A Congratulatory POEM Presented To the Right Honourable Sr. JOSEPH SHELDON Knight and Baronet. LORD MAYOR Of the City of London.  Composed by the Author of the Geneva ballad. 

BRave Walworth's Dagger, Worthy Lord,  
Rebuds and blossoms in your Sword:  
Lop the first Letter in his Name,  
Yourself and he will be the same:  
Nature and Grace to You impart,  
An Aspect grave, a Loyal Heart;  
A Spring-tide-Purse, an Ebbing passion;  
Rigour allayed with Moderation;  
A Still Voyee in a Thunderclap,  
Where Mercy sits in Justice Lapet:  
With all ingredients that complete  
A Perfect Christian Magistrate.   

The more's the Pi●ty! some have made  
Their Power a Pander to their Trade:  
And when the people would be heard,  
Have measured causes by the Yard:  
For Equity but blundr'ing at it,  
More by the Shop-book than the Statute:  
These Animals if you would know,  
They now and then i'th' Country grow:  
And may be Picked up here and there,  
In half the Towns of every Shire.   

But never did so Vile Disgrace  
Bespot Fitz-Allens Nobler Race;  
Whose Ancient Honours here we View,  
By Providence, transferred to You,  
Whose Port, and presence well may show,  
Whom You do Represent below:  
That Auful Mildness Writ upon it,  
Might make the Quaker Veil his Bonnet:  
And him that hopeth a Reprieve,  
Not only Tremble but Believe;  
Considering how your Smile or Frown  
Can raise him up, or cast him down.   

Here we may see (to London's pride)  
Lambeth and Paul's afresh allied;  
The Church and City jointly share  
A Metropolitan, and Mayor  
Of the same stock; whose Name shall last  
Till deep-lunged fame hath spent her blast,  
Great Joseph! with thy brethren's leaves  
Accept due homage from their Sheaves;  
And be to us as much or more  
Than that blessed Patriarch was before  
Amongst the old Egyptians, who  
Endeared the Prince and people too:  
So our wise FORD, with Prudence sweet,  
Made both ends of the Town to meet:  
So noble VINER hath likewise  
Caused Conduits run, and Churches rise;  
And in his Sovereign's statue shown  
A lasting Monument of his own.  
Oh pious pomp! of all the rest,  
These Following pageants are the best,  
Which Triumph over Death, and save  
Th' Embalmed memory from the grave.  
Whose Aqueduct's, when e'er he die,  
Will weep forth his best Elegy.  
Pardon, my Lord, although to you  
Our prayers, not our Advice is Due;  
Let your Heav'n-granted power pursue,  
The Hectring, and the Damning crew,  
Blasphemous Tongue, and Bloody Hand  
Cuts out new mourning for the Land:  
Superfluous Trees, by pruning, thrive,  
And Laws by Execution live:  
We're subject unto your commanding,  
Like Phineh as do Justice Standing:  
For if this be your Honour's Way,  
Factions will of themselves Decay.   
My Lord, Your Honours Most Humble Servant.   

Printed in the Year, 1675.