Heroic Stanzas On his MAJESTY'S Coronation. By Sam. Pordage Esq  
LONDON, Printed for Peter Dring at the Sun near the Poultry Counter, 1661.   

Heroic Stanzas On his MAJESTY'S Coronation.  

I.  
HOw different looks the visage of this day,  
From that which did to fears our hopes betray!  
When Worcester flamed; and Severn's Crystal flood  
Blushed with the Crimson stain of loyal blood.  
Where still unblasted stood the Royal Oak  
Amidst the flames of hell, and dismal smoke:  
Had any hope after that fatal blow  
To see this day that smiles upon us now?   

II.  
What Faith unshaken stood, when hell spoke loud  
A rebels conquest from a sulphury cloud?  
When Majesty which Fortune overbore  
Lost in black smoke, or drowned in Crimson gore,  
Was forced to veil the splendour of its light,  
And with obscurer beams secure its flight.  
'twas in the evening of that fatal day,  
Heav●n seemed to frown all hope and Faith away.   

III.  
Heaven than was kind, although he seemed to frown,  
That loss (what e'er we thought) spoke Charles his own:  
Where his escape showed greater love and care  
Than if he had come off a conqueror.  
In's preservation heaven more plainly showed  
A miracle, than if he had subdued.  
His valour not o'ercome; by none outdone;  
More fame and glory than the victor won.   

IV.  
'Twas kindness than that Victory denied;  
The Scots their King to unjust Laws had tied:  
Heaven broke those bonds, & snatched the King away.  
The Presbyterian cause 'twas lost the day:  
Those who the Realm, and Father had undone,  
So Fates decree, must not bring in the Son:  
Lest Scots Presbyterize our Monarchy,  
Charles ransomed is with loss of Victory.   

V.  
'Tis not by bloody Arms, or dreadful War  
(Those helps to less beloved Monarches ar')  
That he must conquer and assume his right;  
The splendour of his conquest shines more bright:  
Peace brings him in, Olive his Temples binds,  
And his great virtues conquer hearts and minds.  
Thus Phoebus conquers with a gentle ray,  
The foggy mists that overcloud the day:   

VI.  
The time's not ripe, God is more wise than we;  
We first must feel the yoke of tyranny,  
The raging smart of self-giv'n wounds endure,  
And the usurping tyrant's rod must cure  
Our itch of change, and liberties pretence,  
That we may better taste our lawful Prince:  
That we hereafter in true spheres may move,  
His Laws obey, his sacred person love.   

VII.  
Man's help must not contribute here, for thus  
God shows his care both of the King and us;  
To foreign Arms he shan't beholden be,  
But to's own virtues for the Victory.  
Our sad distress must make us see our sin;  
His virtues, and our straits must call him in:  
God jealous seems, and no hands but his own,  
Must place our King upon his royal Throne.   

VIII.  
Monck the bright Phospher of our royal Sun,  
The approaching glory of our day forerun;  
In him all eyes beheld the glimmering morn,  
Who pointing where our happiness is born,  
Conducted all the wise men of the Land  
Where they the royal birth might understand.  
Thus breaks our royal Phoebus into sight,  
Through all the sables of a dismal night.   

IX.  
Since heaven to show a miracle thought good,  
To give a King without expense of blood;  
Heir to a Throne with skill to govern it,  
Whom God had made by twelve years' passion fit:  
The potent rebels of three Realms o'erthrow  
With his own power, and we not strike a blow.  
All should express for such great favours showed,  
The highest tokens of our gratitude.   

X.  
Aspiring Pyramids that touch the sky  
Under his vaster Fame and Glory lie;  
No Caesar e'er deserved to triumph so,  
Triumphal Arches are too mean and low  
When th' arched vault of the bright spangled frame,  
Can't bond the Echo of his mighty Name.  
All signs of Honour that we can express  
Are faint reflections, than his merits less.   

XI.  
Who sees his person, and no more; would vow  
Divinity is writ upon his brow,  
His make and port shows a celestial race,  
A Princely Majesty dwells on his face.  
A reverential awe beams from his eye,  
In all the image of a Deity;  
Whose power and earthly Godhead we shall find▪  
Rule in the vaster heaven of his mind.   

XII.  
Such Heroes worshipped were in times of old  
And Altars smoked to such of better mould:  
Had he then lived he had been better prized,  
Whom his own subjects would have sacrificed,  
To expiate the guilt of being good  
And crime of being born a Prince, with blood.  
That age returns, and he the Sceptre sways,  
Whose worth's beyond the reach of pens and praise.   

XIII.  
'Tis you, dread Sovereign! whom we all adore,  
Whose beams your Chaosed Realms to form restore;  
So Phoebus shapes the clods of Nile's fat mud,  
To animals, endued with life and blood:  
To you great Prince we owe the all we have,  
The freest subject was before a slave;  
We all had lost, but now our Joys renew,  
And we have all again in having you.   

XIV.  
See with what lightsome joy the merry swain  
Comes here to see You take Your Crowns again;  
Now for himself he sows, from pillage freed,  
With joy expects the time to reap his seed:  
Who sadly whistled to his Team, O hone  
Now sprightly sings, the King enjoys his own:  
They all come here with hearts to worship You,  
Who bring them Peace, and with peace plenty too.   

XV.  
Soldiers lay by their Arms; now Wars must cease,  
And, Caesar crowned, the world endues a peace;  
The fane of Janus now is locked up fast,  
Soft peace and plenty, rest, and art's embraced:  
These glittering arms which the thronged streets do line  
Those valiant soldiers that so bravely shine,  
And will for none but for the Cause engage,  
Secure the Crown from all Fanatic rage.   

XVI.  
The Merchant fears no Foes, but angry skies,  
His ships fly home with wealth not made a prize:  
The wealthy Cit'zen plies his gainful Trade,  
And fears no Tax, as when the tyrant swayed:  
The City rich holds up her head on high,  
And with her ships sucks both the Indies dry:  
Thus by their stately Arches they would show,  
All by the blessing comes of having You.   

XVII.  
Lawless rebellion here doth keep her Guard,  
The other side shows rebels just reward:  
The second Arch would to the world declare,  
Neptune and all his Nymphs your subjects are:  
This shows the Fane of concord by your hand  
Is reared: And Peace how flows within our Land:  
The last, to plenty sacred, doth presage,  
Your presence shall make ours a golden age.   

XVIII.  
See, Royal Sir! how youthful, trim and gay  
The City shows, on this great Holiday!  
How new she looks, her rusty weeds flung by,  
Th' Epitome of your vast Monarchy:  
The mir'cle of your presence makes her shine,  
And thus converts her water into wine:  
So her old sorrows to new joys convert,  
And by her gaiety you must judge her heart.   

XIX.  
The Lawyers now look cheerful, for they see  
Their Littleton again at Liberty:  
The Law shall run; not shakelled by the sword,  
Subjects not made offenders for a word:  
You are a Judge they know gives judgement right,  
That rules by Laws, not by tyrannic might;  
The Judge with smiles relieves his austere frown,  
To see the tyrant's sword cede to the gown.   

XX.  
What a vast confluence of the Gentry flows  
Hither, to see your Crowns impale your brows:  
This sea of gentle blood, shall all be shed,  
ere rebels touch the Crowns upon your Head:  
The flood of joy, thus tides in every piece;  
And Peru's wealth adorns the English fleece:  
Such Loyal hearts some have, that they'll undo  
Themselves; But they'll be fine to wait on You.   

XXI.  
How thwacked the Galleries and Windows be  
With England's pride, in all their bravery:  
Clear firmament of smiling stars, from whence  
They shower upon you a kind influence:  
Those sterne-soft warriors, yield the conquest now,  
Your Majesty makes their proud beauty's bow:  
The rosy dies, which to their faces steal  
Betray that passion which for you they feel.   

XXII.  
But see the greater planets all combine,  
And with connexed beams their lustres shine:  
Strangers will never say your Kingdom's poor  
Who see such mines of gold and silver wore:  
They'll be convinced, that they have mines for you  
When you shall need, who have so much for show:  
This Troop of Princes speaks your wealth and might,  
When so many Crowns are pressed to keep your right.   

XXIII.  
This day the Muses doth anew inspire,  
Your sight great Prince renews their sacred fire,  
Quenched almost with continual tears for you;  
Those briny founts was their Castalian dew:  
None touched the Lyre but sad Melpomene,  
The rest sat sighing to her harmony:  
But now Apollo and the sacred nine,  
To sing Your Panegyric all combine.   

XXIV.  
The sacred Church, her head restored, lives,  
And shows her splendour, which Your presence gives:  
Her mitred Troops in purity shine bright,  
Clothed with the badge of innocence, white:  
The sacred Muses to the Church are joined,  
Vrania's lyre stirs up the holy mind:  
With rapting joy and praise they make a Choir,  
Whilst God and You become their Theme and Fire.   

XXV.  
I now draw near Your Throne, the Guards passed through  
Who meaner stars have all their light from You:  
At your approach their lustre turns to Night,  
And vanisheth before your greater light:  
Three Kingdoms Glory in You centred shines,  
In You, great Sir, meet all their splendid lines:  
So glorious shows the Monarch of the skies:  
So Jove among the lesser Deities.   

XXVI.  
What eye not filled with humble reverence dare  
Behold the Gods own Image, and their care?  
Can envious hell create so bad a wight,  
Who can hatch Treason after such a sight?  
That awful Majesty which Crowns your brow,  
Makes your foes tremble; is your Lifeguard now:  
The sacred Arms of Majesty can move,  
At once your foes to fear, your friends to love.   

XXVII.  
And now I see the Crown upon your head,  
Which for your merit's but a slender meed;  
Your right long since, in spite of all your foes,  
Triumphant now the crowned Cedar grows:  
Th' admiring world, now you ascend the Throne,  
Beholds our Nations glory greater grown:  
For now's returns the golden age again,  
Which all Behold in your most happy Reign.   
FINIS.