearing Arms in chains. The spewed-up surfeit of the gluttonous Land: Honoured by scorn, and clean beneath all brand. For such a Varlet-Brood to tear all down, And make a common Football of the Crown, T'insult on wounded Majesty, and broach, The blood of Honour by their vile reproach. What royal eye but thine could sober see, Bowing so low, yet bearing up so high? What an unbroken sweetness graced thy Soul, Beyond the world, proud conquest, or control? Maugre grim cruelty, thou keep'st thy hold; Thy Thorny Crown was still a Crown of Gold. Honour, Might enraged could ne'er deflower, Though others th' Use, Thou claim'dst the Right of Power. The brave Athenian thus (with lopp'd-off Hands) A stop to swelling sails by's mouth commands. New Vigour roused Thee still in thy Embroyles, Antaeus-like, recruiting from the Foils. Victorious fury could not terror bring. Enough to quell a captivated King. So did that Roman Miracle withstand Hetrurian shoals, but with a single hand. The Church in thee had still her Armies; thus The World once fought with Athanasius. The Gauntlet thus upheld; It is decreed, (No safety else for Treason) Charles must bleed. Traitor and Sovereign now inverted meet; The wealthy Olive's dragged to th' Brambles feet. The Throne is Metamorphized to the Bar, And despicable Bats the Eagle dare. Astonishment! yet still we must admire Thy courage growing with thy conflicts high. No palsied hands or trembling knees betray That Cause, on which thy souls sure bottomed lay. So free and undisturbed flew thy Breath, Not as condemned, but purchasing a death. Those early Martyrs in their funeral pile, Embraced their Flames with such a quiet smile. Brave Coeur-de-Lyon Soul, that wouldst not veil In one base syllable to beg thy Bail! How didst thou blush to live at such a price, As asked thy People for a sacrifice? Th' Althenian Prince in such a pitch of zeal, Redeemed his destined Host, and Common-weal; Who bribed his cheated Enemies to kill, And both their Conquest, and their Conqueror fell. Thus thou our Martyr died'st: but oh! we stand A Ransom for another Charles his Hand. One that will write thy Chronicle in Red, And dip his Pen in what thy Foes have bled. Shall treasonous Heads in purple Caldrons drench, And with such veins the Flames of Kingdoms quench. Then thou art least at Westminster, be Filled in the Pompous List of Majesty. Thy Mausalaeum shall in glory rise, And Tears, and wonder force from Nephew's Eyes. Till when (though black-mouthed Miscreants engrave No Epitaph, but Tyrant, on thy Grave. A Vault of Loyalty shall keep thy Name, An orient, and bright Olibian flame. On which, when times succeeding foot shall tread, Such Characters as these shall there be read. Here CHARLES the best of Monarches, butchered lies; The Glory of all Martyrologies. Bulwark of Law; the Church's Citadel; In whom they triumphed once, with whom they fell: An English Solomon, a Constantine; Pandect of Knowledge, Humane and Divine. Meek even to wonder, yet of stoutest Grace. To sweeten Majesty, but not debase. So whole made up of clemency, the Throne And Mercy-seat to Him were always one. Inviting Treason with a pardoning look, Instead of Gratitude, a stab He took. With passion loved; that when He murdered lay, Heaven conquered seemed, and Hell to bear the sway. A Prince so richly good, so blest a Reign. The world ne'er saw but one, nor can again. — Humano genere Nature benigni Nil dedit, aut tribuet moderato hoc principe major In quo vera dei, viuénsque eluxit imago: Hunc quoniam sceleratacohors violavit, acerbas Sacrilego Deus ipse ●etet de Sanguine poenas Contemptúmque sin Simulachri haudlinquet inultum. Parodia ex Buchanani Geneth: Jacobi sexti. AN ELEGY Upon KING CHARLES the First, Murdered publicly by His Subjects. WEre not my Faith buoy up by sacred blood, It might be drowned in this prodigious flood; Which reason's highest ground doth so exceed, It leaves my Soul no Anch'rage, but my Creed; Where my Faith resting on th' Original, Supports itself in this the Copies fall; So while my faith floats on that Bloody wood, My reasons cast away in this Red flood, Which ne'er o'erflows us all: Those showers passed Made but Land-flouds, which did some valleys waste; This stroke hath cut the only neck of land, Which between us, and this Red Sea did stand, That covers now our world, which cursed lies At once with two of Egypt's prodigies; overcast with darkness, and with blood o'errun, And justly, since our hearts have theirs outdone; Th' enchanter led them to a less known ill, To act his sin, than 'twas their King to kill: Which crime hath widowed our whole Nation, Voided all Forms, left but privation In Church and State; inverting every right; Brought in Hell's State, of fire without light: No wonder then, if all good eyes look red, Washing their Loyal hearts from blood so shed; The which deserves, each poor should turn an eye, To weep out, even a bloody Agony. Let nought then pass for Music, but sad cries; For Beauty, bloodless cheeks, and bloodshot eyes. All colours soil, but black; all odours have Ill sent, but Myrrh, incensed upon this Grave: It notes a Jew, not to believe us much The cleanerm ade, by a Religious touch Of this Dead Body; whom to judge to die Seems the Judaical impiety. To kill the King, the Spirit Legion paints His rage with Law, the Temple and the Saints: But the truth is, He feared, and did repine, To be cast out, and back into the Swine; And the case holds, in that the Spirit bends His Malice in this Act, against his ends: For it is like, the sooner he'll be sent Out of that body, He would still torment: Let Christians than use otherwise this blood, Detest the Act, yet turn it to their good; Thinking how like a King of death He dies; We easily may the world and death despise: Death had no sting for Him, and its sharp arm, Only of all the troop, meant Him no harm. And so He looked upon the Axe, as one Weapon yet left, to guard Him to His Throne; In His great Name, then may His Subjects cry, Death thou art swallowed up in Victory; If this our loss a comfort can admit, 'tis that his narrowed Crown was grown unfit, For For his enlarged Head, since his distress● Had greatned this, as it made that the less; His Crown was fall'n unto too low a thing For Him, who was become so great a King: So the same hands enthroned him in that Crown They had exalted from him, not pulled down. And thus God's Truth by them hath rendered more, Then ere men's falsehood promised to restore; Which, since by death alone, he could attain, Was yet exempt from weakness, and from pain; Death was enjoined by God, to touch a part, Might make His passage quick, ne'er move His heart Which even expiring, was so far from death, It seemed but to command away His breath. And thus His Soul, of this her triumph proud, Broke, like a flash of lightning, through the cloud Of flesh and blood; and from the highest line Of humane virtue, passed to be Divine: Nor is't much less His virtues to relate, Then the high glories of His present state; Since both than pass all Acts, but of belief; Silence may praise the one, the other grief. And since, upon the Diamond, no less Than Diamonds, will serve us to impress: I'll only wish, that for His Elegy, This our Josias, had a Jeremy. AN ELEGY On The best of Men, And meekest of Martyrs, CHARLES the I. etc. DOes not the Sun call in his light? and Day Like a thin Exhalation melt away? Both wrapping up their Beams in Clouds to be Themselves close Mourners at the Obsequy Of this Great Monarch? does his Royal Blood, Which th' Earth late drunk in so profuse a Flood Not shoot through her affrighted womb, & make All her Convulsed Arteries to shake So long, till all those Hinges that sustain, Like Nerves, the Frame of Nature shrink again Into a shuffled Chaos? Does the Sun Nut suck it from its liquid Mansion, And still it into vaporous Clouds? which May, Themselves in bearded Meteors display, Whose shaggy and disheveled Beams may be, The Tapers at this black Solemnity? You Seed of Marble in the Womb accursed, Rocked by some storm, or by some Tigress nursed. Fed by some Plague, which in blind Mists was hurl● To Strew Infection on the tainted World. What Fury charmed your hands to Act a Deed, Tyrants to think on would not weep but bleed? And Rocks by Instinct so risent this Fact, They'd into Springs of easy Tears be slacked. Say Sons of Tumult since you thought it good, Still to keep up the Trade and bath in Blood. Your guilty Hands, why did you then not State, Your slaughters at some cheap and common Rate? Your gluttonous and lavish Blades might have, Devoted Myriads to one public Grave. And lop'd off Thousands of some base Alloy, Whilst the same Sexton that entered their Clay. In the same Urn their Names too might entomb, But when on Him you fixed your fatal Doom. You gave a Blow to Nature, since even all, The Stock of Man now bleeds too in his Fall. Can not Religion which you oft have made, A specious Gloss your black Designs to shade. Teach you that we come nearest Heaven when we, Are suppled into Acts of Clemency. And Copy out the Deity again, When we Distil our Mercies upon Men? But why do I deplore this Ruin? He Only shook off his frail Humanity. And with such Calmness fell, he seemed to be, Even less unmoved and unconcerned than we. And forced us from our Throes of Grief to say, We only Died, He only lived that Day. So that his Tomb is now his Throne become T' invest him with the Crown of Martyrdom▪ And Death the Shade of Nature did not shroud His Soul in Mists, but its clear Beams uncloud, That who a Star in our Meridian shone In Heaven might shine a Constellation. AN EPITAPH. Within this sacred VAULT doth lie The Quintessence of MAJESTY; Which being Set, more Glorious shines, The Best of KINGS, best of Divines; Britain's shame, and Britain's glory, Mirror of Princes, complete Story Of ROYALTY; One so exact That th' Elixirs of Praise detract: These are faint Shadows; But t'endure, he's drawn to th' Life in's POURTRACTURE: If such another PIECE you'd see, Angels must Limn it out, or HE; Where Wisdom, Grace, and Eloquence, Are Centred in their Eminence. Martyred HE was to save His Laws, Religion, People, from the Jaws Of ASSASINES; whose weal HE sought, Even then when they His MURDER wrought With Horrid Plots, that HEADLESS He (And in HIM Church and State) might be. Then since Correlatives They were, Three Kingdoms in One KING lies here. A. B. FINIS.