The Loyal Subjects exultation, for the Coronation of
King Charls the Second.
To the Tune of, When the King comes home in Peace again.
|
WHat Writers could Prognosticate
|
Concerning Englands happy fate?
|
Lilly (I think) had little wit
|
That night his threshold was beshit,
|
his Almanacks told
|
King Charls never should
|
Return to rule on English ground,
|
but Lillys a Lyer,
|
like the Devil his Sire,
|
For now our Soveraign Charls is crownd.
|
Whats now become of Lamberts power,
|
Alas hees Prisoner in the Tower:
|
Better days will now ensue,
|
Than ever yet poor England knew.
|
then well may we sing
|
for joy of our King,
|
And in good Sack our sorrows drownd
|
for Charls is returnd,
|
and the old Rumps burnd,
|
And now our Soveraign Charls is crownd.
|
Well may our hearts with joy abound,
|
He that was twelve years lost is found,
|
And they that once were in his Pallace,
|
Have made their beds under the Gallows,
|
for Justice thought good,
|
that such as thirst for blood,
|
Should under go deaths cruel wound,
|
and after did bring
|
a Crown to the King,
|
For now our Soveraign Charls, etc.
|
We saw a change on every side,
|
The Rump revivd when Cromwel dyd
|
And that Protector puppy Dick,
|
They from his Highnesse soon did kick.
|
and down from her Throne,
|
they tumbled old Joan,
|
Whereby her grief did much abound,
|
for a General stout
|
turnd them also out,
|
And now our Royal King is crownd.
|
|
|
|
|
The second part, to the same Tune.
|
ENgland was but a senslesse trunek,
|
Untill she was restord by Monck,
|
Who in despight of Rump and Souldsers,
|
Hath set her head upon her shoulders.
|
where long let it stand
|
to rule and command
|
And be throughout the world renownd
|
let all honest men,
|
say Amen, and Amen,
|
For now our Soveraign Charls is crownd.
|
Welcome, welcome, happy light,
|
The Sun ner saw a braver sight,
|
Solomon was a wise Prince
|
The like till now, was ner known since.
|
let all tongues with joy
|
cry Vive le roy,
|
And cast their Caps upon the ground
|
let him ever be sad
|
that now is not glad,
|
When as our Soveraign, etc.
|
The Serving-man of Mistresse Lane,
|
Is now our Lord and Soveraign,
|
He that stood by the Kitchin fire
|
Is now advancd a little higher,
|
though skill he did lack
|
to wind up the Jack,
|
Yet wisdome in his heart was found,
|
and Traitors must know
|
though they then brought him low.
|
That now most gloriously hees crownd.
|
See how the loyal hearts prepare
|
Their stately shows and Pageants rare.
|
The weeping Conduits now combine
|
To turn their water into wine,
|
and London appears
|
(though stricken in years)
|
Just like a Virgin fresh and gay,
|
such comfort a King
|
to his Subjects doth bring,
|
Upon his Coronation day.
|
Time was when we were stricken dumb,
|
We might not pray (thy Kingdome come)
|
But now a glorious time we see,
|
The Gods rejoyce as well as wee,
|
the Nymphs of the floods,
|
and they of the woods
|
That wear the Livery of May,
|
the Birds of the ayre
|
their parts they did bear,
|
Upon his Coronation day.
|
Lord bless the King, and blast the hope
|
Of all false hearts that love the Pope,
|
And frustrate all the wicked plots
|
Of the Phanaticks and the Scots,
|
Oh may we increase
|
in Plenty and Peace
|
That after this blest time we may
|
in spight of all those
|
that have been our foes,
|
See many another happy day.
|
|
|
|
|