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ID Title Author Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication) STC Words Pages
B03758 A Pindarick ode on the death of His Late Sacred Majesty King Charles II. of blessed memory. By J.H. Esq;. J. H., Esq. 1685 (1685) Wing H76; Interim Tract Supplement Guide 806.k.16[115]; ESTC R68 1,652 4

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A Pindarick ODE ON THE DEATH Of His Late Sacred Majesty King CHARLES II. OF BLESSED MEMORY By J. H. Esq Stat sua cuique dies breve irreparabile tempus Omnibus est vitae sed famam extendere factis Hoc virtutis opus Virg. STruck with the horror of the Dismal News And sunk with the dead weight of Grief Beneath a Doting Willows Shade A while the Melancholy Muse Despairing of Relief Was gasping laid Diana Mourns behind a Gloomy Cloud Apollo with a faint and glimm'ring Ray Guides the unwilling progress of the day And Winds do seem to sigh aloud The Mourning Groves their Russet Garments wear And Nature has forgot the Seasons of the Year The Trees seem to refuse to grow Naked and Shievering on the Plain The Roots the Vital Sap retain To spend in Melting Tears below Atlas beneath his Leaden Weight does groan His Hamstrings yield his Sinews crack The stupid Lump lies heavy on his Back The Worlds Enliv'ning Spirit Caesar gone II. We thought when Walcot Rouse and Hone And others of that bloody Crew Received the Justice to their Treasons due Our Fears would end all dangers gone Whilst no appearance of Rebellion But when we thought all danger past When Plots against our King began to cease Lo A new Traytor to disturb our Peace The Traitor Death Rebels at last The Traitor Death that grinning Slave That Servile Wretch so long had been A Subject of our Soveraign Had sent a Thousand Rebels to their Graves Yet durst not strike when he said Let him Live The Power of Life and Death was his Prerogative Therefore Death durst not the Dread Monarch seize But Rebel-like on unfore-seen Surprize III. Once heretofore we thought our Monarch dead Dead unto us civilly Buried Encompass'd round with Rotteness when he Lay Coffin'd up within the Royal Tree 'T was then the wounded Nation bled Then 't was her Crimson Tears were shed 'T was then were heard Three Kingdoms Tragick Groans Lab'ring with strong Convulsions But Heav'ns Eternally be prais'd Our Sov'raign from the Dead was rais'd Return'd again with Blessings Crown'd And spreading Universal Joys around Like Sol from Nights dark Prisons sprung He clear'd our Sky disperst our Fogs and with fresh Lustre shon IV. But ah I tremble to relate The irresistable decrees of Fate The awful Prince is dead and 't is in vain To hope he 'll be restor'd again No he has left his House of Clay In the swift Wings of Angels born away To the bright regions of Eternal Day And 't was but fit a Soul divinely great Should quit this Perishable World for a Coelestial Seat V. Then lets no longer idly moan At his sublime Translation Only his Drossy parts of Clay Crumble to dust and fade away If any Dross were possible to be In one so exquisitely fine as he He 's Crown'd above with an immortal bliss Smiles at the little Honours of an Earthly King Heavens blessed Quire their sacred Anthems sing To welcome and congratulate the Royal Guest VI. Nor is he Immortal only there He lives too with New Glories here Lives in his Fame within Life's narrow span Has gain'd a Name of infinite duration While we the busie Mobile And all our mean posterity Must yield to Death and not a Name shall be Left to preserve our Memory When Tombs themselves shall antiquated be Themselves want Monuments to preserve Their Memories from the Grave His great Heroick Actions shall be known To after Ages handed down By an infallible Tradition Ages to come shall talk of Wonders past And Fame shall eccho Charles His worth while time it self shall last To His Most Excellent Majesty King JAMES II. WHile all your Subjects their Allegiance pay And at your Feet their grateful Offerings lay 〈◊〉 Dread Soveraign an Officious Swain ●●●●●…sh all Blessings to your Peaceful Reign A●●… the Bards my Masters I remain To pay my Vows the meanest of the Train Hail Englands Glory Heavens peculiar Care Whose chief Life-Guard the blessed Angels are Breath of our Nostrils Hail Heav'n kept you from the tempests of the Seas And from th' excluding Votes more turbulent then these A while like stupid Brutes wee 've senseless lain You 'r the restorer of our Wits again Vice shall abscond while you the Scepter sway And Frauds discountenanc'd shall sneak away Vertue exalted on her highest sphear Without Eclipse in splendor shall appear Justice within her bounds like Thames shall flow With equal currrent nor supinely slow Nor yet too swift nor shall fierce Tempests blow To wrinkle or molest her even brow But if our English Giants shall rebel Caesar like Jove can frown and thunder them to Hell FINIS London Printed for S. T. and are to be sold by Randal Tailor near Stationers Hall 1685.