Dr WILD's Humble Thanks For His MAJESTY'S Gracious DECLARATION for Liberty of Conscience, March 15. 1672.  

No, not one word, can I of this Great Deed,  
In Merlin, Old Mother Shipton read!  
Old Tyburn take those Tychobrahe Imps,  
As Silger, who would be accounted Pimps  
To the Amorous Planets; they the Minute know,  
When Jove did Cuckold old Amphitryo,  
●en Mars and made Venus wink and glances,  
Their close Conjunctions, and midnight Dances.  
When costive Saturn goes to stool, and vile  
Thief Mercury doth pick his Fob the while:  
When Lady Luna leaks, and makes her man  
Throw't out of Window into th' Ocean.  
More subtle than the Excise-men here below,  
What's spent in every Sign in Heaven they know;  
Cunning Intelligencers, they will not miss  
To tell us next year, the success of this;  
They correspond with Dutch and English Star,  
As one once did with CHARLES and Oliver.  
The Bankers also might have, had they gone,  
What Planet governeed the Exchequer, known.  
Old Lily, though he did not love to make  
Any words o●'t saw the English take,  
Five of the Smyrna Fleet, and if the Sign  
Had been Aquarius, then they'd made them Nine  
When Sagitarius took his aim to shoot  
At Bishop Cousin, he spied him no doubt;  
And with such force the winged Arrow flew;  
Instead of one Church Stagg he killed two;  
Gloucester and Durbam when he espied,  
Let Lean and Fat go together he cried.  
Well Will Lily thou knewest all this as well  
As I, and yet wouldst not their Lordships tell.  
I know thy Plea too, and must it allow,  
PRELATES should know as much of Heaven as thou:  
But now Friend William, since it's done and passed,  
Pray thee, give us fanatics but one Cast,  
What thou foresaw'st of March the Fifteenth Last;  
When swift and sudden as the Angels fly,  
Th' Declaration for Conscience-Liberty;  
When things of Heaven burst from the Royal Breast,  
More fragrant than the Spices of the East.  
I know in next year's Almanac thou'lt write,  
Thou saw'st the King and Council overnight,  
Before that morn, all sit in Heaven as plain  
To be discerned, as if 'twere Charles' Wain,  
Great B, great L, and two great AA's were chief  
Under Great CHARLES to give poor Fan's relief:  
Thou sawest Lord Arlington ordain the man.  
To be the first Lay Metropolitan.  
Thou saw'st him give induction to a spital,  
And constitute our Brother TOM-DOE-LITTLE.  
In the Bear's Paw, and the Bulls right Eye,  
Some Detriment to Priests thou didst espy;  
And though by Sol in Libra thou didst know  
Which way the Scale of Policy would go;  
Yet Mercury in Aries did decree.  
That Wool and Lamb should still Conformists be.  
But hark-you Will, Steer-poching is not fair;  
Had you amongst the Steers found this March-Hare,  
Bred of that lusty Puss the Good Old Cause,  
Religion rescued from Informing Laws;  
You should have yelpt aloud, hangings the end,  
By huntsmen's Rule, of Hounds that will not spend.  
Be gone thou and thy canting-Tribe, be gone;  
Go tell thy destiny to followers none:  
Kings Hearts and Councils are too deep for thee,  
And for thy Stars and Doemons scrutiny.  
King CHARLES' Return was much above thy skill  
To fumble out, as 'twas against thy will.  
●rom him who can the Hearts of Kings inspire,  
Not from the Planets, came that Sacred Fire  
Of Sovereign Love, which broke into a Flame;  
From God and from his King alone it came.   

To the KING.  

SO great, so universal, and so free!  
This was too much great CHARLES, except for Thee,  
For any King to give a Subject hope:  
To do thus like Thee, would undo the Pope.  
Yea, though his Vassals should their wealth combine,  
To buy Indulgence half so large as thine;  
No, if they should not only kiss his Toe,  
But Clement's Podex, he'd not let them go.  
Whilst Thou to's shame, Thy immortal glory,  
Hast freed All-Souls from real Purgatory;  
And given All-Saints in Heaven new Joys, to see  
Their friends in England keep a Jubilee.  
Suspect them not, Great Sir, nor think the worse;  
For sudden joys like grief, confound at first.  
The splendour of your favour was so bright,  
That yet it dazzles and overwhelms our sight;  
Drunk with her cups, my Muse did nothing mind;  
And until now, her feet she could not find.  
Greediness makes profa'ness i' th' first place;  
Hungry men fill their bellies, then say grace.  
We would make Bonfires, but that we do fear  
The name of Incend'ary we may hear.  
We would have Music too, but 'twill not do,  
For all the Fiddlers are Conformists too.  
Nor can we ring, the angry Churchman swears,  
(By the King's leave) the Bells and Ropes are theirs.  
And let 'em take 'em, for our tongues shall sing  
Your Honour louder than their Clappers ring.  
Nay, if they will not at this Grace repine,  
We'll dress the Vineyard, they shall drink the Wine.  
Their Church shall be the Mother, ours the Nurse.  
Peter shall preach, Judas shall bear the purse.  
No Bishops, Parsons, Vicars, Curates, we,  
But only Ministers desire to be.  
We'll preach in Sackcloth, they shall read in Silk.  
We'll feed the Flock, and let them take the Milk.  
Let but the Blackbirds sing in bushes cold,  
And may the Jackdaws still the Steeples hold.  
We'll be the Feet, the Back and Hands, and they  
Shall be the Belly, and devour the Prey,  
The Tythe-pigg shall be theirs, we'll turn the spit,  
We'll bear the Cross, they only sign with it.  
But if the Patriarches shall envy show  
To see their younger-Brother Joseph go  
In Coat of divers colours, and shall fall  
To rend it, 'cause it's not Canonical:  
Then may they find him turn a Dreamer too,  
And live themselves to see his Dream come true.  
May rather they and we together join  
In all what each can; But they have the Coin:  
With Prayers and Tears such service much avail:  
With Tears to swell your Seas, with Prayers your Sails;  
And with Men too, from both our parties; such  
I'm sure we have, can cheat, or beat, the Dutch.  
A Thousand Quakers, Sir, our side can spare;  
Nay, two or three, for they great Breeders are.  
The Church can match us too with Jovial Sirs,  
Informers, Singing-men and Paraters.  
Let the King try, set these upon the Decks  
Together, they will Dutch or Devil vex.  
Their Breath will mischief further than a Gun.  
And if you lose them, you'll not be undone.  
Pardon dread Sir, nay pardon this corpse Paper,  
Your Licence 'twas made this poor Poet caper.    
ITER BOREALE.