A TRIUMPHANT PANEGYRIC In honour and Memory of King Charles the Second HIS CORONATION.  

LEt not Rome boast her Obelisks,  
nor Caesar triumphs make:  
If Albion her Prince t'attend  
in splendour undertake.  
Their Chariots were with Tigers drawn  
in days of greatest state:  
But Charles is drawn with Cherubins,  
the heavens attend his Fate.  
Mention not Egypt's Pyramids,  
nor Rhodes great coloss here;  
W' admit of no such Pageantry  
in this our Hemisphere.  
Angels above, Kingdoms below,  
that lean upon this Arm;  
Cry touch not mine anointed now:  
nor do my Prophet's harm.  
A Diadem of perfect gold  
adorned with many a gem,  
With all the wealth that India boasts  
are sacrificed to him.  
He that endured an Ostracism  
in many a foreign land,  
Does now captiv'ty captive lead,  
strokes Panthers tame with's hand.  
The bloody Tents of Tamburlaine  
are turned to white again:  
No crying, no complaining now  
but Jubilates amain.  
Those channels and those rivers too  
that ran with blood and gore,  
Flow both with milk and honey now,  
as Canaan did before.  
Medals of gold and silver both  
throughout the street are thrown:  
The Altars reek, the Bonfires flame,  
the Bells attend the Throne.  
London with all her Companies  
her Banners does display;  
The Cities of the Nations round  
in her their homage pay.  
She's now arrayed in loyalty;  
her Trophies she does bring,  
And lay them down as Tribute due  
this day to Charles her King.  
White-Hall her candour reassumes:  
Westminster's loyal too:  
Court, City, Country, Sea and Land,  
each others strive t'outdo.  
Cushan-Rushathaim that spread,  
the Kingdoms o'er and o'er,  
Lies shipwrackt now, and prostitute,  
like Dagon at's own door.  
Rebellion in's own chains is bound,  
and Treason's strucken dumb;  
The amazed world to see this change,  
does here in numbers come.  
Whole Hecatombs of Loyal hearts  
are Holocausted here:  
The great triumphal Arches of  
the City make't appear.  
They stand like lofty Pyramids  
t' outdare the glaring Sun:  
Adorned with Myryads, that to pay  
Allegiance here do come.  
The heads of all our Archontes,  
and Nantes too, are found  
With Chaplets all of Cinnamon,  
and Laurel to be Crowned:  
Our Ephori, and Amphictiones,  
together marshaled are:  
With them march the Conipides,  
sons both of Peace and War.  
Here's Gobria, and Gabatha,  
great Counsellors of State:  
Here's Jareb, and here's Elnathan,  
on this Procession wait.  
Here York and Lancaster are met,  
the Red-rose and the White;  
Our Lilies and our Lions join,  
and heaven and earth unite.  
The Prelate and the Potentate,  
with all the Martial train;  
The Lamb, the Lion, Fox and kid,  
attend their Sovereign.  
The Ball, the Sceptre, and the Crown,  
with Robes of Royalty:  
By Nobleses and by Princes born,  
Ensigns of Majesty.  
Moab a loathed washpot is  
o'er Edom's cast a shoe,  
And Judas still God's Lawgiver,  
'gainst what the Devil can do.  
Balam himself's forbid to curse,  
and forced to bless this day:  
The old and subtle Exorcist;  
is taught from heaven to pray.  
Blasted, and blistered, be their tongues,  
that practice not to sing,  
In this our glorious festival,  
God save great Charles our King.  
Gloria in Excelsis, ' sung above,  
while Conduits here below,  
With all our costly Aqueducts,  
with French and Spanish flow.  
The Pennons of the Seraphims  
stretch o'er his Royal Throne;  
Cyrcling both Crown and Canopy,  
of this our Solomon.  
We burn no Oil but Balsamum,  
within our Temples now:  
Great Constantine in days of state  
taught us the manner how.  
This is great England's Jubilee,  
it sets all Prisoners free:  
Proclaims a Manumission too  
for all love liberty.  
Accursed be the Bethlite now,  
that shall attempt to build,  
That Jericho whose walls did bow,  
at Charles' victorious shield.  
With health, and wealth, and victory,  
as tribute of the day:  
The heaven of heavens preserve our King  
let all the Nations pray.   By S. H. a Banstedian. 
— Marte majori  
Maximus hic Rex est, & luce serenior ipsa,  
Pax una triumphis  
In muneris potior.—  
Nunquam libertas gratior extat quam sub Rege Pio.   

LONDON, Printed by Thomas Ratcliff, Anno Dom. 1661.