AN ANNIVERSARY POEM ON The Sixth of May, His ROYAL HIGHNESS miraculous Deliverance, then at Sea, from the Shipwreck of the GLOUCESTER.  
Jamque Dies (ni fallor) adest quem semper acerbum  
Semper honor atum (sic Dii voluistis) habebo.  

NO Art, no change of Pencils can display  
The Chequered Fate of this important Day;  
Nor knows the Muse what Numbers to employ  
Sufficient for its Grief, and for its Joy.  
Consulting Heaven determined to restore  
Our Royal Hero to the longing Shore,  
Which fixed Decree no Chance could countermand,  
Nor Wind, nor Wave, nor more destructive Sand,  
Nor all the crying Gild and impious Rage  
Of a most factious and ingrateful Age:  
Which yet in part the Blessing did destroy,  
Nor could our Crimes admit the perfect Joy;  
But while we triumph in his wished Return,  
Are forced his followers dismal Wreck to mourn.  
Vain were the Muse would labour to express  
That fatal Hours unspeakable distress;  
Besides if any Words such Grief could fit,  
At best 'twere impious Art, and cruel Wit,  
'Twere sin to bring the mournful Scene in view,  
And wound our pious Hero's Heart anew.  
Too much the pangs that then did rend his Breast,  
Even by his savage Foes must be confessed!  
Such Agony that minute seized his mind,  
He thought the Care, that saved his Life, unkind!  
Ye mighty Spirits, you that then expired,  
With Minds for any brave Adventure fired,  
Let not your Ghosts repine that you did yield  
To such tame Fate, without a Foe in Field,  
Without a Price for such Heroic Breath,  
And Standards seized to signalise your Death,  
Without the Trophies of the Soldier's Toil,  
Whole Groves of Ensigns gained, and Hills of Spoil;  
Let no such thought, great Souls, your joys suppress,  
Or make the happy Fields delight you less,  
Such Honours were to former Worthies known,  
And every Age has Spoils and Trophies shown;  
But this new silent Method of your Fate,  
Renown yet unrecorded does create.  
While you from thence unequalled Glory claim,  
And stand unrivalled in the Roll of Fame.  
Let then, bright Minds, Applause so vast as this,  
Reach to your World of Joy, and raise your Bliss.  
Rest pleased, that ere you perished, you could see  
Your Royal Master from the Wreck set free,  
That you his safety hailed with latest Breath,  
And had his Tears to consecrate your Death.   

Next for the scattered Remnant scarce secured,  
From that sad Lot their Noble Mates endured,  
While labouring Heaven no Miracles did spare  
To second their indulgent Master's Care,  
Let Angels sing the Goodness he expressed,  
Condoled their Sufferings and their Wants redressed;  
While such Supplies his Bounty did convey,  
As almost healed the Ruins of the Day.   

Such Virtue did Aeneas Breast employ,  
Once more preserving the Remains of Troy,  
His scattered Troop collecting on the Shore,  
Saved now from Floods, as from the Flames before.  
O for a Maro of this Age, to raise  
With equal Verse our equal Hero's praise!  
Nor shall succeeding Times the Work disclaim,  
That speaks great JAMES his Sufferings and his Fame.  
How do I curse the Muse my Youth withdrew  
From gainful Science to the Chiming Crew:  
Yet when on his loved Name she lends her Aid,  
I bless my Lot, and think my Griefs repaid!  
Soon as you please, ye Powers, my Frame confound,  
Blend me with Brother-Insects in the Ground;  
Dissolve your Wretch, the Times and Fortune's Slave,  
O'r-prest with Wrongs, and stretching for the Grave:  
For ever shroud me in the silent Clay,  
No more the Scorn of Fools, and Villains Pray;  
Forgetting and Forgotten by Mankind,  
Given All to Fate, no Atom left behind,  
But oh! whatever Songs of mine are graced  
With JAMES his Deeds, let their Remembrance last!  
To them, kind Heaven, immortal Ages give,  
Let me be lost, but let those Numbers live.    

LONDON: Printed for Jo. Hindmarsh Bookseller to his Royal Highness, at the Black Bull in Cornhill.