CAROLI Τȣ Μακαριτȣ ΠΑΛΙΓΓΕΝΕΣΙΑ.  
LONDON, Printed for Rich: Royston at the Angel in Ivy lane, M. DC.XL.IX.   

CAROLI Τȣ Μακαριτȣ ΠαλιγϜενεσια.  

I Come, but come with trembling, lest I prove  
Th'unequal Greece of Semele and Jove.  
As She was too obscure, and He too bright,  
My Theame's too heavy, and my Pen too light.  
And whilst, like Midas, I presume to sit  
In wise Apollo's Chair, without HIS wit,  
Is it not just t'expect, that He, who dares  
Higher than Midas, should wear longer Ears?  
May I not fear Patroclus Fate, and feel  
The dangerous honour of Achilles' steel?  
Just like that busy Elf, whose venturous Pride  
Found none but Titan Titan's Coach could guide?  
Why; he'll not stand in Verse. Can I enclose  
Him, whom the greatest Liberty of Prose  
Wants room to hold? And whose unwieldy Name  
Is big enough to fill the Trump of Fame?  
An Individual species? like the Sun,  
At once a Multitude, and yet but One?  
One of such vast Importance, that He fell  
The Festival of Heaven, and England's Hell?  
One, who for Eminence was these two things,  

* De Catone vetus dictum, Ultimus Romanorum, Primus Hominum.  The Last of Christians, and the First of Kings?  
One so diffusive, that he lived to all,  
And One that died the whole world's Funeral?  
For Charles being thus dismounted, and the Swain  
High shooed Bóótes leapt into the Wain,  
Is not old Beldame Nature truly said  
T'advance her Heels, and stand upon her Head?  
Does not the Judge, and Law too for a need,  
The Stirrup hold, whilst Treason mounts the Steed?  
Is not God's Word, and's Providence besides  
Used as a Laquay, whilst th' white Devil rides?  
Sure all things thus into Confusion hurled  
Make, though an Universe, yet not a World.  
And so our Soveraigne's, like our Saviour's Passion,  
Becomes a kind of Doomsday to the Nation.  
If Dead men did not walk, 'twould be admired  
(The Breath of all our Nostrils thus expired)  
What it is that gives us Motion. And can I,  
Who want myself, writ Him an Elegy?  
Though Virgil turned Evangelist, and wrote,  
Not from his Tripod, but God's Altar taught;  
Though all the Poets of the Age should sit  
In Inquest of Invention, and club wit,  
To make words Epigrams; should they combine  
To crowd whole stock of Fancy in each line;  
Sell the Fee-simple to advance one sum,  
(As Eglis spoke but once, and then lived dumb)  
IT were all as inarticulate, and weak,  
As when those men make signs, that cannot speak.  
But where the Theme confounds us, 
* 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. Longin.  'tis a sort  
Of glorious Merit, Proudly to fall short.  
Despair sometimes gives courage; any one  
May lisp him out, who can be spoke by none;  
None but a King; No King, unless He be  
As Wise, as Just, as Good, as Great as Herald   

When Late Posterity shall run t'advise  
With Time's impartial Register, how Wise  
This Great-one was, they'll find it there enrolled  
That He was ne'er in's Nonage, but borne old.  
View him whilst Prince of Wales, and it appears  
His Wisdom did so antedate his years,  
That He was Full i'th' ‛ Bud, and's Soul divine,  
Nestor, might be Great Grandfather to thine.  
View him again, where he so ripe was grown,  
As not to rise, but drop into a Throne.  
How did those rays of Majesty, which were  
Scattered in other Kings, concentre here?  
As if he'd got King Sapours sphere, and proved  
How each Intelligence his Orb had moved;  
Wise Charles, like them, sat steering at two Helms,  
King of himself, but Father of his Realms:  
And just as if old Trismegistus Cup  
Had by his Thirsty Soul been all drunk up,  
His understanding did begirt this All,  
As 'twere Ecliptic, or Meridional.  
Suppose a Diet of all Christian Kings  
And Bishops too, convened to weigh the things  
Of Church and State: Nay add Inferior men,  
Those of the Sword, the Pencil, and the Pen,  
From th' Sceptre to the Sheephook, Charles in all  
Must have been Umpire Ecumenical.  
He lived a Perpendicular; The Thread  
His Wisdom was; Humility the Lead,  
By which he measured Men and Things; took aim  
At actions crooked, and at actions plain.  
He and all from him into Cubes did fall,  
And yet as perfect as the Circle, all.  
'Twas He took Nature's Breadth, & Depth, & Height,  
Knew the just difference 'twixt Wrong, and Right.  
He saw the points of things, could justly hit,  
What Must be done, what May; what's just, what fit.  
As if, like Moses, he had had resort  
Unto God's Council, ere he was of is Court.  
Hence his Religion was his choice, not Fate,  
Ruled by God's Word, not Interest of State.  
Others may thank their Stars, He his Inquest,  
Who, sounding all sides, anchored in the best.  
His Crown contained a Mitre, He did twist  
Moses and Aaron, King and Casuist.  
When the Mahometan or Pope shall look  
On his soul's best Interpreter, his Book;  
His Book, his Life, his Death, will henceforth be  
The Church of England's best Apology.  
Thus Dove and Serpent kissed, as if they meant  
To render him as wise, so innocent.  
His own good Genius knew not, whether were  
His Heart more single, or his Head more clear.  
Virtue was his Prerogative; and thus  
Charles ruled the King, before the King ruled Us.  
He knew that to command, his only way  
Was first to teach his Passions to obey.  
And his incessant waiting on God's Throne  
Gave him such meek reflections on his own,  
That, being forced to censure, he expressed  
A Judge's Office with a Mother's breast.  
And when some sturdy violence began  
T'unsheath his Sword, unwilling to be drawn,  
He but destroyed (and so soft mercy can)  
The Malefactor, to preserve the Man.  
Even Hell's blind Journeymen, those Sons of Night  
Who look on scarlet-murder, and think't white,  
Unwillingly confessed, The only thing  
Which made him guilty was, That He was King.  
He was Incarnate Justice, and 'tis said  
Astraea lived in him, yet died a Maid.  
We want an Emblem for him: Phoebus must  
Stand still in Libra, to speak Charles the Just.  
And yet though he were such, that nothing less  
Then virtue's Mean stretched to a just Excess  
Flew from his Soul; He, like the Sun, was known  
To see all excellence, except his own.  
His Modesty was such, that All which He  
‛ E'er spoke or thought of's self, was Calumny;  
But yet so mixed with state, that one might see  
It made him not less Kingly, but more free.  
He was not like those Princes, who t'express  
A learned surfeit, a sublime excess,  
Send to dispeople all the Sea of Fish,  
Depopulate the Air to make one dish,  
(Such skilful Luxuries, as only serve  
To make their minds more plentifully starve)  
Whatever Dainties filled his Board by chance,  
His only constant Dish was 
(a) Evagr. l. 1. c. 21. de Monachis quibusdam, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  Temperance.  
His Virtue did so limit him, his Court  
Implied his Cloister; and his very sport  
Was self-denial. Nay, though he were seen  
So robed in purple, and so matched t' a Queen,  
As made him glitter like a Noonday Sun,  
Yet still his Soul wore sackcloth, and lived Nun.  

(b) Evagr. l. 1. c. 13. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  Simeon the Stylite in his Pillar penned  
Might live more strict, but not more innocent.  
So wise, so just, so good, so great and all,  
What is't could set him higher, but his fall?  
When he caught up by a Celestial Train  
Began his second, and more solid Reign.  
How to that Haven did this Pilot steer  
'Twixt th' Independent, and the Presbyter,  
Placed in the confines of two shipwrecks? thus  
The Greeks are seated 'twixt the Turks and Us.  
Whom did Byzantium free, Rome would condemn;  
And freed from Rome, they are enslaved by them.  
So placed betwixt a Precipice and Wolf,  
There the Aegaean, here the Venice gulf,  
What with the rising and the setting Sun,  
By these theyare hated, and by those undone.  
Thus virtue's hemmed with vices, &, though either  
Solicite's her consent, she yields to neither.  
Nay thus our Saviour, to enhance his grief,  
Was hung betwixt a Murderer, and a Thief.  
Now Charles as King, and as a good King too  
Being Christ's adopted self, was both to do  
And suffer like him; both to live and die  
So much more humble, as he was more high  
Than his own Subjects. He was thus to tread  
In the same footsteps, and submit his Head  
To the same thorns: when spit upon, and beat,  
To make his Conscience serve for his retreat,  
And overcome by suffering: To take up  
His Saviour's Cross, and pledge him in his Cup.  
Since then our Sovereign, by just account,  
Lived o'er our Saviour's Sermon in the Mount,  
And did all Christian Precepts so reduce,  
That's Life the Doctrine was, his Death the Use;  
Posterity will say, he should have died  
No other Death, then by being Crucifi'd.  
And their renowned'st Epocha will be  
Great Charles his Death, next Christ's Nativity.  
Thus Treason's grown most Orthodox; who since  
They said they'd [make him the most glorious Prince  
In all the Christian World,] 'tis plain, this way  
They only promised, what they meant to pay.  
For now (besides that beatific Vision  
Where all desire is lost into fruition)  
The stones, they hurled at him, with intent  
To crush his fame, have proved his monument.  
Their Libel's his best Obeliske; To have  
A fit Mausóle, were to want a Grave;  
His Scaffold, like Mount Tabor, will in story  
Become the proudest Theatre of Glory,  
Next to the blessed Cross: and thus 'tis sense,  
T'affirm him murdered in his own Defence.  
For though all Hell's Artillery and skill  
Combined together to besiege his Will;  
And when their malice could not bringed about  
To hurt God's Image, they razed Adam's out;  
(Like men repulsed, whose Choler thinks it witty  
To burn the Suburbs, when they can't the City)  
Howe'er they stormed his walls, & drained his blood,  
Which moted round his Soul; yet still he stood  
Defender of the Faith, and (that which He  
Found sweeter than revenge) his Charity.  
This then the utmost was their rage could do,  
[It showed him King of his afflictions too.]  
Untempted virtue is but coldly good,  
(As she's scarce chaste, that's so but in cold blood)  
To scorn base Quarter is the best escape,  
(As Lucrece died the chaster for her rape)  
These two did Charles his virtue most befriend,  
His glorious hardships first, and then his end.  
Death we forgive thee and thy Bourreaux too,  
Since what did seem thy rape, proves but his due.  
For how could he be said to fall too soon,  
Whose green was mellow, & whose dawn was noon?  
Since Charles was only by thy courteous knife  
Redeemed from this great injury of life  
To one so lasting, that 'tis truly said  
Not He, but his mortality is dead.—  
To weep his Death's the treason of our eyes;  
Our Sun did only set, that he might rise.   

But we do mock, not cheat our grief, and sit  
Only at best t' upbraid ourselves in wit,  
And want him learnedly: such colours do  
Disguise disasters, not delude them too.  
For though, I must confess, a Poet can  
Fancy things better than another man,  
He can but fancy 'em; and all his pains  
Is but to fill his belly with his brains.  
He may both Petrified and famished sit,  
That wears his thoughts, and only dine's on wit.  
Were I a Polypus, and could go on  
To be those very things I think upon,  
I would not then complain: but since I know  
To call things thus, is not to make them so,  
Great Charles is slain: and say we what we will,  
Yet we shall find, judgements are judgements still.  
For though 'tis true, that his now-immense Soul  
Doth hold commensuration with each Pole;  
Though he doth shine a Star more fixed and bright  
Then where the year makes but one day and night;  
And, lest he fill the Zodiac, doth appear  
Not in the Eighth, but Empyraean Sphere;  
Yet we his Rise may our Descension call,  
As Libra's mounting is poor Aries fall.  
He was the only Moses that could stand  
Betwixt the sins and judgements of the Land.  
And what can we expect, our Lot being gone,  
But that a Hell from Heaven should tumble down  
On our more sinful Sodom? (unless we  
Are damned yet worse, to an impunity.)  
King's are Gods once removed. It hence appears  
No Court but heavens can try them by their Peers.  
So that for Charles the Good to have been tried  
And cast by mortal Votes, was Deicide.  
No Sin, except the first, hath ever passed  
So black as this; no Judgement, but the last.  
How does our Delos, which so lately stood  
Unmoved, lie floating in her Pilot's blood?  
And can we hope to Anchor, who discern  
Nought but the tempest ruling at the stern;  
Whilst Pluto's Rival, with his Saints by's side,  
Drawn by the Spirit of avarice and pride,  
Being fairly placed in the Chair of scorn  
Sits brewing Tears for Infants yet unborn?  
Vast stocks of misery, which his Guardian-rage  
Does husband for them till they come to age?  
When future times shall look what Plagues befell  
Egypt and Us, by way of Parallel,  
They'll find at once presented to their view  
The Frogs and Lice, and Independents too.  
Only this signal difference will be known  
'Twixt those Egyptian judgements and our own,  
Those were God's Army's; but th' effect doth tell  
That these our Vermin are the Host of Hell.  
Pausanias and Herostratus will look  
Like Pygmy-Sinners writ in Time's black-booke.  
The Spanish Fleet, and Powder-plot will lack  
Their usual mentions in our Almanac.  
— Nay, which is more, 
(c) Socrat. l. 7. c. 10. hoc Alarichi responsum recitat. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  Alaricus his name  
Will scarce be legible i'th' leaves of fame,  
When Cromwell shall be read. Nature was ne'er  
So blessedly reformed, since Lucifer.   

O for a Jeremy to lament our woe!  
From whom such tragic Rhetoric might flow,  
As would become our misery, and dress  
Our sorrows with a dreadful gaudiness!  
For next those hover judgements, which the fall  
Of One so great, so good, makes Vertical,  
(And rushing down, may only be withstood  
If Charles his prayers cry louder than his blood)  
I say next that, It is our second Cross  
We can't grieve worthy of so great a Loss.  
To weep upon this subject, and weep sense,  
Requires we should be borne ten Ages hence.  
The greater are the heights an Artist's hand  
design's to take, the farther he must stand.  
And as when Sols in's Zenith, He implies  
His dazzling glory best, that shuts his eyes,  
So, where the Theme's ineffable, the way  
To speak it is, 
(d) Herodot. l. 3. Psammetichus ad Cambysem, cùm Amicorū vicem lacrymis lugcret, fuam verò silentio, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, etc.  Not to know what to say.   
THE END.