A SPEECH Spoken to his Excellency the LORD GENERAL MONK, BY ONE Representing the Genius of ENGLAND at Drapers-Hall, Wednesday the 28. of March.  
NOW almost twenty years have roul'd about  
Since first the flames of our late Wars broke out;  
And Britain fainting with the loss of blood  
Under a lawless Yoke subjected stood,  
When now at last her groans by Heaven are heard  
Her fainting Soul and dying Hopes upreared;  
Her sable night of sorrow done away  
By the new dauning of a Royal day,  
As from the North her first distemper grew,  
Thence flows the Sovereign Medicine to renew  
Her joys again: She hop●s secure to stand  
Upheld by her brave general's Warlike hand.  
Over the British Seas flies his great Name  
Bor● on the swift wings of no common fame,  
Our Enemies tremble, and our friends are glad  
To these 'tis joyful news, to those 'tis sad  
The mighty shouts and the Stentorian voice  
Of the glad multitude that now rejoice  
Awak's the drowsy Genius, if this I'll,  
Who wept so long o'er Charles' Funeral pile  
Till his swollen eyes with a Lethargic sleep  
Were sealed up, having no more tears to weep.  
He understands the cause of England's joy  
And least Ambition should their hopes destroy  
He boldly doth his mind to Monk express  
And shows how he may Britain's ills redress.  

The Genius Speech.  
GReat man by blood, by virtue greater made,  
Whose presence Banishes the gloomy shade  
O● Britain's night; the fair Aurora too  
The Royal Phoebus ushered in by you:  
Thy Sword has cut our Chains of slavery  
Thy hands the Gordian knots of Tyranny  
Untied; thy strenuous Arms unhinged our Gates  
To show thy strength, the greatest pride abates,  
To show what thou couldst do, that we thereby  
Might on thy more than Samson's strength rely:  
But what thou didst was at another's frown,  
Thou hung'st them up, that kindness was thy own.  
Great Hercules of our Isle at last thou'st slain  
That Hydra never more to rise again,  
Though often crushed, that Monstrous Tail, (which bitten  
Her own head off) did resurrection get,  
But now she's dead, and never more shall rise,  
Tryumps, not tears attend her Obsequies.  
And now but one stop more and thy great name  
Registered stand shall in the book of Fame  
In so great Characters the world may read  
Thy marchlesse story when that thou art dead:  
The World too little for thy fame shall be  
And Prince's honour shall thy name and thee.  
See then great General, Britain's Genius now  
Before thee stands, and willing is to owe  
A happiness to thee, wherein thou may'st  
Raise honour to thyself; if thou delay'st,  
Time and necessity will thee prevent  
And spoil the lustre of thy great intent.  
Now drooping Britain raises up her head,  
Inspired by thee she arises from the dead,  
Her Warmade breaches now are cured again,  
And joys and ease succeed her grief and pain,  
Her spotless Virgin Chores begin to sing  
Jö Paeans in honour to their King▪  
Fail not her now-bigg hopes but be content  
To raise an everlasting Nonument  
To thee and thy posterity; that bays  
May Crown thy Brows and Ages speak thy praise  
Thou see'st our wants, and what it is we'd have  
It is a King of Charles' race we crave;  
Since all the people in one voice agree,  
God's Oracle, 'tis God that asks it thee,  
Who having scourged poor Britain for her sin,  
Returns her Balm to cure her wounds again,  
We have tried, and too too long, a Common wealth,  
Such as it was, a Bane to England's Health,  
Where fifty Tyrants with one mouth agree,  
To eat up Law, Religion, Liberty.  
Monsters that Kings and Bishops Lands devour,  
Kept by extorted sums the Nation poor;  
Philosophers that changed all to gold,  
And let go nothing that their gripes could hold;  
Yet these were they that needs would styled be  
The Keepers of our England's Liberty;  
But by thy power great Monk we're freed again,  
And George most bravely has the Dragon slain.  
Ambitious Cromwell put the purple on,  
And having slain the Father, robbed the Son  
Of right and title, to a royal Crown,  
To set himself up, pulled another down,  
And what he got by rapine, he made good,  
Though by Religion cloaked, by force and blood,  
All what our Heroes once contended for,  
With the sad tempest of a civil War  
Himself usurped; and gloryed in his pride  
To have with peace what was to Kings denied,  
But yet you see the Nation scourged, that God  
Renews his mercy and has burned his rod,  
And Cromwell's name grows odious every where,  
Which was obeyed not out of Love, but fear.  
Let his example your ambition curb,  
Do not our growing happiness disturb,  
By mounting of a Throne is none of yours,  
For be assured that the sacred powers,  
Will blast the first fruits of thy tyranny,  
Fraud must preserve what's got by policy  
And now our people used to subtleties,  
To be deceived by crafts are grown too wise,  
So that the fates deny thy Regiment,  
And people to obey no more are bend,  
Till he arises in the British sphere,  
Whom all desire the royal Crown to wear.  
Thou seest our griefs and know'st the ways to cure,  
Our Maladies, thy Faith we knows too pure  
For to be tempted to betray our hopes,  
Who doubts thy loyalty to treason opes  
Away; no though thou sayest thou'lt us deceive,  
Such is our confidence we'll not believe,  
Since one so good and great as Monk must be,  
The only Man can give us liberty.  
Britain in sackcloth has mourned long enough,  
'Tis time to lay aside the Sword, and Buff,  
'Tis time to pull those Puny-nobles down,  
Who speak against, and yet affect a Crown,  
That those by blood and virtue truly great,  
May be enstaled in their long-left seat,  
These shining in their ermine gallantry,  
Beget a reverence due to Majesty,  
Now I have done, and you have this to do,  
To bring him in for whom the Nation sue,  
Great Charles, who more then by seven twelve Months tried,  
And in afflictions Furnace purified,  
Must come forth brighter than tried gold, more bright  
Then lustrous Sol after a dark some night;  
Whose brighter beams of Love shall raise the slain,  
And make our Halcyon days to live again;  
England shall bless thy name when this is done,  
And style the Phospher to the rising Sun,  
To thee shall Britain pay her annual vows,  
Whilst ducal diadems crown thy Princely brows.   
FINIS.