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Heart of this all, of what is known to sense,
The likest to his Maker's excellence;
In whose diurnal motion doth appear
A shadow, no true portrait of the year.
The Moon moves lowest, silver sun of night,
Dispersing through the world her borrow'd light;
Who in three forms her head abroad doth range,
And only constant is in constant change.

Sad queen of silence, I ne'er see thy face
To wax, or wane, or shine with a full grace,
But straight, amaz'd, on man I think, each day
His state who changeth, or if he find stay,
It is in doleful anguish, cares, and pains,
And of his labours death is all the gains.
Immortal Monarch, can so fond a thought
Lodge in my breast, as to trust thou first brought
Here in Earth's shady cloister, wretched man,
To suck the air of woe, to spend life's span
Midst sighs and plaints, a stranger unto mirth,
To give himself his death rebuking birth?
By sense and wit of creatures made king,
By sense and wit to live their underling?
And what is worst, have eaglets eyes to see
His own disgrace, and know an high degree
Of bliss, the place, if he might thereto climb,
And not live thralled to imperious time?
Or, dotard! shal! I so from reason swerve,
To dim those lights, which to our use do serve,
For thou dost not them need, more nobly fram'd
Than us, that know their course, and have them
nam'd?

No, I ne'er think but we did them surpass
As far as they do asterisms of glass.
When thou us made, by treason high defil'd,
Thrust from our first estate, we live exil'd,
Wand'ring this Earth, which is of Death the lot,
Where he doth use the power which he hath got,
Indifferent umpire unto clowns aud kings,
The supreme monarch of all mortal things.

When first this flow'ry orb was to us given,
It but a place disvalu'd was to Heaven:
These creatures which now our sovereigns are,
And, as to rebels, do denounce us war,
Then were our vassals; no tumultuous storm,
No thunders, earthquakes, did her form deform;
The seas in tumbling mountains did not roar,
But like moist crystal whisper'd on the shore;
No snake did trace her meads, nor ambush'd
low'r

In azure curls beneath the sweet spring flow'r;
The nightshade, henbane, napel, aconite,
Her bowels then not bear, with death to smite
Her guiltless brood: thy messengers of grace,
As their high rounds, did haunt this lower place.
O joy of joys! with our first parents thou
To commune then didst deign, as friends do now:
Against thee we rebell'd, and justly thus
Each creature rebelled against us;
Earth, reft of what did chief in her excel,
To all became a jail, to most a Hell:
In time's full term, until thy Son was given,
Who man with thee, Earth reconcil'd with Heaven.
Whole and entire, all in thyself thou art;
All-where diffus'd, yet of this all no part:
For infinite, in making this fair frame,
Great without quantity, in all thou came;
And filling all, how can thy state admit,
Or place or substance to be void of it?
Were worlds as many as the rays which stream
From day's bright lamp, or madding wits do dream,

They would not reel in aught, nor wand'ring stray,
But draw to thee, who could their centres stay;
Were but one hour this world disjoin'd from thee,
It in one hour to nought reduc'd should be.
For it thy shadow is; and can they last,
If sever'd from the substances them cast?
O! only bless'd, and Author of all bliss!
No, bliss itself, that all-where wished is;
Efficient, exemplary, final good,

Of thine own self but only understood:
Light is thy curtain: thou art Light of light;
An ever-waking eye still shining bright.
In-looking all, exempt of passive pow'r,

And change, in change since Death's pale shade
doth low'r :

All times to thee are one; that which hath run,
And that which is not brought yet by the Sun,
To thee are present, who dost always see
In present act, what past is, or to be.
Day-livers, we rememberance do lose
Of ages worn, so miseries us toss,
(Blind and lethargic of thy heavenly grace,
Which sin in our first parents did deface;
And even while embrions curst by justest doom)
That we neglect what gone is, or to come;
But thou in thy great archives scrolled hast,
In parts and whole, whatever yet hath past,
Since first the marble wheels of Time were roll'd,
As ever living, never waxing old,

Still is the same thy day and yesterday,
An undivided now, a constant aye.

O! king, whose greatness none can comprehend,
Whose boundless goodness doth to all extend;
Light of all beauty, ocean without ground,
That standing, flowest; giving, dost abound;
Rich palace, and in-dweller, ever blest,
Never not working, ever yet in rest:
What wit cannot conceive, words say of thee,
Here where we as but in a mirror see,
Shadows of shadows, atoms of thy might,
Still owely-eyed when staring on thy light;
Grant, that, released from this earthly jail, [veil,
And freed from clouds, which bere our knowledge
In Heaven's high temples where thy praises ring,
In sweeter notes I may hear angels sing.

GREAT God, whom we with humbled thoughts adore,
Eternal, infinite, almighty King,

Whose dwellings Heaven transcend, whose throne
before

Archangels serve, and seraphim do sing;
Of nought who wrought all that with wond'ring eyes
We do behold within this various round;
Who makes the rocks to rock, to stand the skies;
At whose command clouds peals of thunder sound.
Ah! spare us worms, weigh not how we, alas!
Evil to ourselves, against thy laws rebel;
Wash off those spots, which still in conscience' glas,
Though we be loath to look, we see too well.
Deserv'd revenge, Oh! do not, do not take:
If thou revenge, who shall abide thy blow?
Pass shall this world, this world which thou dét
make,

Which should not perish till thy trumpet blow.
What soul is found whose parent's crime not stama?
Or what with its own sins defil'd is not?
Though Justice rigour threaten, yet her reins
Let Mercy guide, and never be forgot.

1

Less are our faults, far, far than is thy love:
O! what can better seem thy grace divine,
Than they, who plagues deserve, thy bounty prove
And where thou show'r may'st vengeance, there to
Then look and pity; pitying, forgive
[shine!

Us guilty slaves, or servants now in thrall;
Slaves if alas! thou look how we do live,
Or doing ill, or doing nought at all;
Of an ungrateful mind the foul effect.
But if thy gifts, which largely heretofore
Thou hast upon us pour'd, thou dost respect,
We are thy servants, nay, than servants more,
Thy children; yes, and children dearly bought:
But what strange chance us of this lot bereaves?
Poor, worthless wights, how lowly are we brought!
Whom grace once children made, sin hath made
slaves.
[break,

Sin hath made slaves, but let those bands grace

That in our wrongs thy mercies may appear: Thy wisdom not so mean is, pow'r so weak, But thousand ways they can make worlds thee fear. O wisdom boundless! O miraculous grace! Grace, wisdom which make wink dim reason's eye! And could Heaven's King bring from his placeless On this ignoble stage of care to die; [place, To die our death, and with the sacred stream Of blood and water gushing from his side, To make us clean of that contagious blame, First on us brought by our first parent's pride! Thus thy great love and pity, heavenly king! Love, pity, which so well our loss prevent, Of evil itself, lo! could all goodness bring, nd sad beginning cheer with glad event. O love and pity! ill known of these times! O love and pity! careful of our need! bounties! which our horrid acts and crimes, Frown numberless, contend near to exceed. Make this excessive ardour of thy love o warm our coldness, so our lives renew, That we from sin, sin may from us remove, Wisdom our will, faith may our wit subdue. et thy pure love burn up all worldly lust, ell's candid poison killing our best part, Which makes us joy in toys, adore frail dust stead of thee, in temple of our heart. Grant, when at last our souls these bodies leave, heir loathsome shops of sin and mansions blind, nd doom before thy royal seat receive, saviour more than judge they thee may find.

THE

WANDERING MUSES:

OR,

THE RIVER OF FORTH FEASTING.

ING A PANEGYRIC TO THE HIGH AND MIGHTY PRINCE
JAMES, KING OF GREAT BRITAIN, FRANCE AND IRE-
LAND.

TO

HIS SACRED MAJESTY.

in this storm of joy and pompous throng, mis nymph, great king, doth come to thee so near, mat thy harmonious ears her accents hear, ve pardon to her hoarse and lowly song.

Fain would she trophies to thy virtues rear:
And her defects her high attempts do wrong:
But for this stately task she is not strong,
Yet as she could she makes thy worth appear.
So in a map is shown this flow'ry place;
So wrought in arras by a virgin's hand,
With Heaven and blazing stars doth Atlas stand;
So drawn by charcoal is Narcissus' face:
She like the morn may be to some bright sun,
The day to perfect that's by her begun.

THE

WHAT blust'ring noise now interrupts my sleeps?
What echoing shouts thus cleave my crystal deeps?
And seem to call me from my watry court?
What melody, what sounds of joy and sport,
Are convey'd hither from each night-born spring?
With what loud rumours do the mountains ring,
Which in unusual pomp on tip-toes stand,
And, full of wonder, overlook the land? [bright,
Whence come these glitt'ring throngs, these meteors
This golden people glancing in my sight?
Whence doth this praise, applause, and love arise?
What load-star eastward draweth thus all eyes?
Am I awake? Or have some dreams conspir'd
To mock my sense with what I most desir'd?
View I that living face, see I those looks,
Which with delight were wont t' amaze my brooks?
Do I behold that worth, that man divine,
This age's glory, by these banks of mine?
Then find I true what long I wish'd in vain;
My much-beloved prince is come again.
So unto them whose zenith is the pole,

RIVER OF FORTH FEASTING.

When six black months are past, the Sun doth roll:
So after tempest to sea-tossed wights,
Fair Helen's brothers show their clearing lights:
So comes Arabia's wonder from her woods,
And far, far off is seen by Memphis' floods;
The feather'd sylvans, cloud-like, by her fly,
And with triumphing plaudits beat the sky;
Nile marvels, Serap's priests entranced rave,
And in Mygdonian stone her shape engrave;
In lasting cedars they do mark the time
In which Apollo's bird came to their clime.

Let mother Earth now deck'd with flow'rs be seen,
And sweet-breath'd zephyrs curl the meadows green:
Let Heaven weep rubies in a crimson show'r,
Such as on India's shores they use to pour:
Or with that golden storm the fields adorn,
Which Jove rain'd when his blue-eyed maid was born.
May never Hours the web of day out-weave,
May never Night rise from her sable cave!
Swell proud, my billows, faint not to declare
Your joys as ample as their causes are:
For murmurs hoarse sound like Arion's harp,
Now delicately flat, now sweetly sharp.
And you, my nymphs, rise from your moist repair,
Strew all your springs and grots with lilies fair:
Some swiftest-footed, get them hence, and pray
Our floods and lakes come keep this holiday;
Whate'er beneath Albania's hills do run,
Which see the rising, or the setting Sun,
Which drink stern Grampus' mists, or Ochel's snows;
Stone-rolling Tay, Tine tortoise-like that flows,

The pearly Don, the Deas, the fertile Spay,
Wild Neverne, which doth see our longest day;
Nesse smoking sulphur, Leave with mountains
crown'd,

Strange Loumond for his floating isles renown'd;
The Irish Rian, Ken, the silver Aire,
The snaky Dun, the Ore with rushy hair,
The crystal-streaming Nid, loud-bellowing Clyde,
Tweed, which no more our kingdoms shall divide;
Rank-swelling Annan, Lid with curled streams,
The Eskes, the Solway, where they lose their names;
To every one proclaim our joys and feasts,
Our triumphs; bid all come and be our guests:
And as they meet in Neptune's azure hall,
Bid them bid sea-gods keep this festival;
This day shall by our currents be renown'd;
Our hills about shall still this day resound:
Nay, that our love more to this day appear,
Let us with it henceforth begin our year.

To virgins, flow'rs, to sun-burnt earth, the rain,
To mariners, fair winds amidst the main;
Cool shades to pilgrims, which hot glances burn,
Are not so pleasing as thy blest return.
That day, dear prince, which robb'd us of thy sight
(Day? No, but darkness and a dusky night)
Did fill our breasts with sighs, our eyes with tears,
Turn'd minutes to sad months, sad months to years:
Trees left to flourish, meadows to bear flow'rs,
Brooks hid their heads within their sedgy bow'rs;
Fair Ceres curs'd our trees with barren frost,
As if again she had her daughter lost:
The Muses left our groves, and for sweet songs
Sate sadly silent, or did weep their wrongs:
You know it, meads; you, murmuring woods, it
know,

Hills, dales, and caves, copartners of their woe;
And you it know, my streams, which from their eine
Oft on your glass receiv'd their pearly brine:
"O Naiads dear!" said they, "Napæas fair!
O nymphs of trees! nymphs which on hills repair;
Gone are those maiden glories, gone that state,
Which made all eyes admire our bliss of late."
As looks the Heaven when never star appears,
But slow and weary shroud them in their spheres,
While Tithon's wife embosom'd by him lies,
And world doth languish in a mournful guise:
As looks a garden of its beauty spoil'd,
As woods in winter by rough Boreas foil'd,
As portraits ras'd of colours us'd to be;

So look'd these abject bounds depriv'd of thee.
While as my rills enjoy'd thy royal gleams,
They did not envy Tiber's haughty streams,
Nor wealthy Tagus with his golden ore,
Nor clear Hydaspes which on pearls doth roar,
Nor golden Gange that sees the Sun new born,
Nor Achelous with his flow'ry horn,
Nor floods which near Elysian fields do fall:
For why? Thy sight did serve to them for all.
No place there is so desert, so alone,
Even from the frozen to the torrid zone,
From flaming Hecla to great Quincey's lake,
Which thy abode could not most happy make:
All those perfections which by bounteous Heaven
To divers worlds in divers times were given,
The starry senate pour'd at once on thee,
That thou exemplar might'st to others be.

Thy life was kept till the three sisters spun
Their threads of gold, and then it was begun.
With chequer'd clonds when skies do look most fair,
And no disorder'd blasts disturb the air;

When lilies do them deck in azure gowns,
And new-born roses blush with golden crowns;
To prove how calm we under thee should live,
What halcyonean days thy reign should give;
And to two flow'ry diadems, thy right,
The Heavens thee made a partner of the light.
Scarce wast thou born, when join'd in friendly bands
Two mortal foes with other clasped bands;
With Virtue Fortune strove, which most should grare
Thy place for thee, thee for so high a plac:
One vow'd thy sacred breast not to forsake,
The other, on thee not to turn her back;
And that thou more her love's effects might'st feel,
For thee she left her globe, and broke her wheel.

When years thee vigour gave, O then, how clear
Did smother'd sparkles in bright flames appear!
Amongst the woods to force the flying bart,
To pierce the mountain-wolf with feather'd dart;
See falcons climb the clouds, the fox ensnare,
Out-run the wind-out-running Dædale bare;
To breathe thy fiery steed on every plain,
And in meand'ring gyres him bring again;
The press thee making place, and vulgar things,
In admirat on's air, on gory's wings:
O! thou far from the common pitch didst rise,
With thy designs to dazzle Envy's eyes:
Thou sought'st to know this all's eternal source,
Of ever-turning Heavens the restless course;
Their fixed lamps, their lights, which wand ring run,
Whence Moon her silver hath, his gold the Son;
If Fate there be or no, if planets can,
By fierce aspects, force the free will of man :
The light aspiring fire, the liquid air,
The flaming dragons, comets with red hair,
Heaven's tilting lances, artillery, and bow,
Loud-sounding trumpets, darts of bail and snow,
The roaring element, with people dumb,
The earth with what conceiv'd is in her womb,
What on her mores, were set unto thy sight,
Till thou didst find their causes, essence, might:
But unto nought thon so thy mind didst strain,
As to be read in man, and learn to reign;
To know the weight and Atlas of a crown,
To spare the humble, proud ones tumble down.
When from those piercing cares which thrones invest,
As thorns the rose, thou, wearied, would'st thee rest,
With lute in hand, full of celestial fire,
To the Pierian groves thou didst retire:
There, garlanded with all Urania's flow'rs,
In sweeter lays than builded Thebes' tow'rs;
Or them which charm'd the dolphins in the mala,
Or which did call Eurydice again;
Thou sung'st away the hours, till from their sphere
Stars seem'd to shoot, thy melody to bear.
The god with golden hair, the sister maids,
Did leave their Helicon and Tempe's shades,
To see thine isle; here lost their native tongue,
And in thy world-divided language sung.

Who of thine after-age can count the deeds, With all that Fame in Time's huge annals reads; How by example, more than any law, This people fierce thou didst to goodness draw; How while the neighbour worlds, toss'd by the Fates, So many Phaetons had in the r states, [throves Which turn'd to heedless flames their burnish Thou, as enspher'd, kept'st temperate thy zoDES ; In Afric shores, the sands that ebb and flow, The shady leaves on Arden's trees that grow, He sure may count, with all the waves that mert To wash the Mauritanian Atlas' feet,

Though crown'd thon wert not, nor a king by birth,
Thy worth deserves the richest crown on Earth.
Search this half-sphere, and the antarctic ground,
Where are such wit and bounty to be found?
As into silent night, when uear the Bear
The virgin huntress shines at full most clear,
And strives to match her brother's golden light,
The host of stars doth vanish in her sight;
Arcturus dies; cool'd is the Lion's ire,
Po burns no more with Phaetontal fire;
Orion faints to see his arms grow black,
And that his flaming sword he now doth lack:
So Europe's lights, all bright in their degree,
Lose all their lustre, parallel'd with thee.
By just descent thou from more kings dost shine,
Than many can name men in all their line:
What most they toil to find, and finding hold,
Thou scornest, orient gems, and flatt'ring gold;
Estceming treasure surer in men's breasts,
Than when immur'd with marble, clos'd in chests:
No stormy passions do disturb thy mind,
No mists of greatness ever could thee blind:
Who yet hath been so meek? Thou life didst give
To them who did repine to see thee live:
What prince by goodness hath such kingdoms gain'd?
Who hath so long his people's peace maintain'd?
Their swords are turn'd to scythes, to coulters spears,
Some giant post their antique armour bears:
Now, where the wounded knight his life did bleed,
The wanton swain sits piping on a reed;
And where the cannon did Jove's thunder scorn,
The gaudy huntsman winds his shrill-tun'd horn:
Her green locks Ceres doth to yellow dye;
The pilgrim safely in the shade doth lie;
Both Pan and Pales careless keep their flocks;
Seas have no dangers, save the winds and rocks:
Thou art this isle's palladium; neither can
(Whiles thou dost live!) it be o'erthrown by man.
Let others boast of blood and spoils of foes,
Fierce rapines, murders, iliads of woes;
Of hated pomp, and trophies reared fair,
Gore-spangled ensigns streaming in the air;
Count how they make the Scythian them adore,
The Gaditan, and soldier of Aurore:
Unhappy boasting! to enlarge their bounds,
That charge themselves with cares, their friends
with wounds;

Who have no law to their ambitious will,

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That Piety unmasked shows her face,
That Innocency keeps with Power her place;
That long-exil'd Astrea leaves the Heaven,
And turneth right her sword, her weights holds even;
That the Saturnian worid is come again,
Are wish'd effects of thy most happy reign.
That daily, Peace, Love, Truth, delights increase,
And Discord, Hate, Fraud, with encumbers, cease;
That men use strength, not to shed others' blood,
But use their strength, now to do others good;
That fury is enchain'd, disarmed wrath,
That, save by Nature's hand, there is no death;
That late grim foes, like brothers, other love,
That vultures prey not on the harmless dove;
That wolves with lambs do friendship entertain,
Are wish'd effects of thy most happy reign.
That towns increase, that ruin'd temples rise,
That their wind moving vanes do kiss the skies;
That ignorance and sloth hence run away,
That bury'd arts now rouse them to the day;
That Hyperion far beyond his bed
Doth see our lions ramp, our roses spread;
That Iber courts us, Tiber not us charms, [warms;
That Rhein with hence-brought beams his bosom
That ill doth fear, and good doth us maintain,
Are wish'd effects of thy most happy reign.

O Virtue's pattern! glory of our times!
Sent of past days to expiate the crimes;
Great king, but better far than thon art great,
Whom state not honours, but who honours state;
By wonder born, by wonder first install'd,
By wonder after to new kingdoms call'd;
Young, kept by wonder from home-bred alarms,
Old, sav'd by wonder from pale traitors' harms;
To be for this thy reign, which wonders brings,
A king of wonder, wonder unto kings.

If Pict, Dane, Norman, thy smooth yoke had seen,
Pict, Dane, and Norman, had thy subjects been:
If Brutus knew the bliss thy rule doth give,
Ev'n Brutus joy would under thee to live:
For thou thy people dost so dearly love,
That they a father, more than prince, thee prove.
O days to be desir'd! age happy thrice!
If you your heaven-sent good could duly prize;
But we, half-palsy-s ck, think never right
Of what we hold, till it be from our sight;
Prize only summer's sweet and musked breath,
When arined winters threaten us with death;

But, man-plagues! born are human blood to spill: In pallid sickness do esteem of health,

Thou a true victor art, sent from above
What others strain by force to gain by love;
World-wand'ring Fame this praise to thee imparts,
To be the only monarch of all hearts.
They many fear, who are of many fear'd,
And kingdoms got by wrongs, by wrongs are tear'd;
Such thrones as blood doth raise, blood throweth
down;

No guard so sure as love unto a crown.

Eye of our western world! Mars-daunting king!
With whose renown the Earth's seven climates ring,
Thy deeds not only claim these diadems,

To which Thame, Litty, Tay, subject their streams:
But to thy virtues rare, and gifts, is due
All that the planet of the year doth view;
Sure, if the world above did want a prince,
The world above to it would take thee hence.
That Murder, Rapine, Lust, are fled to Hell,
And in their rooms with us the Graces dwell;
That honour more than riches men respect,
That worthiness than gold doth more effect;

And by sad poverty discern of wealth:
I see an age, when after some few years,
And revolutions of the slow-pac'd spheres,
These days shall be 'bove other far esteem'd,
And like Augustus' palmy reign be deem'd.
The names of Arthur, fabulous Paladines,
Grav'n in Time's surly brow in wrinkled lines;
Of Henries, Edwards, famous for their fights,
Their neighbour conquests, orders new of knights,
Shall, by this prince's name, be past as far
As meteors are by the Idalian star.

If grey-hair'd Proteus' songs the truth not miss,
And gray-hair'd Proteus oft a prophet is,
There is a land, hence distant many miles,
Out-reaching fiction and Atlantic isles;
Which (homelings) from this little world we nanie,
That shall emblazon with strange rites his fame;
Sball rear him statues all of purest gold,
Such as men gave unto the gods of old;
Name by him temples, palaces, and towns,
With some great river, which their fields renowns.

This is that king, who should make right each wrong,
Of whom the bards and mystic Sybils sung;
The man long promis'd, by whose glorious reign
This isle should yet her ancient name regain,
And more of fortunate deserve the style, [smile.
Than those where heavens with double summers
Run on, great prince! thy course in glory's way,
The end the life, the evening crowns the day;
Heap worth on worth, and strongly soar above
Those heights, which made the world thee first to
love;

[eye,

Surmount thyself, and make thine actions past
Be but as gleams or lightnings of the last;
Let them exceed those of thy younger time,
As far as autumn doth the flow'ry prime.
Through this thy empire range, like world's bright
That once each year surveys all earth and sky;
Now glances on the slow and resty Bears,
Then turns to dry the weeping Auster's tears;
Hurries to both the poles, and moveth even
In the infigur'd circle of the Heaven.

[sight O long, long haunt these bounds, which by thy Have now regain'd their former heat and light. Here grow green woods, here silver brooks do glide,

| And chides, perhaps, thy coming to the North,
Loath not to think on thy much-loving Forth:
O! love these bounds, where, of thy royal stem,
More than an hundred wore a diadem.
So ever gold and bays thy brows adorn,
So never time may see thy race out-worn;
So of thine own still may'st thou be desir'd,
Of strangers fear'd, redoubted, and admir'd;
So memory thee praise, so precious hours
May character thy name in starry flow`rs;
So may thy high exploits at last make even
With Earth thy empire, glory with the Heaven!

SPEECHES

TO

THE HIGH AND EXCELLENT PRINCE CHARLES,

KING OF GREAT BRITAIN, FRANCE, AND IRELAND,

AT HIS ENTERING BIS CITY OF EDINBURGH.

Here meadows stretch them out with painted pride; Delivered from the Fageants the 15th of June, 1635. Embroid'ring all the banks, here hills aspire

To crown their heads with the ethereal fire;
Hills, bulwarks of our freedom, giant walls,
Which never friends did slight, nor sword made

thralls:

Each circling flood to Thetis tribute pays,
Men here, in health, outlive old Nestor's days:
Grim Saturn yet amongst our rocks remains,
Bound in our caves, with many metal'd chains:
Bulls haunt our shades, like Leda's lover, white,
Which yet might breed Pasiphae delight;
Our flocks fair fleeces bear, with which, for sport,
Endymion of old the Moon did court;
High-palmed harts amidst our forests run,
And, not impal'd, the deep-mouth'd hounds do shun;
The rough-foot hare safe in our bushes shrouds,
And long-wing'd hawks do perch amidst our clouds.
The wanton wood-nymphs of the verdant spring,
Blue, golden, purple flow'rs shall to thee bring;
Pomona's fruits the Panisks, Thetis' gyrles
Thy Thule's amber, with the ocean pearls ;
The Tritons, herdsmen of the glassy field,
Shall give thee what far-distant shores can yield,
The Serean fleeces, Erythrean gems,
Waste Plata's silver, gold of Peru streams,
Antarctic parrots, Æthiopian plumes,
Sabæan odours, myrrh, and sweet perfumes :
And I myself, wrapt in a watchet gown
Of reeds and lilies, on mine head a crown,
Shall inceuse to thee burn, green altars raise,
And yearly sing due Pæans to thy praise.

Ah! why should Isis only see thee shine?
Is not thy Forth, as well as Isis, thine?
Though Isis vaunt she hath more wealth in store,
Let it suffice thy Forth doth love thee more:
Though she for beauty may compare with Seine,
For swans and sea-nymphs with imperial Rheine;
Yet, for the title may be claim'd in thee,
Nor she, nor all the world, can match with me.
Now when, by honour drawn, thou shalt away
To her, already jealous of thy stay;

When in her amorous arms she doth thee fold,
And dries thy dewy hairs with hers of gold,
Much asking of thy fare, much of thy sport,
Much of thine absence, long, howe'er so short,

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IF Nature could suffer rocks to move, and abandon their natural places, this town, founded on the strength of rocks (now, by the all-cheering rays of your majesty's presence, taking not only motion, but life) had, with her castle, temples, and houses, moved toward you, and besought you to acknowledge her yours, and her inhabitants your most humble and affectionate subjects; and to believe, how many souls are within her circuits, so many lives are devoted to your sacred person and crown. And here, sir, she offers, by me, to the altar of your glory, whole hecatombs of most happy desires, praying all things may prove prosperous unto you; that every virtue and heroic grace, which make a prince eminent, may, with a long and blessed government, attend you; your kingdoms flourishing abroad with bays, at home with olives; presenting you, sir, (who are the strong key of this little world of Great Britain) with these keys, which cast up the gates of her affection, and design you power to open all the springs of the hearts of these her most loyal citizens. Yet this is almost not necessary; for as the rose at the far appearing of the morning Sun displayeth and spreadeth her purples, so at the very report of your happy return to this your native country, their hearts (as might be apparent, if they could have shined through their breasts) were with joy and fair hopes made spacious; nor did they ever, in all parts, feel a more comfortable heat, than the glory of your presence at this time darteth upon them.

The old forget their age, and look fresh and young at the sight of so gracious a prince: the young bear a part in your welcome, desiring many years of life, that they may serve you long; all have more joys than tongues; for, as the words of other nations far go beyond and surpass the affec

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