THE Glory of the English Nation, Or an Essay on the Birthday of King Charles the second.  

THe joys of this day one and fifty year,  
My Pigmy-Muse mean's not now to declare:  
Herculean Pens, of those long since have writ,  
(Not with more Loyalty but greater Wit)  
'Twas celebrated with a Noon-day-Star,  
And wondering Princes also came from far,  
Congratulating this most happy Isle:  
Happy indeed! 'twas one continued Smile.  
But soon alas black Tempests did arise,  
Eclipsed this Star, our Hearts drowned, and our Eyes,  
Hell by his Saints this Prince's Father slew,  
Slew? Murdered! Martyred!— ah Zealous Crew!  
— By Heaven this is not Poetty— 'Tis true!   

'Tis a mistake sure— Puritan do this!  
O tell it not in Gath etc.—  
Permit me Reader to be startled here,  
Humanity would stop to drop a Tear,  
Had I no Loyalty, no Love nor Fear.  
The Father Dead! what next is to be done?  
Surely the Crowning his illustrious Son;  
[That expiate might in part] ah! nothing less;  
They'll kill the Heir, the Vineyard then possess.  
Therefore when Forces he to Worcester brought  
To claim his Rright, those Sons of Belial fought  
Against their King: by fraud and force o'rcame;  
And to extirpate Root, and Branch and Name,  
They set a thousand pounds upon his Head,  
[Their Head] to bring great Charles alive or dead:  
But God the Ruler both of Peace and War,  
Did secretly preserve this falling-Star;  
And by a feeble Instrument, a Woman,  
Fooled all their Toils: to show Kings are not common.  
Say not, then, say not Miracles are ceased,  
This must be one, to a considering Breast.   

From the Saints Paws to Egypt he is sent,  
(Happy there too, being safe from Parliament)  
Where several years he lived obscure and poor;  
His loyal Subjects begged from Door to Door,  
Brewers and Tinkers did usurp his Throne,  
Nobles were murdered Bishops tumbled down;  
And though France proffered Men and money (too)  
To scourge Rebellion, mista'n Zeal subdue;  
Yet lest our ancient Faith should sullied be  
With Roman Trash by such a Victory,  
Supplies from Neighbouring Princes he refused  
Submitting rather to be thus abused:  
Then that his Subjects should by Foreign Force  
Be Horased. Foreigners have no remorse.  
O Miracle of Mercy, and of Love!  
That such flagitious Crimes could never move!  
He lost this Crown, to secure that above:  
If Satan could not 
* All these will I give unto thee etc.  then then him prevail,  
'Tis madness now to think his Faith is frail.  
If that 'gainst Rome's Bribe of 3 Kingdoms stood  
Sure 'twill not now profane his Father's Blood;  
For God who searches hearts his Faith did Crown,  
And this * 
1660.  day placed him on his Father's Throne.  
On which stupendious Miracles of Fate,  
It well becomes us to expatiate  
That day! that second Birth of Charles our King,  
True Laws, true Faith, new Life, new joys did bring.  
All were transported, 'twas a continual Spring,  
Not one sour Look appeared in any thing  
Except those Fiends, whose Foreheads branded were  
with Royal-Gore, those stupefied with fear,  
Durst not before this glorious Sun appear.   

From Dover as the Seas-Soveraign marched along,  
Swarms of three Kingdoms Subjects did him throng,  
The Roads brought forth all sorts of Flowers, the Trees  
Bedecked with Garlands, bend their humble Knees.  
The Bells from every neighbourig place did sound,  
All Loyal Hearts with Ecstasies abound:  
But when to the Metropolis he came  
Bless me! one could not guests it was the same  
With yesterday: The streets were paved with Men,  
The Windows and Balconies hung with Women,  
On each one's Head they stood five Stories high.  
Their Acclamations seemed to rend the Sky,  
The Houses [covered with Tiles before]  
Now Millions of rejoicing Subjects bore:  
The Conduits changed their waters into Wine,  
The Citizens in Gold and Pearl did shine,  
Bonfires at Night did make this joyful Isle  
Seem but as one great glorious Blazing Pile;  
Rome never such a noble Triumph saw!  
This was the effects of Love, but theirs of Awe.   

Nothing but Mirth was now heard, all did sing,  
Long live the great, the glorious Charles our King.   

To the CITY.  
What hath bewitched you now O Londoners?  
From Loyal-subjects, to turn Mutineers!  
Is not the King the same, God that day sent?  
Was there one drop of Blood 
* a Miracle  or Treasure spent!  
To purchase this, your longed for happiness!  
Did not Heaven hear your Sighs? your Plague's redress?  
Freed you from fellow-subjects Tyranny,  
And Arbitrary-Gospel-Trompery?  
Do ye not quiet sit under your Vine,  
Enjoying what is lawfully your own?  
Whilst your good King, the Church, the Law Combine  
To make ye happy! English men alone  
Can boast this privilege: their Neighbours live  
Servile to their Kings-will; they dare not show,  
Their little stocks lest Caesar should contrive,  
To get poor Naboths-Vineyard; but you  
Possess your Right, equally with your Prince,  
Your Trade by Sea and Land, as ever, high;  
Or else you cannot sober men convince,  
What causes your superfluous Gallantry.  
No Roman-Empress ever did outshine,  
A Lady Majoress when she would be fine.  
Will o' the Wisp by Night may lead astray,  
Can that small-blinking-Light deceive by day!  
Let him not on your Senses thus impose,  
And lead your Reason hoodwinked by the Nose.  
Summon your Reason and your Loyalty,  
The Cheat will barefaced then appear and fly:  
The Brain-sick-Fools, the disobliged Knaves then,  
And Jesuits will prove the plotting Men:  
Their Maxim is, Divide and Rule; Great Jove,  
Knit us with the Bands of an entire Love,  
Unite our Hearts. Great God as thou art one,  
There can be but one true Religion;  
Heal our Divisions then, teach us to pray,  
To the same God one and the self same way,  
And let us [one and altogether] sing  
Long live Great Charles, our good and glorious King.    

LONDON, Printed for W. Bucknel. 1681.