A panegyric TO THE KING.  
By His majesty's most humble, most Loyal, and most Obedient Subject and Servant, THOMAS higgon's.  Virg. AEn. Lib. 2. 
Quae tantae tenuere morae? queîs CAROLE ab oris  
Expectate venis? ut te, post multa tuorum  
Funera, post varios hominumque urbisque labores  
Defessi aspicimus!   

TO THE KING.  

THE frozen Samogite, who half the year  
Lives under ground, and never sees the sky,  
Feels not that comfort when the Sun is near,  
At whose approach darkness and Winter flie;  
As all Great Britain at your royal Sight,  
After so dismal, and so long a Night.   

Since first this Island was possessed by Men,  
No Age did e'er so great a day behold;  
A day, which makes the aged young again,  
Or else for joy forget that they are old:  
Which makes the Dead, that they are absent, grieve;  
And those, who longed for death, content to live.   

From furthest Thule to the Cornish shore  
The Earth, and air, and Sea your name resound;  
And neighbour Nations by the Canonn's roar  
Know that you are arrived on English ground:  
They know you are arrived and are afraid,  
When they consider 'tis without their aid.   

France, which to give You refuge once refused,  
And made you seek it in remoter Parts,  
Blushes that you were so unnobly used;  
And now ashamed of her Italian Arts  
She fain would succours and assistance lend,  
And, when you do not need her, be your friend.   

The Dutch have Navies now at your command,  
Who in distress your quarrel would not own;  
But heaven in mercy to your native Land  
Would not that strangers should restore your Throne,  
Or that you any other way should prove,  
Than your own virtue, and your People's Love.   

'Tis your own Subjects, SIR, have done the thing,  
To One of which immortal fame is due,  
To whose address the English owe their King,  
And all the blessings they receive with You.  
This Deed of his shall triumph over Death,  
And live while Men have ears, and Fame has breath.   

The Cappadocian Knight, so far renowned,  
Who saved the Lady, and the Monster slew,  
And overran like Lightning Pagan ground,  
And whatsoever resisted did subdue;  
Now finds the glory darkened which he won,  
Since by a greater GEORGE he is out done.   

Amongst the demigods of ancient Rome,  
Who for the glory of their Country died,  
And as Examples to the Times to come,  
Were by those wiser Ages deified,  
His Name shall flourish, and the North henceforth  
Shall with the warmer Climates vie for worth.   

But in a Joy so vast and unconfined  
As fills all hearts, and will not room allow  
For any other passion in our mind,  
We must not treat a Subject's merits now.  
To speak of others were to do You wrong,  
Who are the only subject of our Song.   

O Hope of England! O Great Britain's Light!  
The Soul and Genius of this spacious Isle!  
What Region has detained you from our sight?  
What Land been happy in you all this while?  
'Tis time you come your People help to give,  
When they without you could no longer live.   

But are you come? may we our eyes believe?  
We, whose hopes Fate, till now, did still destroy,  
And have so many years been used to grieve  
May be excused if we suspect our Joy:  
If it be real, may a question make,  
And justly doubt, whether we dream or wake.   

The miseries these Nations have sustained,  
Ere since your martyred Father left the Throne,  
And with the blessed above in Glory reigned,  
Like Billows roaring, though the wind be down,  
Will hardly let our minds be yet secure,  
Though you are come, who are a perfect Cure.   

Although your presence save this sinking State,  
Which to the brink of ruin was arrived,  
And closes up the wounds of Civil hate,  
We still remember whence our ills derived.  
That horrid Deed, but thought on, spoils our mirth;  
A Deed, at once the shame of heaven and Earth.   

Let not that Day make any part o'th' year,  
Which to so black an Action lent its light,  
But be expunged out of the calendar,  
And the Contrivers hid in endless night.  
But let their Fate first expiate their Offence,  
And so absolve suspected Providence.   

The Jews themselves, when our Redeemer died,  
Discerned not who it was they Crucified;  
Their ignorance excused their Parricide:  
But these strange Monsters with unheard-of Pride,  
Arraign their Lord and Master whom they know,  
And impudently boast of what they do.   

But since as darkness to the Light gives place,  
And as Night treads upon the heels of Day,  
Sorrow does joy, and Joy does sorrow chase,  
And good and ill make one another way,  
We by past Mischiefs this advantage gain,  
To taste the longed for Pleasures of Your reign   

The most Renowned Kings this fate have had,  
To mount the Throne after tempestuous times,  
And their own virtues more conspicuous made,  
By the reflection of preceding Crimes.  
When Rome was ruined with intestine hate,  
Augustus took the rudder of the State.   

And when Domitian's hated Government  
The distressed World had thrown into despair,  
Trajan by Heaven was in Mercy sent,  
The ruins of the Empire to repair.  
What Trajan and Augustus did at Rome,  
England expects to see, now You are come.   

Force shall insult no longer over right,  
Nor wicked men have power to torment,  
Or make the Good a prey to lawless might,  
But every man be safe, that's Innocent:  
The Mace shall now the Pike and Musket awe,  
And make the Sword a servant to the Law.   

Those Names of Rapine, which to other sense  
Have been distorted than their meaning bears,  
And those strange canting Terms of Eloquence,  
With which new Teachers dose the people's ears;  
The English Language shall no longer mar,  
Profane the Pulpit, nor disgrace the Bar.   

Now Merchants fear no danger but the Wind,  
Which once was the least hazard they did run,  
When here in Port they did their ruin find,  
And lost at home what they abroad had won.  
The Farmer singing to his labour goes,  
Now he is sure, 'tis for himself he sows.   

Servants their Masters shall no more betray;  
Nor sons, infected with rebellious strife,  
Make their advantage now to take away  
The livelihoods of those, who gave them life.  
All Ranks of men shall be to order brought.  
Awed by Your presence, and example taught.   

Wealth shall not now be made the price of blood,  
Nor to be rich be reckoned an Offence;  
Though it be valued less than to be good,  
And merit be preferred to Innocence:  
Men shall not most be prized, who most appear,  
Nor known for what they have, but what they are.   

Riches and Poverty shall be no more  
Twixt Man and Man the only difference deemed,  
Since worth shall not be scorned for being poor,  
Nor he that's rich, without it be esteemed;  
Whilst honour is of virtue the Reward,  
And those who most deserve, you most regard.   

Had conquering Rome but such a Monarch seen,  
One with your virtue, and your right beside,  
With freedom's name she ne'er had cozened been,  
And Brutus had not so untimely died.  
Under a Prince, who does so well deserve,  
Cato himself had been content to serve.   

Some of our Kings have been for Arms renowned,  
Others as glorious for the Arts of Peace,  
How much are we to Heaven's great goodness bound,  
Who have a Prince so learned in both of these?  
And can (to every thing by Fortune bred)  
In council govern, and in battle lead?   

When Fate at Wor'ster did oppose your Right,  
And to so just a Cause denied success,  
You showed the world how bravely you could fight,  
Nor did your Fortune make your Glory less:  
You were unconquered, when your Troops did yield;  
And won Renown, although you lost the field.   

The frighted Severn shrunk away to see  
The dangers which your Person did attend,  
And Heaven did seem in anger to decree,  
That there your life, and all our hopes should end;  
While you retire, secure of Fate's intent,  
With the same mind you first to battle went.   

Thus Vercingectorix, that brave King of Gaul,  
Though Fortune still were on the Roman side,  
Unaltered was what ever did befall,  
And the insulting Conqueror defied;  
That Caesar does confess, though Fate were cross,  
His Foe was more Illustrious for his loss.   

Heaven sure had a design in your retreat,  
For though it partially adjudged the day,  
And raised the rebel's pride by your defeat,  
It seems it then decreed a Nobler way  
For your return, than could be wrought by blood,  
And ordered your misfortune for your good.   

Heaven wisely knew if you had had success,  
And your Victorious sword had more embrued  
In English blood, your Triumph had been less,  
And bodies had, rather than minds, subdued;  
Nor had we then those Princely virtues known,  
Which in your adverse Fortune you have shown.   

But if the Fates no other means could find  
To raise your glory to the pitch we see,  
And if your sufferings have been designed  
But as the way to your felicity;  
We bless those Mischiefs, which we have sustained,  
And now repent that ever we complained.   

No human happiness is still complete,  
Since Fortune changeth every thing below,  
One while depressing Princes that were great,  
And then advancing those, who once were low.  
Your glorious Father was successful long,  
And Priam happy was, when he was young.   

But you born under more propitious stars,  
And through many dangers lead by Fate,  
Have past your youth in Tempests and in War●,  
And as the Sun, though he breaks out but late,  
Darkness dispels, and drives all Clouds away,  
A gloomy Morn turn to a glorious day.   

Thus great Aeneas when his Troy was lost,  
And nought but ruin left of all that State,  
Wandered at Land, and on the Floods was tossed,  
And hurried up and down the world by Fate,  
Before he could to promised Alba come,  
Alba the Mother of Victorious Rome.   

So great a work it was to found that State,  
Which to the conquered World was laws to give,  
So must you suffer ere you could be Great,  
For Fortune always does with virtue strive.  
But virtue does at last her power subdue,  
And makes her stoop, as now she does to You.   

Now overcome she to your virtue bends,  
And, not so cruel once as kind at last,  
Strives with her favours to make large amends  
For your unworthy usage which is past,  
And, to repair her fault, would overdo,  
If any thing could be too much for You.   

But all that we can say, or Fortune do  
To celebrate your goodness will not serve,  
Since while that's doing, there will more be due,  
Nor can we pay so fast, as you'll deserve.  
Language has bounds, and Fortune is confined,  
But there's no limits to your mighty Mind.   

If there be any truth in ancient Song,  
If Poets see, or Bards do understand,  
This is the time has been foretold so long,  
That England all her Neighbours shall command;  
And on the Continent obedience find,  
Nor must her Empire be by Seas confined.   

Our Asian Conquests we no more will boast,  
When upon Acon's walls our Lions stood,  
And the proud Soldan saw his Empire lost,  
And all the fields of Palestine in Blood.  
Croissy shall be forgot, and Poitiers too,  
Darkened by greater things, which you must do.   
FINIS.   

LONDON, Printed for Henry Herringman, at the sign of the Anchor in the Lower Walk of the New-Exchange. 1660.