A POEM ON THE CORONATION Of our most Illustrious Sovereign K. JAMES II. And His Gracious CONSORT Queen MARY, Who were Crowned at WESTMINSTER, On St. George's- Day, being the 23th. this Instant Arpil 1685 Written by a Person of Quality. Jupiter in Caelis, Caesar regat omnia Terris. Printed by Nathaniel Thompson at the Entrance into the Old-Spring-Garden near Charing-Cross, MDCLXXXV. A POEM on the CORONATION. Fly Envious Time; why dost our Bliss delay? Repair Death's & Thy wrongs, & give Us Day; The Day which from our Woes must free us all, Whom Grief would else Martyr in CHARLES' fall: That Adored Monarch, whose Illustrious Name Alone, speaks more, than all the Tongues of Fame. Whose Loss, levied a Tax of Sighs, and Moan, And forced the World t'an Universal Groan. Hold, hold my Muse-The Dawn new-gilds the Skies, See where Great JAMES our second Sun does rise, And quite exhales these Vapours from our Eyes. Tears, and the Sable signs of Grief, give way, Chased by the Beams of this most Glorious Day; A Day, doubly designed by Destiny To remain Sacred to Posterity. Something for GEORGE's Birth was to It due, But now it is Three Kingdoms Birthday too, From this CORONATION We our Lives Renew. Each Loyal Heart is struck by'ts sovereign Rays, And's filled at once with Gratitude and Praise. Hark! how the Streets with cheerful Shouts do Ring, Excessive Joys in every Bosom spring, And the whole Town do 10 PAEANS sing. While th' Air as loathe such Loyal Sounds to lose, With thousand Echoes does prolong each close; Behold what heaps of Hats, aloft there fly, Like thickened Clouds, they steal away the Sky. T'attend this Earthly Jove, the World agrees, In lander leave their Homes, Seamen the Seas; Both English born, and those that Neighbours are; With Exultation cleave the yielding Air. So in some Garden, decked with Flora's Pride, Where all the Glories of the Spring reside, There near a Waxed Canopy we see, Thousands thus Bus about the Royal-Bee. Nature, at this Solemnity Revives, And the glad Earth by James' influence Thrives; Hills, Valleys, Woods, are dressed to New Attire, April at its own Beauty does Admire. The winged Musicians Carol in the Air, The Spacious Meadows, Green-Plush Mantles wear, Nay, the pleased HeavensHeavens without a Cloud appear. While all the Flowers of the Spring do meet, And, than Arabian Spices, smell more sweet, The Mighty Pan, the Mighty Pan to Greet. How sensible the Houses are, 'tis He! Who but in Arras Gowas the King will see. Walls, Windows, Roofs, towers, Steeples, all are set With several Eyes, but the least Glimpse to get. And lo, the Costly Pomp is now in view, Which claims our Wonder, and our Homage too. The like of this Day's State not Italy Sings, Consular Triumphs, were but petty Things: Rome too as short of this in Shows, you'll find, As her Now Glories, are from those declined. Triumphant Sight! In this one Train we may Of all that's Noble, take a full Survey. Do Arms Delight ye? Surfeit here your View On Troops, as can th' Insulting World subdue. Nay Learning here in its Perfection shines, And Athens now to Westminster Resigns. Religion, Law, each her best Charms displays, Cheered by the Warmth of His Indulgent Rays, Who gave His Word, that He'll maintain their State, His Word, Unalterable as the Book of Fate. Who'll say, the City Brethren, Misers he, And but beholds, their this Days Bravery? None, none; and by their Gallantry, all guess, Their Loyalty's the Cause of this Excess. What Rich Attire the spiritual Lords array! What Massy Coronets Adorn the Lay! Such of Gold and Silver, Kill my Brain, My Optics fail, and I grow Blind again. Arch-Angels sure, leaving their Glorious sphere, Once more themselves have Bodifyed, and here Resolve, as English Nobles to appear. Prince's 've still been waited on, now wait, And Bowing Here, they count they sit in State. But stay!— In this Terrestrial Galary. A glittering Troop, of Beauties I descry, Who Ravish with too Bright a Tyranny. Such Lustre ne'er was seen in Thetis Train, When Dressed i'th' Native Jewels of the Main. At every Look I take new Charms arise, Bright are their Diamonds, Brighter are their Eyes. And in each Lovely Face, do plainly move, Unnumbered Signs of Beauty, Wit and Love. Should Cold Diogenes these Fair Ones see. Pierced by their Darts he would Enamoured be. But what Fresh Object's this Invades my Eye, And bids my Soul gaze there Eternally? Assured I am, our Climate never held Before a Beauty so unparallelled. All Heavenly Features join themselves in one, To show their Triumph in this Face alone; The Savages, that Worship the Suns Rise, Would hate their God, if they beheld these Eyes. The Wealth She wears about her, more does hid Than it Adorns, her Native Beauty's Pride. mirror of Heaven! Wonder of the Earth! Oh! thou Bright Goddess of Celestial Birth! Now Caesar's Glory Augmentable seems, Since You appear, and deign to mix your Beams, 'Tis She! 'Tis England's QUEEN whom thus we view, QUEEN long ago, and now Anointed too. The Crown, not Her, but She the Crown does Grace, Before She swayed an Empire in Her Face. Had Virgil lived this MARY but to see, Dido had in Oblivion Slept, and She Had given his Muse, Her best Eternity. And now the Monarch of the Day's in sight, From whom, the rest receive their Borrowed Light. Who giving way, His Brighter Splendour own, As Stars do vanish at th' approach o'th' Sun. Oh! what a Flood of Virtues from Him flows! How like a God Installed on Earth He shows! Thus when the Thickest Darkness Phoebus Shrowds, With greater Fulgence he breaks through those Clouds: Look on His Face, his Royal Mein but mind, And to be Traitors now, we must be blind. Mankind's Delight! and Heaven's chiefest Care, To victory, as to's Crown the Lawful Heir. The World has always Shaken at His Alarms, At Sea and Land Success still Crowned His Arms. Ye Bold Excluders, see your Injured Prince, And may this Sight you of your Crime convince, Crouch, Crouch, Rebellious Sirs, & own your Insolence Both how to Pardon, and Revenge, He knows, To Guard his Friends, and to Destroy his Foes. Down, down then at His Feet without delay, With double Loyalty His Wrongs repay; Lay, jay Him in your Hearts, and beg of Fate, He long may Reign, though he is Crowned, but late He shall; for th' thing that's slowly's sure done, And He whom heaven designs to fix on's Throne, It is the longer sitting Him thereon No more shall Law less, Hair brained Faction Rage, But may His Reign bring back the Golden Age. May from His Sacred Consort's Wombs Increase, Spring Present Joy, and Future Age's Peace. Let's keep that Path, which He, (a Subject) made, Who still His King, Unmurmuring Obeyed. Let's think His Foes be Ours, as so They are, Think on His Martyred Father, and beware. And let this Sight, (though ended,) ne'er be done, But let it still, and still be Thought upon, And Thought on, even to Convert Rebellion. FINIS.