Nor could his acts too close a vizard wear,
To 'scape their eyes whom guilt had taught to fear,
And guard with caution that polluted neft,
Whence legion twice before was difpoffeft:
Once facred houfe; which when they enter'd in,
They thought the place could fanctify a fin ;
Like thofe that vainly hop'd kind heav'n wouldwink,
While to excess on martyrs tombs they drink.
And as devouter Turks firft warn their fouls
To part, before they taste forbidden bowls:
So these, when their black crimes they went about,
First timely charm'd their useless conscience out.
Religion's name against itself was made;
The shadow ferv'd the fubftance to invade :
Like zealous miffions, they did care pretend
Of fouls in fhew, but made the gold their end.
Th' incensed pow'rs beheld with scorn from high
An heaven fo far diftant from the sky,
Which durft, with horfes hoofs that beat the ground,
And martial brafs, bely the thunder's found.
Twas hence at length juft vengeance thought it fit
To speed their ruin by their impious wit.
Thus Sforza, curs'd with a too fertile brain,
Loft by his wiles the pow'r his wit did gain.
Henceforth their fougue must spend at lesser rate,
Than in its flames to wrap a nation's fate.
Suffer'd to live, they are like Helots fet,
A virtuous fhame within us to beget.
For by example most we finn'd before,
And glafs-like clearness mix'd with frailty bore.
But fince reform'd by what we did amiss,
We by our fuff'rings learn to prize our blifs:
Like early lovers, whofe unpractis'd hearts
Were long the may-game of malicious arts,
When once they find their Jealousies were vain,
With double heat renew their fires again.
'Twas this produc'd the joy that hurry'd o'er
Such fwarms of English to the neighb'ring fhore,
To fetch that prize, by which Batavia made
So rich amends for our impoverish'd trade.
Oh had
you feen from Schevelin's barren shore,
(Crowded with troops, and barren now no more,)
Afflicted Holland to his farewell bring
True forrow, Holland to regret a king!
While waiting him his royal fleet did ride,
And willing winds to their lower'd fails deny'd.
The wav'ring streamers, flags, and standards out,
The merry feamen's rude but chearful shout;
And laft the cannons voice that shook the fkies, And, as it fares in fudden ecstafies,
At once bereft us both of ears and eyes.
The Nafeby, now no longer England's shame,
But better to be loft in Charles' name,
(Like fome unequal bride in nobler sheets)
Receives her lord: the joyful London meets
The princely York, himself alone a freight;
The Swift-fure groans beneath great Glofter's
weight:
Secure as when the halcyon breeds, with these,
He that was born to drown might cross the feas.
Heav'n could not own a Providence, and take
The wealth three nations ventur'd at a stake.
The fame indulgence Charles his
voyage blefs'd,
Which in his right had miracles confefs'd.
The winds that never moderation knew,
Afraid to blow too much, too faintly blew ;
Or out of breath with joy, could not enlarge
Their ftraightned lungs, or confcious of their charge.
The British Amphytrite, fmooth and clear,
In richer azure never did appear;
Proud her returning prince to entertain
With the fubmitted fafces of the main.
ND welcome now, great monarch, to your
Behold th' approaching clifts of Albion :
It is no longer motion cheats
your view,
As you meet it, the land approacheth you.
The land returns, and, in the white it wears,
The marks of penitence and forrow bears.
But
you, whofe goodness your descent doth shew,
Your heav'nly parentage and earthly too;
By. that fame mildness, which your father's crown
Before did ravish, fhall fecure your own.
Not tied to rules of policy, you find
Revenge less sweet than a forgiving mind.
Thus, when th' almighty would to Mofes give
A fight of all he could behold and live;
A voice before his entry did proclaim
Long-fuffering, goodness, mercy, in his name.
Your pow'r to juftice doth submit your cause,
Your goodness only is above the laws;
Whose rigid letter, while pronounc'd by you,
Is fofter made. So winds that tempefts brew,
When through Arabian groves they take their flight,
Made wanton with rich odours, lose their spite.
And as those lees, that trouble it, refine
The agitated foul of generous wine:
So tears of joy, for your returning, spilt;
Work out, and expiate our former guilt.
Methinks I fee those crouds on Dover's strand,
Who, in their hafte to welcome you to land,
Chok'd up the beach with their still growing
And made a wilder torrent on the shore:
While, fpurr'd with eager thoughts of past de
Thofe, who had seen you, court a second fight;
Preventing ftill your steps, and making haste
To meet you often wherefoe'er you past.
How shall I speak of that triumphant day,
When you renew'd th' expiring pomp of May!
(A month that owns an interest in your name:
You and the flow'rs are its peculiar claim.)
That star that at your birth fhone out so bright,
It ftain'd the duller fun's meridian light,
Did once again its potent fires renew,
Guiding our eyes to find and worship you.
And now Time's whiter feries is begun,
Which in soft centuries shall smoothly run:
|