TWEEDS Tears of joy, to CHARLES great Britain's King.  

RUsh forth my billows in the roaring maine,  
And rouse the Tritons of old Neptune's train,  
Through the yast Ocean of the furthest shore,  
To publish these our joys and triumphs o'er  
The watery world, whilst long-wingd flying fame,  
To Nile and Ganges dwellers doth proclaim  
Our feasts and bonfires, that both sea and land  
May hear our happiness, and joyful stand:  
To see great Charles (his anger smoothed) smile,  
And kiss his mother; from whose love ere while,  
Seditious sycophants had him estranged,  
And sought (O wickedness! Heaven will revenged)  
To break that band, in which great Britain stood  
After so many ages, so much blood;  
But were deceived at last: Hell, Rome, and Spain,  
Thanks be to heaven, have spent their spite in vain,   

Faith's great defender, world-divided King,  
King of a world, which to thy wish can bring  
All what thy pleasure, or thy power require,  
To make thee happy in thy hearts desire:  
If in this storm of joy and pompous throng  
Old Tweed, thy Kingdom's limit (ah too long!)  
May have access, and that thy gracious ear,  
Will deign his harsh and lowly song to hear,  
While tears of joy his holy breast bedew,  
And passion paints his cheeks with purple hue:  
IT may be the freedom of his plain discourse,  
Will not offend or make thee like him worse.  
Two hundreth and five lustres did my streams  
Run neutral, and divide thy joined realms,  
Which in time's fullness thy wise happy Sire,  
Sent from above combined in one Empire.  
How oft they changed their crystal into blood,  
And saw their banks over shadowed with a wood  
Of bristling lances, numbrous hosts and powers,  
Whose might made right, and saccaged towns and towers,  
As wars ambiguous issue gave the lot  
Of Thee and thine for ever be forgot:  
Since now the Heavens have made thy Albion,  
In palmie peace united All-be-one;  
And still shall be (so long as days bright Car  
Doth light the World) a world without a war.  
Though Hellborn Python, and that cursed crew,  
From whom the Serpent's teeth to slaughter grew,  
With poisoned tongues into thine ears have poured  
Their venom, and unsheathed thy royal sword,  
Against thy loyal Subjects: Seeking so  
Both Churches fall, and Kingdom's overthrow.  
The pride of priests thy power must maintain,  
Be it near so lofty, mutinous and vain.  
Their sleeves as full of vengeance as of wind,  
Swell proud if they least opposition find,  
So high, that they thy Sceptres help reclaim,  
Which must support them both from hurt and blame,  
And even th● Crown the Mitre must uphold,  
Whose horns point higher than thy pearls and gold.  
O Heavens! Is that religions modest gate  
To hoist a topsail of such pomp and state?  
Saint Peter's master never taught that lore;  
Whose humble meekness is commended more.  
These wolves disguised in lambskins, not content  
To sow sedition till the state be rend,  
Broach schisms, and superstitious heresies,  
With power obtruded from their Hierarchies:  
And make it now Church-treason to control  
Their Canons which give body, law, and soul.  
That Court which from the high Commissions name,  
Did over all a jurisdiction claim,  
And would at pleasure, fine, confine, and use  
A boundless freedom, did thy power abuse,  
And sought to take thy Sceptre from thy hand,  
Since England's Prelates for that right did stand.  
(And gained it by thy grant a few years since)  
To separat the Church, and slight the Prince:  
What e'er their main intentions aim to reach.  
'Tis thy prerogative they always preach.  
Thine interest still is next, thine Honour suffers,  
When Church or Country shun what Popery proffers  
Wrapped up in gaudy tires and glozing terms,  
With cer'monies like exorcisms or charms.  
And then thy Royal hand is either bound  
To right thyself in them, or thou'rt uncrownd:  
Base impudence! The horned beast of Rome,  
By such byways crept up in Caesar's room.  
Conformity they urge, and grudge to see  
England's triumphant Church should greater be  
Then Scotland's militant in wealth and power,  
Which made the daughter erst the Dame devour.  
And he who from a private Pedant late,  
Can climb by favour a cathedral Seat,  
Looked down in scorn upon thy noblest Peers:  
And slighted the Statsmans' purple that he wears.  
'Tis strange Religion that should show the way  
To others, should herself first go astray.  
And laying all true piety aside,  
For worldly ends, turn purity in pride.   

Scotland was by their Conclave first ordained  
To be the Theatre, this Church unstained,  
With Romish rites, which preached the Gospel pure,  
The weakest thought, did seem the place most sure,  
To act the Prelates plot, which Rome had laid,  
And meant with great applause to have it played:  
The Common Prayer was the name it had,  
Written (as was alleged) by Bishop Laad:  
Strange scenes, new songs; and action, masks, and ,  
Had made it fine, with many pretty shows,  
If it had been presented: But it found  
So hard a welcome, that the name did wound  
The people's hearts and ears, who begged with tears,  
No puppet play might interrupt their prayers:  
The Bishops railed and raged to be refused,  
Cursed, swore, the Church and King were both abused,  
If so the rascal multitude withstood,  
What ever sort of worship they found good:  
And calling Thee from out thy royal cares,  
To countenance (great King) that plot of theirs,  
Can so prevail with their pernicious lies,  
To make Thee in thine anger, arm and rise,  
As if thine honour at the stake had laid,  
And Scotland now rebellious arms had ta'en.  
My Nymphs did shroud them in their sedgy bowers,  
At thy reproach, and frighted left their flowers,  
Their sport and dancing, where the harmless Swains,  
In both my banks sat piping. Hills and plains,  
A plantive Echo sent, at the dread sound,  
Of drums and trumpets, squadrons marching round.  
Yea, I myself surprised with the sight,  
Mine eyes mistrusted which were dazzled quite.  
With glancing helms and shields; so proud a train,  
Since blessed Eliza's days and happy reign,  
I had not seen, when wars did end in peace,  
And Britain on my banks did first embrace  
Thy happy Sire. O Charles! my hoary head  
I hung for sorrow, and my heart did bleed  
To see the iron age return again,  
Where thine own hands should in thy bowels slain  
Thy burning-brand. Accursed be, I said,  
These Hellborn monsters, have this mischief bred;  
While here no noise, no breach of peace, nor jar,  
As was of old, gave fire unto the war.  
Yet when thy royal breast began to ponder,  
The state of things, amazed with joy and wonder,  
To find thy Scotland (fare from what they made her,  
Whose wicked counsels wished thee to invade her)  
Fall at thy feet, herself and arms lay down,  
Which she (but to defend God's Church, thy Crown,  
Her Laws and liberties) did threatened take,  
No boot nor conquest o'er my stream to make,  
And from that due obedience, loyalty,  
Had never swerude, which once she swore to Thee.  
Thou sawst (dread Prince) thy mother's Churches tears  
Wiped them away, and cleared thy countries' fears:  
That King by whom King's reign, both knew thy grief,  
And her affliction, which required relief.  
And He it was inspired thy royal heart  
T' accept thy Subjects love, and to avert  
That storm of wrath, which brought thee to these bounds,  
Big swollen with fury, breathing death and wounds.  
What ever false aspersion hath been put  
Upon thy people, here thou foundst it not.  
The black-mouthd Hellhounds that did belch their gall,  
To make them foul, and in thy vengeance fall:  
Now lurk in darkness, and their faces hide,  
And dare, nor can not Truths pure light abide.  
But God will rouse them, and his justice rod  
Shall scourge them that dare jump with King and God.   

Now that these clouds are cleared, which darkened late  
Thy royal favour from this Land and State,  
Go on great King in glory, shine forth bright,  
And grace thy native Scotland with thy sight,  
Embrace her zeal, the captived Church deliver,  
Whose vows and prayers, have wished thee happy ever.  
And called to witnesses Heaven and Earth, if she  
Hath in least thought declined thy power or thee,  
Repair these breaches Schismatics have made,  
Whose tyrant yoke, Religion bondslave led,  
To compass their unlucky ends, and take  
A power to them, which should thine weaker make.  
So shall heavens blessing shield thy happy throne,  
And of the Stewarts race shall ne'er want one  
To sway great Britain's Sceptre, while the sun  
To light this lower world, his race shall run.   

From priests whose pride is temporal and great,  
Usurpers in the Government and State,  
From factious firebrands, from dissembling Doctors,  
Loyola's loyal ministers and Proctors,  
From Rome's emissaries, and all that seek  
The Church and Kingdoms happy peace to break:  
Great Charles, our hopeful Hercules set free  
This land, which looks to be relieved by Thee.  
And purge it so, no dreg nor filth remain,  
That doth refer to Rome, or smell of Spain:  
Then shall thy Britain prosper, and thy reign  
Bring to the world the golden age again.   

But since all now is one, that Thames and Tweed  
An equal interest in thy person plead,  
And seek who shall be nighest, though I claim  
Thy birth and cradle, yet I do not aim  
At such a Sovereign share, as to possess  
Thee all alone, that he may have the less.  
Whom heavens have joined, no earthly power shall sever,  
And thou shalt be a like to both for ever.  
Though thou be pleased to bless with thine abode,  
His happy banks, and seldom comest abroad,  
To grace me with thy presence, I presume  
In thy affection Tweed with Thames doth come  
In equal balance. But I grieve to see  
Some wicked spirits strive to poison thee,  
With lies and railing, (if they could) to make  
Thee hate thy Country and their love forsake.  
These vipers hatched in venom, spew their spite  
In Pasquil's, Ballads, striving to excite  
Thy fury, and revive the long unquenchd fire,  
Whose ashes drenched in blood of thine Empire,  
The ground stone-laid and labour to defame  
Thy noble Ancestors with scorn and shame:  
What battles erst were in old quarrels fought,  
Before this happy Union could be wrought,  
They now reproach, and vaunt strange victories,  
Of prisoner Kings, which were but treacheries:  
For when first James a child, and boon for France,  
Through storm cast in at Flambourgh by chance,  
Was contrary to all curtsy, law, and right  
Detained by treason, but not ta'en in fight,  
The conquest's glory was not very great,  
Nor can they boast so much of our defeat.  
But will these villains call to mind how once,  
When England's crown was lost, the royal ones,  
By proud usurping Steven dispossessed,  
Who did himself into the throne invest;  
That second Henry with his Uncle's aid,  
Scotland's third Alexander, who did invade  
With mighty powers that Kingdom, and constrain  
Th'usurper to restore their crown again:  
They'll say that Scotland could for them do more  
Than they could for themselves, and them restore,  
To Crown and Kingdom, though she boast it not,  
But (with more favours) hath it quite forgot.   

Great King confound these monsters, crush their necks,  
That would disturb our peace with flouts and checks,  
Tyburnes triangle trees their portion be,  
That so do sleight thy Country, scoff at thee.   

One thing thy Tweed would humbly beg for all,  
Great Charles, and prostrate at thy feet doth fall,  
To gain thy grant. Thou seest what armed bands  
Thy will can raise, and even thy wink commands.  
They if thou speak the word, can sack proud Rome,  
And give the Law for Thee to Christendom:  
While yet their arms are clear, their courage hot,  
Do not, O mighty King! dissolve them not,  
But let Eliza lead them to her Rhine,  
And repossess her there. Her cause is thine;  
These hopeful Princes, that Thee Uncle call,  
Pearls of that Crown, which from her head did fall:  
All beg the same, and even with tears entreat,  
Brave Rupert may at liberty be set,  
And that thy Scots may on proud Ister's streams  
Their valour show, and with thy Nephew's names,  
In wounds and blood on Vienns battered walls,  
Which boast that royal spoil, and Princes thralls.   

So mayst thou mighty Monarch live and reign  
In glory, till that King return again,  
Who shall with endless glory crown thy brows,  
And lead thee to these joys which heart not knows,  
Eye hath not seen, nor can the Soul conceive,  
Until he do it of free grace receive:  
May earth all fear and love Thee, and thy name  
Fill all the world with neverdying fame,   
FINIS▪