King Charles Welcome Home, Text
KING CHARLES his welcome home, OR A CONGRATVLATION of all his loving Subiects in thankefulneſſe to God for his Maieſties ſafe and happie returne from Scotland, 1641.
By IOHN BOND, Cantabrid: Coll: St. Iohns.
London, Printed by F. L. for T. Bates, and F. Coules, and are to be ſold at their ſhops in the old Baily.
King Charles his welcome home.
HAd I great Homer's ſweet-Maeonian quill
Inſpired from the double-fronted Hill
Of the thrice-three-Aganippa'an Nimphs,
Who guides the fancy with Nectarian Limphs
Of fluent eloquence, and Heroick lines:
Had I the pen of Maro, whoſe worth ſhines
bright in the lamp of Poetrie: had I
An Angels ſweetneſſe, and an Eagles ey
To view your Majeſtie: perhaps I might.
Reſpectively expreſſe the ioyfull ſight
Of your returne: whoſe imperiall name
Is greater, then the barren Trumpe of Fame
Can farre enough proclaime with her ſhrill voyce;
In whom both men and Angels doe reioyce:
Or were my pen from Pegaſe-hoofe-borne ſpring
Diſtill'd; I might diſcribe thy welcome, King:
But ſtay retract that line, my Muſe, for why?
Shoul'ſt thou preſume upon his Maieſtie
To gaze, leaſt the bright ſplender of his name
Dazels the weakneſſe of thy lines in ſhame.
(But as the Caeſarian Parrat once did live)
To you great Charles my foreign I doe give.
Welcome thou Sun of glory, whoſe bright beames
Doe ſo illuminate thoſe obſcure dreames
Of adverſe Fortune, unto which we were
Late incident, by our quotidian feare.
But the bright raies of your returne abſolv'd
VsUs from that paſſion, and ſweelty diſſolv'd
That cloud of feare into the glorious day
Of triumph: for unitly we may ſay,
That Sol's Heav'n-wandring ſteedes in their firſt light
And infancy of riſing, (when the night
Had rob'd the earth of his bright lampe were not
More welcom to th'Pers'ans, who neere forgot
To worſhip his ariſing flames, then we
Triumph in your returned Maieſtie:
Whoſe preſence we adore, as a new Sun
Which in our Hemiſpheare moſt gloriouſly doe run.
Great Atlas of Religion, (whoſe rare brow
Embroydred with Religions branches, know—
The depth of wiſedome) whoſe Maieſticke ſmile
Can reerect Religion, and defile
At once both Pope, and Antichriſt, the Prieſts
Of Baall, Pontificians, Atheiſts
And the Hel-nouriſht crew of Sectaries beſide
Although puff'd up with the arrogant winde of pride
Yet know, great Charles, that by thy ſacred frowne
They without queſtion muſt all tumble downe.
Fountaine of peace! From thee doth daily ſpring
A concord, that doth decorate a King,
And moſt diſcreetly doth diſtill throughout
Three Kingdomes re-united round about.
Thou doſt afford each ſubiect peace, and then
They like to rivers doe returne agen
To the great Ocean of their peace, and thus
Although thou doſt diffuſe to each of us
This bleſsing daily: yet we cannot ſee
The fountaine e're to be exhauſt in Thee,
But rather more redundant, witneſſe now
Thy care ſollic'tous, when diſcreetly thou
Two Kingdomes did'ſt concatenate in one
Religious, firme, and ſacred peace alone.
When as your ioyfull Subiects did revew
Your preſence, how ev'ry one withdrew
Their former paſsion, and each ſingle eye
Was ſo transfix't upon your Maieſtie:
As if you were the Centur of their hope
Againſt the ſtratagems of th' wicked Pope.
For in your abſence, (oh!) how ev'ry heart
Clog'd with great feare for you, did daily ſmart:
Here one did ſigh, another there did weepe
He's heart did ſmart he's eye were drowned deepe
In the full ſtreames of ſorrow: this did pray
Both for your health and ſafety day by day:
Another prayes for your returne: and this
For your long life, that for your heav'nly bliſſe:
This feares, leaſt our Religion ſhould die,
That leaſt we grow unto ſome Anarchie:
Thus you might ſee, great Monarch, that none were,
Idle in prayers, but all ſtrucke with feare
In this your abſence: till your bleſt returne
Did make our hearts in gladneſſe more to burne
Then they in griefe oppreſſed were before
For now each man your preſence doth adore.
Loe! what a concurſe of thy ſubiects doe
Encompaſſe thee, as if they meant to woe
Your ſafe returne: this man's pleaſant voyce
Doth Trumpet forth his ioy: that man reioyce
Rather in heart then words: anothers eye
Loaded with ioy, ſalutes your Maieſtie.
The heads of others doe connive at you
The hands of others doe their triumph ſhow:
Some doe frequent the Temple, and there praiſe
God for your ſafe returne, whoſe mortall Days
They wiſh were crown'd with immortality
That we on earth might to eternity
With the triumph: all people thou maiſt ſee
Thus cloath'd with ioy in their ſolemnitie.
Tis not the plots of th' Antichriſtian Pope
Can e're extenuate at once the hope
Which is impos'd in thee: whoſe ſplendent mind
Can all their owliſh innovations blind.
Nor is it any Faction can oppoſe
Your peace-digeſted mind, or any foes
Diſturbe your concord: let the Papiſts ſtrive
In their Hel-forged plots, and let them drive
Their fury to the height of malice, while
We are protected under your bleſt ſmile.
So! let the wicked fume, and fome and fall
Starke-mad: ſtill ſnarling in their frothy gall
Of tainted envie: Let them like the waves
Precipitate their mallice to their graves,
Well! Let them ſnarle like murmuring rivers, than
Riſing, and riſing to an Ocean:
Then ſwell into a Deluge, till they hide
The tops of Mountaines in their teeming pride;
Thou Charles ſhalt ſtand like Noahs Arke ſecure
Above thoſe waves, and firmly ſhalt endure
While the tumultuous Billowes under Thee
Doe rage, and ſeeke their owne dire Deſtinie;
With Thee above the waves thou ſhalt protect
The Sonnes and daughters of th' Religious ſect
And ſacred Truth, whoſe ever-pious way
VnderUnder thy Tutele never ſhall decay.
Oh! how ſhall we expreſſe our flowing ioy
For thy returne, which griefe cannot annoy.
Yea ev'n the very City walles would come
And leave their ſeates, Thee now to welcome home
If nature did not them oppoſe: behold
The earth whereon thou treadeſt, doth unfold
Her barrenneſſe, and in thoſe ſteps, whereon
Your ſacred Maieſtie hath lately gon
Leaſt late poſteritie ſhould never heare
Of thy bleſt iourney) it doth now appeare
How the lacivious graſſe doe forthwith ſtrive
Which firſt ſhould be emergent, and ſo live
Sprung up in honour of your bleſſed fame,
And be a monument to your great name.
Flora did emulate with her ſelfe, and trie
How to excell the ſweet ſolemnitie
Of her beſt odours, whilſt all then agreed
To concurre all in one, ſtriving t' exceed
Her wouted-repercuſſive ſmell: That done
Abſtracted all her beauty then in one,
Thus charm'd her flowers whoſe ſweet benignitie
Ioyn'd in one faire Aſpect doe welcome thee.
Ceres have dreſſed the corne-loaded earth
Againſt your comming, to produce a birth
Of heav'n-created ioy: and as 'tis ſeene
Did ſweepe the earth's moſt fruitfull treaſure cleane;
Into her ſwelling barnes: and thus made roome
For your bleſt Maieſties returning home:
The Earth ſhe emptied, Thee t' entertaine:
Which otherwiſe ſhe knew, could not contaiue
Your Alexandrian perſon. Me thinks I ſee
Wine-ſwelling Bacchus ſtriving how to bee
Ambitiouſly your ſervant, who preſent
His pearlie coul'red grapes, all which he meant
To ripen only for your ſake: Thus he
To you commends them with humilitie.
Bright Phaebus doth his rad'ant beames diſplay
And with his great luſtre guild this day:
And thinkes it great ambition to diſtend
His rayes tranſluent, which he now did lend
To you more then accuſtom'd light: while he
Will doe more ſervice to your Maieſtie
With his foure ſteeds: Then he who did farre worſe
And gave your Maieſtie an hundred horſe.
While you and he ſhine both, none can define
Which is his ſplendor, Charles, or which is thine.
Puffe-mouthed Aeolus retract his winds
Which do tumultuouſly rage and findes
That the calme Zephyrus of your ſweet breath
Doth pacifie their rage, which threatens death
And that your ſmile can keepe diſtraction back
That wallow with diſcention to their rack.
Mars ſmiles at your returne, and he doth ſee
There his owne perſon in your Majeſtie.
Facetious Mercury's lodg'd in you tounge;
At your bright eyes doth Cupid without wronge
Warme his Caeleſtiall wings: and in your braine
Mellifluous Pallace doth diſcreetly raigne.
Thus all the Gods and Goddeſſes doe ioy
In your returne and call you their Vice-roy.
Loe! Conſtancie doth decorate your face
And true Religion ſacredly doe grace
Your heav'nly mind: And in your better part
Firme faith is crowned in your pious heart.
But why doe I ennumerate (alas!)
Your vertues, which doe farre tranſcend, and paſſe
The intellect of man's capacity:
Which, one may ſooner number in the sky
Each ſtarre; or elſe diſtinguiſh everyſand
Within the Ocean's ſhore, or in the Land
Each herbe; then he which can diſcribe in Thee
Each Charactar of your Divintiy
The Starres of honour in thee doe ſo ſhine
That thou art nothing earthly; but divine.
Which doe ſo meet in thee with variation
That they doe make a perfect conſtellation:
Which were they obvious but to every ey
Each ſeverall Art would trune Aſtronomie:
Our Parliaments adjourn'd: and then we were
(Had you not come) ſubjected beene to feare
But ſince ſuch vertues doe concurre in one
We have a Parliament in Thee alone.
Well! Live O King, for ever live I ſay
Live proſperouſly, and that beyond Doomes Day.
And although all other Poets doereply
A Vale in their Epilogue, yet I
In ſtead of Vale will preſume t'allude
And with a Salve, Charles, to you conclude.
FINIS.
End of the text · John Bond, King Charles Welcome Home (1641)