SUSPIRIA, or SIGHS
On the DEATH of the
Late Most Illustrious MONARCH
CHARLES the II. KING
OF
Great Britain, France and Ireland, etc. who Changed his Earthly for a Heavenly Crown, on Fryday the
6th. of February 1684 5. in the 37th year of his Reign, and 55th of his Age.
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CAn Great, Illustrious Britains Monarch, Dye,
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Without a Sacrifice of Tears! what Eye,
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Forbears to Drill whole Hecatombs! when we
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Have lost the Atlas of our Monarchy!
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Ah! sharpest Grief put out thy Keenest Stings,
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Bemoan the best of Men, the best of Kings.
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Can an Inragd, Distracted Muse forbear,
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To Rail at Death, that must so rudely tear
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Our [Pater Patriae] Countries Father, hence!
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Unruly Grief, Rail not at Providence.
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How darst thou Murmur at thy Kings Remove?
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The King of Kings, would have him mount above
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An Earthly Crown, to a more Glorious one.--
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Bright Rays of Majesty, about him Shone,
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When here! -- he now in greater Glory Dwells;
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A Glory that allows no Paralells!
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Then spiteful Grief be still, and Envy not
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Thy Prince, the great Advancement he has got.
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Ah! Words where are ye! Ah! what must I borrow
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Language from Tears to Represent my Sorrow!
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Drop then ye friendly Streams, till like a Flood,
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[More Elegant than Words] be Understood,
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Our Universal Grief; to Mourn thus, you,
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Better than Groans, or Elegies, can do.
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Dull stupid Pen, away! give place to Sighs,
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The Fittest Mourners for such Obsequies.
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Presume not then to draw his Character,
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His Royal Name is Blazond evry where;
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The Sun in its Orbicular surround
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Scarce sees a Place, but where his Fame does sound.
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Ah! but I will! And tell the World that he
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Was Great, and Good, and full of Clemency.
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A Prince of so much Majesty, that none
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Could with more splendid virtues grace a Throne
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That lent (not borrowd) Lustre to his Crown.
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Away, away; thou Blunt Poetick Art;
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On meaner Subjects, Act thy little Part.
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No Rhapsodies of Verse, no Prose can Rise
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To Accents fit for such great Obsequies:
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Oh! Great but Dismal Subject! could my Quill
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Instead of Ink; with other Drops Distill,
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Ide Represent to evry Readers view,
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Lines (not of Sable, but) of Crimson hiew.
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Theres nothing of Idolarry in the,
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Right Application of Apostrophe!
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Then Great, (now then before more Glorious Prince)
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Since our Supremest King, has calld thee hence,
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May Heavns ore-ruling, Bright, Illustrious Rays,
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Give thy surviving Subjects Halcyon Days.
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May this August Celebrious Kingdom see,
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No Inter-Regnum of that Clemency,
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Which savd three Kingdoms from a Fatal Yoke,
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The Dire Results of an Intended Stroke!
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Dismiss thy fear, His Royal Brother; who
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Succeeds him in his Throne, and Virtues too,
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Has so Majestick, so subline a Soul,
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That what he promisd, none shall dare Controul.
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Away Suspicion! heres the Royal Word;
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What greater surety can Mankind afford?
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That Publick-Sacred-Obligation binds
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The Royal Breast to leave things as he finds,
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The Constitution of our Laws to be,
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Just to the Subjects; just to Monarchy.
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