The Royal Character:
OR,
The Mirrour of Majesty,
A New SONG.
'Tis Sacred, this is an Illustrous Theam,
A bright Reflection of that Radient Beam;
That Albion does illumen such a Ray,
As shirking through black Clouds, restor'd our Day;
A Glorious Sun that risin[g] [i]n the East,
With warmth reviv'd the North, the South and West.
To the pleasant New Tune of, Long live our Great Cesar; Or, Now, now the Fight's done.
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LOng Live our Great Cesar, and long be his Reign,
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Who Justice and mercy so well does maintain;
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Before whose stern anger the Rebels do flye,
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Yet find him relenting when mercy they cry:
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He like his Creator does pitty their State,
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And in hopes of amendment reverses their fate.
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Spares those wou'd un-King him, and favour extends,
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To the stubbornest Rebel, when humbly he bends:
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His eyes have compassion in war and in peace,
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And delights not in blood on the land nor the Seas:
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But in its mid Volue his thunder he stays,
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And thinks it enough to be Crown'd with fresh bays.
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The proud he does humble, the humble he spares,
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As too low for his anger, tho' not for his cares:
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A Royal compassion and bounty does Reign,
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In the brest of our Monarch, who ne'r did design,
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To look down on the wretched, and yield them relief,
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To condole their misfortune and banish their grief.
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He glories in mildness, and studies to be
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Above Romes first Cesar in his Clemency:
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The fierce banded partys could never remove,
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From those that are Loyal his favour and Love:
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He weather'd the tempest with such a brave mind,
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That he rightly is stil'd the supream of Mankind.
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The second part, to the same Tune.
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Majesty ever triumph'd on his brow,
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And in him the Genius of all Nations bow:
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High Arbitrer ever of peace and of war,
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Whom Christians admire, and Heathens adore:
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From India to Fez the proud Monarchs think fit,
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Though Barbarous with him by Embassy to treat.
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The late shaken Empire Sweed, Dane, Dutch and Spain,
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His mediation were forc'd to obtain:
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As a Prince in whose breast both trouble and peace,
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The fates of the Nations do daily take place:
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Who with vertue or'ecomes more then by the sword,
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And calms the wild tempest of war with his word.
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Who makes his worst foes with remorse to confess,
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That Heaven in him does our nation most bless:
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That in him we are happy and nought can wish more,
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Unless be that God would his grace on us shower:
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To be thankful for blessings above our desert,
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Even such as command in us a Loyal Heart.
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The pattern of Heaven in him good men find
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So gracious, so just, and so affable kind:
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That his Majesty shrouded his pittying eye,
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Regards the distressed, and shuns not their cry:
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But relief he does tender unto the Opprest,
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And suffers them not to depart unredrest.
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Then who but the worst of mankind can offend,
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Against inate goodness that still does extend:
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Like to kind providence in such a care,
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That his friends and his foes of his bounty take share
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Let faction and tumult for ever then cease,
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And blush to offend such a Monarch as this.
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