With it, the sacred scepter, purple robe,
The holy unction, and the royal globe;
Yet am I levell'd with the life of Job.
The fiercest furies, that do daily tread
Upon my grief, my gray discrowned head,
Are those that owe my bounty for their bread.
They raise a war, and christen it THE CAUSE,
While sacrilegious hands have best applause,
Plunder and murder are the kingdom's laws;
Tyranny bears the title of taxation,
Revenge and robbery are reformation,
Oppression gains the name of sequestration.
My loyal subjects, who in this bad season
Attend me (by the law of God and reason),
They dare impeach, and punish for high treason.
Next at the clergy do their furies frown,
Pious episcopacy must go down,
They will destroy the crosier and the crown.
Churchmen are chain'd and schismaticks are freed,
Mechanicks preach, and holy fathers bleed,
The crown is crucified with the creed.
The Church of England doth all factions foster,
The pulpit is usurpt by each impostor,
Extempore excludes the Paternoster.
The Presbyter and Independent seed
Springs with broad blades. To make religion bleed
Herod and Pontius Pilate are agreed.
The corner stone's misplac'd by every pavier:
With such a bloody method and behaviour
Their ancestors did crucifie our Saviour.
My royal consort, from whose fruitful womb
So many princes legally have come,
Is forced in pilgrimage to seek a tomb.
Great Britain's heir is forced into France,
Whilst on his father's head his foes advance :
Poor child! he weeps out his inheritance.
With my own power my majesty they wound,
In the King's name the King himself's uncrown'd,
So doth the dust destroy the diamond.
With propositions daily they enchant
My people's ears, such as do reason daunt,
And the Almighty will not let me grant.
They promise to erect my royal stem,
To make me great, to advance my diadem,
If I will first fall down, and worship them!
But for refusal they devour my thrones,
Distress my children, and destroy my bones;
I fear they'll force me to make bread of stones.
My life they prize at such a slender rate,
That in my absence they draw bills of hate,
To prove the king a traytor to the State.
Felons obtain more privilege than I,
They are allow'd to answer ere they die ;
'Tis death for me to ask the reason why.
But, sacred Saviour, with Thy words I woo
Thee to forgive, and not be bitter to
Such as Thou know'st do not know what they do.
For since they from their Lord are so disjointed
As to contemn those edicts He appointed,
How can they prize the power of His anointed?
Augment my patience, nullifie my hate,
Preserve my issue, and inspire my mate,
Yet, though we perish, Bless this Church and State !
KING CHARLES I., Written
in Carisbrooke Castle, 1648.
SINCE I did leave the presence of my love,
Many long weary days I have outworn,
And many nights that slowly seem'd to move
Their sad protract from evening until morn.
For where as day the heaven doth adorn,
I wish that night the noyous day would end;
And when as night hath us of light forlorn,
I wish that day would shortly reascend,
Thus I the time with expectation spend,
And fain my grief with changes to beguile,
That further seems his term still to extend,
And maketh every minute seem a mile.
So sorrow still doth seem too long to last,
But joyous hours do fly away too fast.
SPENSER, Sonnet LXXXV.
CANDLEMASSE EVE.
Down with rosemary and bayes,
Down with the misleto,
Instead of holly now upraise
The greener box for show.
The holly hitherto did sway,
Let box now domineere,
Untill the dancing Easter-day,
Or Easter's Eve appeare.
Then youthful box, which now hath grace
Your houses to renew,
Grown old, surrender must his place
Unto the crisped yew.
When yew is out, then birch comes in,
And many flowers beside,
Both of a fresh and fragrant kinne,
To honour Whitsuntide.
Green rushes then, and sweetest bents,
With cooler oken boughs,
Come in for comely ornaments
To readorn the house.
Thus times do shift, each thing his turne do's hold New things succeed as former things grow old.
PARVUM QUANDO CERNO DEUM.
OFT as Thee, my Infant Saviour,
In Thy Mother's arms I view,
Straight a thousand thrilling raptures
Overflow my heart anew.
Happy Babe! and happy Mother!
Oh how great your bliss must be !
Each enfolded in the other,
Sipping pure felicity!
As the sun from darkness springing,
Breathes a charm o'er nature's face ;
So the Child to Mary clinging
Decks her with diviner grace.
As the limpid dew descending,
Lies impearl'd upon the rose;
So their mutual beauty blending,
In transporting union glows.
As when early spring advances,
Flowers unnumbered throng the mead, Such the countless loving glances
That in turn from each proceed.
Lovely Jesus! gentle Brother!
How I wish a smile from Thee,
Meant for Thy immortal Mother,
Only might alight on me!
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