LOGOMACHIA: A Harmony in Discord, SHOWING The mutual submission of the Episcopal party in the City, and the Independent Soldiery, To CHARLES, by the Grace of God, King of England, Scotland, France & Ireland, Defender of the FAITH.  City. 

WHere am I now! upon some unseen wing,  
Hither I have been brought; the presence of a King  
Ere long will grace my bulwarks, and adorn  
My brow with lustre, like the gray-eyed morn.  
Though wayward fortune had maligned my State,  
And crossed my Noble Actions out of date,  
Yet I am metropolitan, and my Name  
Shall live, and stand equivalent with fame.  
Rouse up ye slumbering Lions, hollow  
My warlike hearts, go, and your General follow;  
You whose undaunted valour has been crowned  
With Noble Victories the world around,  
Come forth, and with your fires chase away  
The night, and meet the Chariot of the day.   Sould. 

Presumptuous wretch! to call me from my bed,  
And with vain thoughts perplex my troubled head;  
A dullness shuts mine eyes, I fain would rest  
A while secure; how happy, Oh how blest,  
Are those that sleep eternally! and he  
That lives and dieth in obscurity!  
Bear me thou gentle Earth, for ever I  
Would press thy flowery green; alas to die,  
Is less than to be born; life is a bubble,  
A minute's joy, and full of pleasing trouble;  
Let me alone; ah me, that I could take  
So kind a sleep, that I might never wake.   City. 

What pale-faced discontent doth seize thee now?  
Or why does anger furrow up thy brow?  
Or is't despair, opinion, timorous fear  
Makes thee look through the glasses of a tear?  
Whose valour and brave fortitude aspires  
Above the Earth in circles of blue fires.  
The King grants mercy, wilt thou now refuse  
T'embrace it, and his Royal Love abuse?  
The branded slave, that tuggs the weary Oar,  
Having the Sabbath of a welcome shore  
Procured for him by his Gracious King,  
To free him from his slavery, and bring  
Him home again, but he in love with pains,  
Hugs his tormentors, and does kiss his chains,  
Let him work on, till for his dull delay,  
With torturing whips he weeps himself away.  
How was this poor and pining City pained  
With burdens, when the many rabble reigned?  
When they had grasped in their greasy hands  
The Kings, Lords, Bishops, Deans, and Chapters Lands,  
And the Rates of all Commodities did rise  
By Taxes, Sesments, Customs, and Excise,  
With wars, imprisonments, turmoils, vexations,  
Changing, and clashing, death and sequestrations.  
The Right of Government most did suppose  
Lay first in one man's head, then th''others nose;  
Mean while the people flocked in numerous swarms  
Of double tongues, false hearts, divided arms,  
And a distracted brain, a poisonous breath  
Of envy, and a life-expecting death,  
Or death in midst of life. Oh were not we,  
The only Monuments of misery?  
But now we are approached to that we call  
The good, if there be earthly good at all;  
All earthly happiness those people gain  
'Bove others, where a prudent Prince doth reign.  
King's are not dismal Comets, but as fair  
As Phoebus, burnished with his morning hair,  
That from his flaming chariot sends his beams,  
To wake dull mortals from their drowsy dreams,  
Though oft, his glorious face, when they grow proud,  
He hides, and leaves them mantled in a cloud.   Sould. 

Dishevilled hair I'll tear thee from my Crown,  
Poor tangled Ornament; man's Renown  
Is but a dream; be gone, I'll fill thy room  
With dust, and break thee like a Spider's loom.  
It is his Right, but wherein now do ye  
Make famous his immortal memory?  
What singular service now? that Heaven may deign,  
To glorify him with a happy Reign,  
On Earth? that his Illustrious Majesty  
No more, may not in black oblivion lie?  
Will drinking, swearing, singing roundelays,  
With Bonfires, May-polls, Garlands, Fiddlers, Plays,  
Deriding, scoffing, persecuting too  
Those that are good, are these the things will do  
The King such honour? what, is this the thing  
Required as solemnity for a King?  
Will lust and rapine, madness, folly, pride,  
In them who all true piety deride?  
Whose poisonous breath, while they profanely call  
To Heaven, would kill a Spider to the wall,  
And hurt the wholesome Air; is this the thing  
Required as Solemnity for a King?  
No, come Great Charles and welcome, let thine eyes  
A little check these numerous fooleries,  
Rule us aright, and thou shalt prove that we,  
Though scorned, the best of all thy Subjects be,  
Kings are Earth's Gods, sometimes their law their will,  
They can encourage virtue, punish ill;  
Thy lips are lips of knowledge, in thine eye  
Is both Humility and Majesty;  
The boisterous wind, that in its fury raves  
Aloft, to beat the ebbing flowing waves,  
Locked up in Aeolus Gaol, sends gentle Gales  
Of perfumed Air, to court the pregnant Sails,  
That the recoiling Seas as still may lie  
As Virgins, while our Sovereign passes by.  
The Sun invest with Majesty will flee  
The concave of the spangled Canopy,  
Leaving the Southern Chambers, as he rides  
Through Gemini, his flaming Chariot guides,  
From bright Aurora, he will lash away  
His horse, to view the triumphs of the day.  
Where when thou art enthroned, if any woe  
For Justice, then remember Mercy too;  
So shall loud Acclamations lift thy Name  
'Bove the resounding trump of flying Fame;  
So shalt thou flourish in th'enlarged store,  
Of wealth and peace, thy temples arched over  
In a victorious Orb, which when laid down,  
Because 'tis but a transitory Crown,  
Thou shalt be crowned above in streets of gold,  
Where thou thy Royal Father shalt behold,  
In everlasting glory uncontroulled.   By JEREMIAH RICH.  

London, Printed for Peter Dring, at the Sun in the Poultry.