TO THE
DUKE
ON HIS
RETURN.
Written by NAT. LEE.
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COME then at last, while anxious Nations weep,
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Three Kingdoms stak't! too pretious for the deep.
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Too pretious sure, for when the Trump of fame
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Did with a direfull sound your Wrack proclaim,
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Your danger and your doubtfull safety shown,
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It dampt the Genius, and it Shook the Throne.
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Your Helm may now the Sea-born Goddess take,
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And soft Favonius safe your passage make.
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Strong, and auspicious, bee the Stars that reign,
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The day you launch, and Nereus sweep the Main.
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Neptune aloft, scowr all the Storms before,
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And following Tritons, wind you to the Shore;
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While on the Beach, like Billows of the Land,
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In bending Crowds the Loyal English stand:
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Come then, tho late, your right receive at last;
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Which Heaven preserv'd, in spite of Fortunes blast,
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Accept those hearts, that Offer on the Strand;
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The better half of this divided Land.
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Venting their honest Souls in tears of Joy,
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They rave, and beg you wou'd their lives employ,
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Shouting your sacred name, they drive the air,
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And fill your Canvas Wings with gales of prayer.
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Come then I hear three Nations shout agen,
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And, next our Charles, in every bosome reign;
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Heaven's darling Charge, the care of regal stars,
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Pledge of our Peace, and Triumph of our Wars.
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Heav'n
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Heav'n eccho's Come, but come not Sir alone,
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Bring the bright pregnant Blessing of the Throne.
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And if in Poets charms be force or skill,
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We charge you, O ye Waves, and Winds be still,
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Soft as a sailing Goddess bring her home,
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With the expected Prince that loads her Womb,
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Joy of this Age and Heir of that to come.
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Next her the Virgin Princess shines from far,
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Aurora that, and this the Morning Star.
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Hail then, all hail, They land in Charle's Armes,
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While his large Breast, the Nation's Angel warms.
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Tears from his Cheeks with manly mildness roul,
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Then dearly grasps the treasure of his Soul:
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Hangs on his Neck, and feeds upon his form,
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Calls him his Calm, after a tedious Storm.
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O Brother! He cou'd say no more, and then,
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With heaving Passion clasp'd him close again.
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How oft he cry'd have I thy absence mourn'd,
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But 'tis enough Thou art at last return'd:
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Said I return'd! O never more to part,
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Nor draw the vital warmth from Charles his heart.
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Once more, O Heav'n, I shall his Vertue prove,
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His Council, Conduct, and unshaken Love.
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My People too at last their Errour see,
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And make their Sovereign blest in loving Thee.
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Not but there is a stiff-neck'd-harden'd Crew
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That give not Caesar, no nor God his due.
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Reprobate Traytors, Tyrants of their Own,
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Yet Grudge to see their Monarch in his Throne.
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Their stubborn Souls with brass Rebellion barr'd,
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Desert the Laws, and Crimes with Treason guard.
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Whom I--- but there he stop'd, and cry'd 'tis past,
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Pity's no more, this warning be their last;
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Then sighing said, my Soul's dear purchas'd rest,
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Welcome, Oh welcome, to my longing Brest:
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Why should I waste a tear while thou art by,
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To all extreams of Friendship let us fly,
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Disdain the factious Crowd that wou'd rebell
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And mourn the Men that durst in death-excell,
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Their Fates were Glorious since for thee they fell.
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And as a Prince has right his Arms to weil'd,
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When stubborn Rebels force him to the Field;
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So for the Loyal, who their Lives lay down,
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He dares to Hazard both his Life and Crown.
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