Selected quad for the lemma: england_n
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A93632
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A speech spoken to his excellency the Lord General Monk, by one representing the genius of England at Drapers-Hall, Wednesday the 28. of March.
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1660
(1660)
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Wing S4870; Thomason 669.f.24[45]; ESTC R211777
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2,234
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1
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A SPEECH Spoken to his Excellency the LORD GENERAL MONK BY ONE Representing the Genius of ENGLAND at Drapers-Hall Wednesday the 28. of March NOW almost twenty yeares have roul'd about Since first the flames of our late Wars broke out And Brittain fainting with the losse of blood Under a lawlesse Yoke subjected stood When now at last her groanes by Heav'n are heard Her fainting Soule and dying Hopes uprear'd Her sable night of sorrow done away By the new dauning of a Royall day As from the North her first distemper grew Thence flowes the Soveraigne Med'cine to renue Her joys againe She hopâ—s secure to stand Upheld by her brave Generall 's Warlike hand Over the Brittish Seas flyes his great Name Borâ— on the swift wings of no common fame Our Enemies tremble and our freinds are glad To these 't is joyfull newes to those 't is sad The mighty shouts and the Stentorian voice Of the glad multitude that now rejoyce Awak's the drowsie Genius if this I 'le Who wept so long or'e Charles's Funerall pyle Till his swolne eyes with a Lethargic sleep Were seal'd up having no more teares to weep He understands the cause of Englands joy And least Ambition should their hopes destroy He boldly doth his mind to Monk expresse And shewes how he may Brittains ills redresse The Genius Speech GReat man by blood by vertue greater made Whose presence Banishes the gloomy shade Oâ— Brittaines night the faire Aurora too The Royall Phaebus ushered in by you Thy Sword has cut our Chaines of slavery Thy hands the Gordian knots of Tyranny Unty'd thy strenuous Arms unhing'd our Gates To shew thy strengâ—h the greatest pride abates To shew what thou couldst do that we thereby Might on thy more than Samson's strength rely But what thou didst was at anothers frown Thou hung'st them up that kindnesse was thy owne Great Hercules of our Ile at last thou 'st slaine That Hydra never more to rise againe Though often crush'd that Monstrous Taile which bit Her owne head off did resurrection git But now she 's dead and never more shall rise Tryumps not teares attend her Obsequies And now but one stop more and thy great name Register'd stand shall in the book of Fame In so great Characters the world may read Thy marchlesse story when that thou art dead The World too little for thy fame shall be And Princes honour shall thy name and thee See then great Generall Brittaines Genius now Before thee stands and willing is to owe A happynesse to thee wherein thou may'st Raise honour to thy selfe if thou delay'st Time and necessity will thee prevent And spoyle the lustre of thy great intent Now drooping Brittaine raises up her head Inspir'd by thee she arises from the dead Her War-made breaches now are cur'd again And joys and ease succeed her griefe and paine Her spotlesse Virgin Chores begin to sing Jö Paeans in honour to their King Faile not her now-bigg hopes but be content To raise an everlasting Nonument To thee and thy posterity that bayes May Crown thy Brows and Ages speake thy praise Thou see'st our wants and what it is wee 'd have It is a King of Charles's race we crave Since all the people in one voyce agree God's Oracle 't is God that asks it thee Who having scourg'd poor Brittain for her sin Returnes her Baulme to cure her wounds again We 'ave try'd and too too long a Common wealth Such as it was a Bane to Englands Health Where fifty Tyrants with one mouth agree To eat up Law Religion Liberty Monsters that Kings and Bishops Lands devour Kept by extorted sums the Nation poor Phylosophers that changed all to gold And let goe nothing that their gripes could hold Yet these were they that needs would stiled be The Keepers of our England's Libertie But by thy power great Monk wee 'r freed again And George most bravely has the Dragon slain Ambitious Cromwell put the purple on And having slain the Father rob'd the Son Of right and title to a royall Crown To set himselfe up pul'd another down And what he got by rapine he made good Though by Religion cloak'd by force and blood All what our Heroes once contended for With the sad tempest of a civill War Himselfe usurp'd and gloryed in his pride To have with peace what was to Kings deny'd But yet you see the Nation scourg'd that God Renews his mercy and has burn'd his rod And Cromwell's name grows odious every where Which was obey'd not out of Love but feare Let his example your ambition curb Doe not our growing happinesse disturb By mounting of a Throne is none of yours For be assured that the sacred powers Will blast the first fruites of thy tyranny Fraud must preserve what 's got by policy And now our people us'd to subtleties To be deceiv'd by crafts are grown too wise So that the fates deny thy Regiment And people to obey no more are bent Till he arises in the Brittish spheare Whom all desire the royall Crown to wear Thou seest our griefes and knowst the wayes to cure Our Maladies thy Faith we knows too pure For to be tempted to betray our hopes Who doubts thy loyalty to treason opes Away no though thou say'st thou 'lt us deceive Such is our confidence wee 'l not beleive Since one so good and great as Monk must be The onely Man can give us liberty Brittain in sackcloth has mourn'd long enough 'T is time to lay aside the Sword and Buff 'T is time to pull those Puny-nobles down Who speak against and yet affect a Crown That those by blood and virtue truly great May be enstaled in their long-left seat These shining in their ermin gallantry Beget a reverence due to Majesty Now I have done and you have this to doe To bring him in for whom the Nation sue Great Charles who more then by seav'n twelve Months try'd And in afflictions Furnace purifi'd Must come forth brighter then try'd gold more bright Then lustrous Sol after a dark some night Whose brighter beames of Love shall raise the slain And make our Halcyon dayes to live again England shall blesse thy name when this is done And stile the Phospher to the rising Sun To thee shall Brittain pay her anuall vowes Whilst Ducall diadems crown thy Princely brows FINIS