AN ELEGY, ON The Deplorable, and never enough to be Lamented Death, of the Illustrious, and Serene CHARLES the II. KING OF Great-Britain, France, and Ireland, etc. who Departed this Life, (on Friday the 6th. of February, between 11 and 12. of the Clock, in the Forenoon: And was Interred at Westminster, the 14th. of the same Month, being the 55th Year of his Age, 1684/5  

Hung all the Streets with Sable Sad; and call  
The Royal Palace Black; and not White-Hall:  
Weep Sacred Beads of Loyal Tears, and true,  
Of Orient Pearl; but Occidental Hue:  
Since Britain's Phoebus hath forsaken the Stage,  
Before he reached the Tropic of his Age.  
The interval betwixt our Setting Sun,  
And Rising Sovereign, 'ere his Light begun  
Was short; yet (till our Sorrow found Relief)  
We were near deluged in the Seas of Grief.  
Yet (though our Sovereign doth our Mourning 'swage,  
And gives our joy of Grief the Weather-gage.)  
We'll make no Bonfires, for (it were in vain)  
Our flowing Eyes would Weep them out again.  
All israel when Good Hezekiah Died  
To his last Breath, true Loyal Honour paid;  
Where's then the Boldest Critic can deny  
Great CHARLES his worth a Doleful ELEGY;  
His Worth, to Times last Period shall Endure,  
In spite of Envy or the Grave Secure:  
And Children yet Unborn with Tears shall pay  
A Mournful Tribute to his sacred Clay.  
He from his Childhood was of great Renown;  
He bore his Cross before he wore his Crown.  
Branched in the stock of Trouble ('tis well known)  
His Fruit was Ripe, the Blossom yet unblown.  
Great-britains' Bane, and Blush Eclipsed his Sky,  
Ere England knew his Sovereignty:  
But as his Sun ascended the Noonday,  
All Clouds (like Vapours) vanished quite away:  
And the Bright Calms of Peace did still remain  
Through the whole Circle of his Halcyon Reign.   

Then Rest (dear Saint, though now Entombed in Dust)  
Until the Resurrection of the Just.  
And let our Mourners mitigate their Grief,  
Because our Sorrow doth admit Relief:  
The Veil of Death no Christian needs dismay;  
The King of Kings himself did guide the Way.  
And (since our Sore a Salve along doth bring)  
God save Great JAMES, our Second Sovereign King.  
Let his Dominions preface Black with White;  
Since Rising Phoebus dissipates our Night:  
Let Loyal Subjects all both cry and Sing  
Like Birds Revived in the returning Spring.  
Let Court and City raise their joyful Voice  
And Loyal Sighs still Echo back Rejoice:  
Till Plotters all Conspiracies lay by,  
And Treason turn to purest Loyalty.  
Hence then projecting Traitors, stand aloof;  
His Loyal Throne is sure, and Treason-Proof:  
Lest set on Edge by old Seditious Smec,  
Your Treason's Trap turn round upon your Neck.  
His Presence may no Rebels Old Resort,  
Nor base Achitophel's frequent his Court;  
But Reign in Peace, whilst we have in our Eye  
CHARLES still alive in JAMES' Royalty.   

But since he's Dead and gone let this sad Verse  
(Tho undeserving) yet attend his Hearse.   

EPITAPH.  
HEre lies Great CHARLES the just the Good,  
As ever came of Royal Blood:  
To Troubles Born, he Early knew  
What Kings (as Men) are subject to:  
His Morning Glories were o'ercast,  
And by some fatal Star Oppressed.  
But as his Sun ascended Noon,  
The cruel Comet did fall Down,  
In Peace he Lived, in Peace he Died;  
The Kingdom and the Church's Guide.  
The Guardian of the swelling Main;  
The Terror of the DUTCH and DANE.  
At his Commands all War did Cease,  
And Europe Owes to him her Peace.  
Diseases at his Power did Crouch,  
And own the Virtue of his Touch.  
Let KINGS and PRINCES in him Glory,  
And make his Reign their Directory.  
P. K.    

LONDON, Printed by George Croom, at the Sign of the Blue-Ball in Thames-street, over against Baynard's Castle. 1685.