A CONGRATULARY POEM
On the Right Honourable
Sir PATIENCE WARD,
Knight and Baronet, LORD MAYOR of the City of LONDON.
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AS when Ambassadors from Princes come,
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We all by custom from our Houses run
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To see the Stranger, Great, the Noble High,
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The Representive of a Deity.
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Scripture and Reason stile them so by Birth,
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Great Men, like Kings, are still like Gods on Earth:
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The truth of which, no Just Man can deny,
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Being ordaind by heavenly destiny.
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But why it should be thus, I cannot say,
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Then what shall happen the succeeding Day,
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Being a Secret kept in Heavens own hand,
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As Rain descends on good and barren Land.
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Yet in a worldly sense it may be taken
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For Natural Reason, and not be forsaken,
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Because busness of that important nature
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It very nearly doth concern each creature,
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As Natives of their own fine Country dear,
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To whom, of all things, still they should be near:
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Much more at a Magistrate of our own,
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Because his Power extends throughout the Town,
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Being an Office twixt Country and City,
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That all therein does share, both fools and witty.
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Since next the King, to him we owe all things,
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Peace, Plenty, Trade, and Money-offrings:
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For by his wise Conduct, and Prudence high,
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Hel make our Fame reach to the starry Sky,
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Being a man by Nature, and by Name,
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To be a Soul wrapt in immortal Fame.
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Patience by Name, a Virtue great and high,
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Burning and shining like the Sun in th Sky;
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Endowd with Learning, and such famous Arts,
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That by their force he soon will gain our hearts;
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Adorning of him in this his humane Race,
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More than his Indian Pearl, or his Gold Lace.
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Since Virtues a colour of that deep hue,
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That tis as Rich as the gay Rainbows blue.
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The Merchant traffiques where he please to go;
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So Virtue trades with Heaven and Earth below.
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Philosophers say, shes th Glory of each one,
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As the pretty Flowers guilded by the Sun.
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Logicians say, as well to each degree,
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Your happy still in your Humanity;
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For Bodies shapt, and so proportiond well,
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Are ab Origine, from Heaven, not Hell.
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Seraphick Love alwaies prefers its own,
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As the kind Father strongly loves his Son.
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The Speech you made, it doth so plainly tell
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How many Virtues in your Mind doth dwell;
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As the Tree is, alike is still the Fruit,
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Or the gay Summer with dull Winter suit.
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When the Sun shines, tis then a pleasant day,
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And when not seen, tis a foul After-play
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So as we look and speak, such men we are,
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[A Maxim of the Learnd Philosopher,]
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Telling how face and heart do go together,
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Making men to enjoy the best weather;
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While other platforms of a lower of die,
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Are but mere Strangers to humanity;
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Like the dull Carriers Horse, that still moves on
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In the same road, until he cometh home;
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Then doth grim death approach, and tell them all,
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His never failing dart will make them fall.
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But that for ever they must pass and go
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To Heavens glory, or to Hells Sorrow.
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Seamen and Pilots rule their manners still,
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According to their Captain, good or ill;
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Who from him no other Religion take,
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Nay Navigation itself forsake;
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As he instructed is in every Art,
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The Legislator to his better heart:
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Even so as a great man or Rulers given,
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Each Mans prone, to make him still his Heaven.
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As he smiles; then we look brisk and gay,
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As all things flourish in the Month of May:
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But if he looks but angry, and he frown,
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So then do we, and all our mirth is gone.
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Shewing th inconstancy of joy in all,
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Of Lunaries and Terrestrial:
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So that Example will be known and seen
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Like a bright Dutchess or an Indian Queen.
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plain both from experience and from Reason,
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Things that are always certain and in season:
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For Nature shews all things are fed by sense,
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And their superior bodies influence
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All their kind heats, by which they still are fed,
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Flow from those streams, and so are nourished.
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Since Heavens superior as we plainly see,
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As Man excells Beasts in Felicity:
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For he that makes doth top the Object gay,
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As Night is but the Curtain of the day.
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In short, welcome great Sir, unto your Seat,
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A place of Honour and of high Retreat:
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To all your welcome, and to all most near,
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To all Prince, Virtue still does make you dear.
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Since blood with the Astrologer portends
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Things that are great, and you for greater ends:
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For Virtue rises from the Plant most rare,
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As trees in Summer still most fruitful are.
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Great Sir all happiness attend you still,
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That you may pass the great Gunshot of ill,
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And when Death summons you, that you appear,
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You shall with Angels gay, look bright and clear.
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I leave you as a President for Sages,
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To future times, and to succeeding Ages.
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