But as the Mary-gold in feasts of dew
And early sun-beams, though but thin and few Unfolds its scif, then from the Earth's cold breast Heaves gently, and salutes the hopeful East: So from thy quiet cell, the retir'd throne Of thy fair thoughts, which silently bemoan Our sad distractions, come: and richly drest With reverend mirth and manners, check the rest Of loose, loath'd men! why should I longer be Rack't 'twixt two ev'ls? I see and cannot see.'
THE KING DISGUISED.
Written about the same time that Mr. John Cleveland wrote his.2
KING and no king! Is he gone from us,
And stoln alive into his coffin thus ? This was to ravish Death, and so pre-
This poem occupies an unpaged leaf by itself. It is evident that the Printer had either by inadvertency left these two pages out, or that a better text had been subsequently furnished. The heading is "Choice Poems on several occasions" but as "Thalia Rediviva" is placed on page one, we prefer it. G.
2 See our Essay for notice of Cleveland's poem. G.
The rebells' treason and their punishment.
He would not have them damn'd, and therefore
Himself deposed his own majesty.
Wolves did pursue him, and to fly the ill He wanders-royal saint!-in sheep-skin still. Poor, obscure shelter! if that shelter be Obscure, which harbours so much majesty. Hence prophane eyes! the mysterie's so deep Like Esdras books, the vulgar must not see't. Thou flying roll, written with tears and woe, Not for thy royal self, but for thy foe: Thy grief is prophecy, and doth portend, Like sad Ezekiel's sighs, the rebells end. Thy robes forc'd off, like Samuel's when rent Do figure out another's punishment.1 Nor grieve thou hast put off thy self a while, To serve as prophet to this sinful isle; These are our days of Purim, which oppress The Church, and force thee to the wilderness. But all these clouds cannot thy light confine : The sun in storms and after them, will shine. Thy day of life cannot be yet compleat, 'Tis early sure, thy shadow is so great. But I am vex'd, that we at all can guess
This change, and trust great CHARLES to such a
When he was first obscur'd with this coarse thing, He grac'd plebians, but prophan'd the King: Like some faire Church, which Zeal to charcoals
Or his own Court now to an alehouse turn'd.
But full as well may we blame Night, and chide His wisdom, Who doth light with darkness hide : Or deny curtains to thy royal bed,
As take this sacred cov'ring from thy head. Secrets of State are points we must not know; This vizard is thy privy-councel now, Thou royal riddle, and in every thing
The true white prince, our hieroglyphic king! Ride safely in His shade, Who gives thee light, And can with blindness thy pursuers smite.
O may they wander1 all from thee as farr
As they from peace are, and thy self from warr!
And wheresoe're thou dost design to be
With thy-now spotted-spottles majestie, Be sure to look no sanctuary there, Nor hope for safety in a temple, where Buyers and sellers trade: O strengthen not With too much trust the treason of a Scot!
IS madness sure; and I am in the fitt, To dare an eagle with my unfledg'd
For what did ever Rome or Athens sing In all their lines, as loftie as his wing?
He that an eagle's powers would rehearse Should with his plumes first feather all his verse. I know not, when into thee I would prie, Which to admire, thy wing first, or thine eye; Or whether Nature at thy birth design'd More of her fire for thee, or of her wind. When thou in the clear heights and upmost air Do'st face the sun and his dispersed hair, Ev'n from that distance thou the Sea dost spie And sporting in its deep, wide lap, the frie. Not the least minoe there, but thou canst see: Whole seas are narrow spectacles to thee.
Nor is this element of water here
Below, of all thy miracles the sphere. If poets ought may add unto thy store, Thou hast a heav'n, of wonders many more. For when just Jove to Earth His thunder bends And from that bright, eternal fortress sends His louder vollies: straight this bird doth fly To Aetna, where His magazine doth lye: And in his active talons brings Him more
Of ammunition, and recruits His store.
Nor is't a low, or easie lift. He soares
'Bove wind and fire; gets to the moon, and pores With scorn upon her duller face; for she Gives him but shadows and obscurity.
Here much displeas'd, that any thing like Night Should meet him in his proud and loftie flight, That such dull tinctures should advance so farr, And rival in the glories of a star:
Resolv'd he is a nobler course to try,
And measures out his voyage with his eye. Then with such furie he begins his flight,
As if his wings contended with his sight. Leaving the moon, whose humble light doth trade With spotts, and deals most in the dark and shade: To the Day's royal planet he doth pass With daring eyes, and makes the sun his glass. Here doth he plume and dress himself, the beams
Rushing upon him, like so many streams;
While with direct looks he doth entertain
The thronging flames, and shoots them back
And thus from star to star he doth repaire,
And wantons in that pure and peaceful air.
Sometimes he frights the starrie swan, and now
Orion's fearful hare, and then the crow. Then with the orbe it self he moves, to see
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