html.skin-theme-clientpref-night @media(prefers-color-scheme:dark){html.skin-theme-clientpref-os }Farewel, Great Charles, Monarch of blest Renown,
The best Good Man, that ever fill'd a Throne:
Whom Nature, as her highest Pattern, wrought,
And mixt both Sex's Vertues in one Draught.
Wisdom for Councils, Bravery in War,
With all the mild Good-nature of the Fair.
The Womans sweetness temper'd Manly Wit,
And Loving Power did Crown'd with Meekness sit;
His awful Person Reverence engag'd,
Which mild Address and Tenderness asswag'd:
Thus the Almighty Gracious King above,
Does both command our Fear, and win our Love.
With Wonders born, by Miracles preserv'd,
A Heavenly Host the Infants Cradle serv'd.
And Men His healing Empire's Omen read,
When Sun with Stars, and Day with Night, agreed.
His Youth for valorous Patience was renown'd,
Like David, persecuted first, then Crown'd.
Lov'd in all Courts, admir'd, where e'er he came,
At once our Nation's Glory, and its Shame:
They blest the Isle, where such great Spirits dwell,
Abhorr'd the Men, that could such worth expel.
To spare our Lives, He meekly did defeat
Those Sauls, whom wand'ring Asses made so great;
Waiting, till Heaven's Election should be shown,
And the Almighty should His Unction own,
And own He did—His powerful Arm display'd
And Israel, the Belov'd of God, obey'd,
Call'd by His Peoples Tears, He came, He eas'd
The groaning Nation, the black Storms appeas'd:
Did greater Blessings, than He took, afford,
England it Self, was more, than He, Restor'd▪
Unhappy Albion, by strange Ills opprest,
In various Feavers tost, could find no rest:
Quite spent and wearied, to His Arms She fled,
And rested on His Shoulders, her fair bending Head.
In Conquests Mild, He came from Exile kind,
No Climes, no Provocations, chang'd His Mind:
No Malice show'd, no Hate, Revenge, or Pride,
But Rul'd as Meekly, as His Father Dy'd;
Eas'd us from endless Wars, made Discords cease,
Restor'd to Quiet, and maintain'd in Peace:
A mighty Series of new Time began,
And rowling Years in joyful Circles ran.
Then Wealth the City, business fill'd the Port,
To Mirth our Tumults turn'd, our Wars to Sport:
Then Learning flourish'd, blooming Arts did spring,
And the glad Muses prun'd their drooping wing.
Then did our flying Towers improvement know,
Who now command as far, as Winds can blow.
With Canvass Wings round all the Globe they fly,
And, built by Charles His Art, all Storms defie:
To ev'ry Coast with ready Sails are hurl'd,
Fill Us with Wealth, and with our Fame the World:
From whose Distractions Seas do us divide;
Their Riches here in floating Castles ride.
We reap the swarthy Indian's Sweat and Toil,
Their Fruit, without the mischiefs of their Soil.
Here in cool Shades their Gold, and Pearls receive,
Free from the heat, which does their lustre give.
In Persian Silks, eat Eastern Spice; secure
From burning Fluxes, and their Calenture.
Under our Vines upon the peaceful Shore,
We see all Europe tost, hear Tempests roar:
Rapine, Sword, Wars, and Famine rage abroad,
While Charles their Host, like Jove from Ida, aw'd;
Us from our Foes, and from our selves did shield,
Our Towns from Tumults, and from Arms the Field.
For, when bold Factions Goodness could disdain,
Unwillingly He us'd a straiter Rein:
In the still gentle Voice He lov'd to speak,
But could with Thunder harden'd Rebels break.
Yet though they wake't the Laws, His tender Mind
Was undisturb'd, in Wrath severely Kind.
Tempting His Power, and urging to assume;
Thus Jove in Love did Semele consume.
As the Stout Oak, when round his Trunk the Vine
Does in soft wreaths, and amorous foldings twine,
Easie and slight appears: The Winds from far
Summon their noisie Forces to the War,
But though so gentle seems his outward form,
His hidden strength outbraves the loudest storm:
Firmer he stands, and boldly keeps the Field,
Showing stout Minds, when unprovok'd, are mild.
So when the Good Man made the Crowd presume,
He show'd himself, and did the King Assume:
For Goodness in Excess may be a sin,
Justice must tame, whom Mercy cannot win.
Thus Winter fixes the unstable Sea,
And teaches restless Water constancy,
Which under the warm influence of bright days,
The fickle motion of each Blast obeys.
To bridle Factions, stop Rebellion's course,
By easie Methods, vanquish without force,
}Relieve the Good, bold stubborn Foes subdue,
Mildness in Wrath, Meekness in Anger shew,
Were Arts, Great Charles His Prudence only knew.
To fright the Bad thus awful Thunder rolls;
While the bright Bow secures the Faithful Souls.
Such is thy Glory, Charles, thy lasting Name,
Brighter than our proud Neighbour's guilty Fame:
More noble than the Spoils, that Battles yield,
Or all the empty Triumphs of the Field.
'Tis less to Conquer, than to make Wars cease,
And without fighting, awe the World to Peace;
For proudest Triumphs from Contempt arise,
The vanquisht first the Conquerours Arms despise,
Won Ensigns are the gaudy marks of scorn,
They brave the Victor first and then adorn.
But peaceful Monarchs Reign like Gods; while none
Dispute, all Love, bless, Reverence their Throne.
Tigers, and Bears, with all the Savage Host,
May Boldness, Strength, and daring Conquest boast:
But the sweet Passions of a Generous Mind,
Are the Prerogative of Humane kind,
The God-like Image, on our Clay imprest,
The Darling Attribute, which Heaven loves best.
In Charles, so Good a Man and King, we see
A double Image of the Deity.
Oh! Had He more resembled It! Oh why
Was He not still more like; and could not die?
Now do our Thoughts alone enjoy His Name,
And faint Ideas of our Blessing frame!
In Thames, the Ocean's Darling, England's Pride,
The pleasing Emblem of his Reign does glide.
Thames the support, and Glory of our Isle,
Richer, than Tagus, or Ægyptian Nile.
Though no rich Sand in him, no Pearls are found,
Yet Fields rejoyce, his Meadows laugh around;
Less Wealth his Bosom holds, less guilty stores,
For he Exhausts himself, t'enrich the Shores:
Mild, and Serene, the peaceful Current flows,
No angry foam, no raging Surges knows.
}No dreadful Wreck upon his Banks appears,
His Crystal Stream unstain'd by Widow's Tears,
His Chanel strong and easie, deep and clear.
}No Arbitrary Inundations sweep
The Plowman's Hopes, and Life into the deep,
The Even Waters the old Limits keep.
But oh! He Ebbs, the smiling Waves decay,
(For ever, Lovely Stream, for ever stay!)
To the black Sea his silent course does bend,
Where the best Streams, the longest Rivers, end.
His spotless Waves there undistinguisht pass,
None see, how Clear, how Bounteous, Sweet, he was.
No difference, now, (though late so much) is seen,
'Twixt Him, fierce Rhine, and the Impetuous Seyne.
But lo! The Joyful Tide our Hopes restores,
And dancing Waves extend the wid'ning Shores.
JAMES is our CHARLES in all things but in Name:
Thus Thames is daily lost, yet still the same.