NOVEMBER.
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THOU Sun that shed'st the Dayes, looke downe and see
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A Month more shining by Events, than thee;
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Departed Saints and Soules sign'd it before,
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But now the living signe it more.
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Persons and Actions meet, All meant for Joy,
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But some build up, and some destroy.
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Bate us That Ushering Curse, so dearly knowne,
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And then the Month is All our Owne.
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So, at the first, Darkenesse was throwne about
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Th' unshapen Earth, and Light was thence strooke out.
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Draw the first Curtaine, and the Scene is then
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A Triple State of Cull'd and Trusted men:
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Men in whose hands 'twas once t' have giv'n us more
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Then our Bold Fathers Askd before:
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Who, had they us'd their Prince's Grace, had got
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What no Armes could, and Theirs will not.
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What more then Witchcraft did our Blessing Curse,
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And made the Cure make Evills worse?
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'Tis the Third Day; throw in the Black[?] Stone,
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Marke it for Curs'd, and let it stand Alone.
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3. Day, The
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Assembling
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of the un-
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happy Par-
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liament.
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[BU]T hold [! speake] gentler things! This Fourth was seene
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[The] softest [Imag]e of our Beauteous Queene.
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[Bring] me [a Lambe,] not us'd to Elder Food,
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[That]ha's as yet more Milke then Blood,
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That [to the Honou]r of this Early Bride
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(Like Thetis [jo]ynd to Peleus side,)
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Some Tender Thing may fall; though none can be
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So White, so Tender, as is She.
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Whiles we at home our Little Turfe debate,
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She spreads our Glories to another State.
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[4. Day, The
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Birth of the
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Princesse
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MARY.]
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NEXT view a Treason of the worst Intent,
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Had not our Owne done more then Strangers meant;
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Religion is the Thing both sides pretend,
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But either to a different End:
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They, out of Zeale, labour to reare their owne,
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These, out of Zeale, to pull All downe.
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Blesse Us from These, as Them! But yet compare
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Those in the Vault, These in the Chayre.
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Though the just Lot of unsuccessefull sin
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Fix their's Without, you'l finde worse Heads Within.
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BUT hearke! What Thunder's that? and who those men
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[Fly]ing tow'rds Heav'n, but falling downe agen?
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Whose those Blacke Corps cast on the Guilty Shore?
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sin, that swimmes to its owne Dore.
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[12.] Day,
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[T]he Kings
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Victory at
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Brainford.
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the Third scourge of Rebells, which allow'd
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Our Army, like the Prophets Cloud
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Did from an Handfull rise, Untill at last
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Their Sky was by it Overcast.
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But (as Snakes Hisse after th' have lost their Sting)
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The Traytor call'd This, Treachery in the King.
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Away, and view the Graces and the Houres
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Hov'ring aloofe, and dropping mingled Flowres
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Upon a Cradle, where an Infant lay
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More Grace, more Goddesse then were they;
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Thrice did they destine Her to passe the seas
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(Love made Her Thrice to passe with ease)
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To raise a strength of Princes first, and then
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To raise Another strength of Men.
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Most Fruitfull Queene! we boast Both Gif[t]s, And thus
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The Day was meant to You, the Joy to Us.
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16. Day,
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The Birth
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of our gra-
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cious Q.
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MARY.
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Next to this Mother stands a Virgin Queene,
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Courting and Courted wheresoever seen;
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The Peoples Love first from Her Troubles grew;
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Her Raigne then made That Love her Due,
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That Comely Order, which did then adorne
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Both Fabricks, now by Facion's torne;
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That Forme, by her allow'd, of Common Pray'r
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Is styl'd vaine Beating of the Ayre.
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How doe th[e]y Honour, how forsake Her Crowne!
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Her Times are still Cry'd up, but Practis'd Downe.
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17. Day,
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The begin-
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ning of Q
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Elizabeths
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Raigne.
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Reach last, the Whitest Stone the World yet knew,
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White as the soule, to whom the Day is due.
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Sonne of the Peacefull James, how is he blest
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With All His Blessings, but His Rest!
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Though undeserved Times call All His Pow'rs,
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And Troubles season Other Hour's,
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Le[t] this Day flow to Him as void of Care,
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As Feasts to Gods, and Poets are:
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The Wish is Just, O Heavens! As our strife
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Hath added to His Cares, adde Yee to His Life.
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19. Day,
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The Birth
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of our gra-
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cious King
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CHARLES.
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And now, since His Large Heart with Hers is met,
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Whose Day the starres on purpose neare His set.
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NOVEMBER shall to me forever shine,
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Red in its Inke, Redder in Wine.
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And since the Third (which almost hath made shift
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T' Absolve the Treason of the Fift)
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Cannot be well Remembred, or Forgot
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By Loyall Hearts, as if 'twere not;
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The Las[t] extreame, against the First [we[]'l bring:
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That gave us Many Tyrants, This a KING.
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