The Loyal Remembrancer: OR, A POEM DEDICATED To the Queen's most Excellent Majesty, And may serve as a Remembrance to all Posterity.   Queenie 
Printed at London, by R. Wood, 1650. But not permitted to be public till now, 1660.   

To the Royal Majesty OF Henrietta Maria, Queen of Great Britain, France, and Ireland, etc.  
MADAM,  
IT is now high time that your Princely eyes should no longer contract Redness from Tears, but a brave fire from revenge, that you should deal with your passion as the generous Ormond with that infamous firebrand of the World, that Canker to the Royal tock and Branches, Cromwell, suffer it to possess some Out-skirts and Frontiers of your Soul, that by the expansion of his encroachments, its spirits may be wasted and laid open for ruin; And your victorious reason (contracting all its forces) sweep all such Treacher us invaders from the face of the World, and leave nothing of it in Nature but a memory, which may make it stink to all Posterity.  
Porcia's Coals are of no further use for despair, all they can be serviceable in, is to create a flame to which the Barbarous rebels must be fuel, and the fire may be a purifier to the region of Sovereignty, clearing all the air from those two greatest plagues to order and mankind, Rebellion and Regicide: God has now ripened them for the Sickle of Revenge; it is highly opportune to shake them from the Trees of Authority and Rapine where●n they hang: And since hanging is natural for such Gomorrah Apples, Tyburn in England is the properest place in the World for such Fruits, if their rottenness be not too violent Eye sores to the view, and of too great a stench to the Nostrils of Passengers.  
The 30th of January shall be reckoned amongst those Ominous days which are fatal to the repose and safety of Nations, which though it antecede here that in England by ten days, yet my passion of Revenge, and my engagement to follow that Standard of your Heroic Son, which must carry with it a restitution of the World to Laws, Liberty, Religion, Conscience, and all other Obligati●ns Divine and Humane, hath made me make use of the Calendar in France, and present an Anniversary upon the most horrid Murder the Sun ever viewed; not to stir up your un exampled piety to tears, but to awake your own royal and other loyal Bosoms to revenge; which when it shall break forth in its just magnitude and dimensions, the Rebels will then confess, That Our silence is like a Calm, whose unsuspected Tranquillity is followed by nothing less dangerous than totally subverting Earthquakes, or universal consuming Thunder.  
Madam, The Persian Princes had a constant Moniter to remember them of Greek affronts and injuries, may this Anniversary be your Remembrancer that all Europe is engaged to your assistance; That you have a Fate more noble impending then to live in Exile, or Unrevenged; That you have a SON, who by his fiery persecutions and virtues, will one day make good in his examples all which is related of the m●st excellent Princes; That there is a Nation which with infinite groans implores its restitution to Monarchy, its redemption from rebellion, in whi●h it is fatally captivated and engulphed and (which Madam deserves a lower rank amongst th●se more Majestic concernments 〈◊〉 let it be a speaking testimony to the World, that I am (in spite of all the revolutions occasioned by Thiefs, Rebels, and Regic●des)  
Your Majesties and all your Royal Families most humble and never changeable Servant and Subject, S. C.   

Allegiance to the memory of our late Murdered Sovereign.  

SUch was the Pride of Murder in our loss,  
To dub the Scaffold equal to the Cross:  
Since the World's Crucifix all Butcheries  
The Jury finds Chance-medley unto this.  
The Primitive and Modern Martyrs all,  
Members of Charles his Body mystical,  
The Universal Bill of Martyrdom,  
In him contracted to a total sum.  
'Tis thought thy Saviour, only Priest, would die,  
And leave his Kingly sufferings to thee.  
In life and death his Viceroy as if all  
His Offices were Hypostatical.  
How dared they think he mortal was, or say  
He less than Angels were assumed Clay?  
Fooled Tyrant Wretches who believe him dead,  
Who from Humanity but vanished.  
Faith being weak, a Demonstration's He,  
To lose the Riddle of Theanthrophie.  
To all religious under standing Eyes,  
Humanity was but his late Disguise.  
But so much Deity may justly grudge,  
To be condemned, and Barrabas his Judge.  
When every drop of blood he shed, was much  
Too precious to redeem the ●ouls of such,  
For had old Adam spawned no better seed,  
Th'Eternal Son had never lived or died.  
If his Posterity had all been such,  
The Blood of Bulls and Goats had been too much.  
Lord, was it not enough, thyself to die,  
But thou must suffer too by Deputy?  
Who his pure Breath a prey to Villains gave,  
Not worthy to be Sextons to his Grave.  
Shov'ling his Monarchy, as if it must  
Fellow like Earth to Earth, and Dust to Dust.  
How will the Hoogen Chandler's scorn our fate,  
When Hewson vampes and underlayes the State?  
When Pride in Ale, and Dray-man Buffe shall sing  
●'ve slain Goliath with a Small-Beer Sling.  
And drawn our Royalty so near the Lee,  
This hand must tap a well-hoped Anarchy.  
'Tis time to pass from this infernal host,  
From whom I rise as from the Nethermost:  
And pass, as through a Purgatory flame,  
To a prepared Bliss in Charles his Name.  
Whilst I with trembling and Religious care,  
Do go unto my mourning as my Prayer.  
I do repent I have profaned his Hearse,  
And sacred Ashes with unhallowed Verse.  
To whom, as one Religious Votary,  
Three Pilgrim Kingdoms own their Piety.  
Though Saints too mean a Name for him, we know  
His Virtues Canonised him here below:  
God did to him so much his Likeness deal,  
'Tmight seem his second Precept to repeal.  
He appears not only stir to every sense,  
But Sphere; and ●e his own Intelligence:  
So glorious that this Riddle he begets,  
The Sun then solely rises when he sets.  
Whose Guide his saving light is ere they rest,  
Shall over take the Wise men of the East.  
Who so his wisdoms just Admirer is,  
Says Solomon's, was typical to his.  
Had they, and Shebahs' Queen lived at one time,  
With what delight would she have honoured him!  
For why his Continence was so Divine,  
He it alone embraced as Concubine.  
Vestal might have lain with him in bed,  
And rise with her Religious Maiden head.  
How did he in St. Michael's Angel-vein  
Confute those evils which durst him arraign!  
If we the Master-roll of Virtues call,  
The name of Charles may answer for them all.  
As what we attribute to God must be  
Itself, the absolute Divinity.  
So reason coupled with morality,  
This Definition gets that they were he.  
Who now for either seeks (he being spent)  
Without a Substance looks for Accident.  
But, as the Sun sets only unto Us,  
And never shines himself less glorious.  
Our Sols eclipse was to improve his Light,  
But smother us in an Egyptian Night.  
As Earthquakes do destroy from mile to mile,  
And fast Foundations silip Cross and Bile,  
The Centre yet being never stirred at all;  
So we (not Charles) are bruised in his Fall.  
His execution was his Subject's Pain,  
They lost their King, and yet their King doth reign,  
Not as a Deaths-head shell, or a Grave-stone,  
Memento's are for Mortals of their own.  
In this sad Paper every one may see,  
His Epitaph, in his own Elegy.  
Without a Contradiction it may be said,  
Though he did Die, not he, but we are Dead.  
What dying life is ours, that He must die,  
And we, that do survive him, Putrify?  
But stay, his Urn is warm; and, at his Name,  
His Ashes start, and wake into a flame.  
Through all the shop of sublunary things,  
Two are immortal, Phoenixes and Kings.  
Like Angels, each a Species makes alone,  
Yet neither dies without succession.  
Draw, draw great Son; and let thy thirsty Steel,  
Their Bowels tap till thy full Vengeance reel.  
Ride like a Whirlwind driving on the flood,  
That Thames may know no full Sea, but of blood.  
He that not follows may he drown i'th' Stream  
Till brave Revenge hath swept the Land so clean  
That all thy blasted Enemies we see,  
Like Sodoms' Apples rot upon the Tree:  
And Travellers praise thy Executions,  
For paving Road-ways with the Rebels Bones.    

Postscript.  
THe Author of this Poem was sometimes a Scholar in Su●tons-Hospital; and when the Lords came to visit, the Master of the School chose this Youth to make an Oration to the Visitors, who performed it so well, that my Lord's Grace of Canterbury intended to prefer him; but the World growing wicked, was prevented, and he left to himself, (in the worst of times) being forced to beg, till he was starved, and died. He was so Loyal to his Prince, that he would take no Employment from the Rebels, though it were offered him; So put pen to paper, and wrote this Elegiac Anniversary, as a Monument in time to come of his Loyalty.  
FINIS.