THE
Kings Majesties Love
TO
LONDON.
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MY dearest City, and my native place,
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To see sad tears run down thy beauteous face,
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Makes Me and mine, to mourn, lament, and weep,
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Doth cause me wake, when I should fall asleep;
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As I am King, my Love to thee is more
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Then Seas have Water, and the Earth hath Shore:
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My love shall never fail to thee or thine,
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But for thy sake, as far as Sun doth shine
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My Navy and my Forces shall seek out
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Thy forreign Foes, and seek the World about;
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I'le scowre the Main, I'le make the Ocean dry,
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And thy proud foes shall at thy Foot-stool ly:
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In this distress, O London! thou shalt see,
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Great Britains King thy onely Friend to be;
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Trust to it London, for as I am King,
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I will thy Foes unto subjection bring;
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And cause them at thy Foot-stool for to ly,
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Because they wrong thee in thy misery:
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O London, London, if thou wilt obey
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My just command, I never shall say nay
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To anything that's right, or thou'lt require,
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Thou'st have thy will, thy grant, or thy desire;
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My Cordial love is more then thou dost know,
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If thou'lt obey, if thou'lt subjection owe
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To me thy King, I'le make the World to see,
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Thou shalt lose nothing by obeying me;
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Though on my Foes I usually do frown,
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And with my might I tumble them all down;
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And will all those who commonly arise
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In open Armes; and those who do despise
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My Government: will not subjection yeild,
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But seeks to fight me in the open Field;
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Or by false treachery do me annoy,
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If they seek my life, I shall those destroy:
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My chiefest City, I do much lament,
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Thy grief, thy sorrow, and thy discontent,
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Thy tears, thy mournings, and thy sad condition,
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And for thy cause I daily do Petition
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My Gracious God, to take his hand away,
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And suffer not his Angel for to slay,
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Or thee or thine, or suffer thee to stand,
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Within the reach of his destroying hand;
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But to remove his judgements, and to spare
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My only City, for which I so care:
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My Royal City, and my Native place,
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My Metropolitan hath spoil'd her face;
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Her eyes with weeping are sunk in her head,
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And she lies now, much like to one that's dead:
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What good thy King, O London! can thee do,
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He will doo't for thee, yea, and that soon too;
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The daily prayers of great Britains King,
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Will cause a Heavenly Dove, to London bring
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An Olive leaf; whereby to signifie
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That thou and thine shall live, ye shall not die:
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LONDONS
MODEST
ANSWER.
Rejoyce O London! in thy King,
Who to thy City doth such comfort bring:
His Purse, his Prayers, and his Princely Deeds,
He doth thee send, to stanch thy Wound that bleeds.
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MOST Soveraign Lord, my good and gracious King,
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What Joy, what Comfort, doth your sweet words
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bring?
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How they revive my soul, and do me chear,
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Expells my sorrows and drive back my fear;
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But what am I, poor London, what am I?
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That Britains King, the flour of Majesty,
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Should look upon me with such care and pity,
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A poor distressed and unworthy City?
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'Tis his free grace, and heavenly disposition,
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That at Gods Throne he daily doth Petition
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For me and mine, that God would us restore,
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To perfect health, and drive death from my door;
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O gracious Prince, how am I bound to pray,
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For your good Grace, and how bound to obey
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Your sacred Person, and your just command,
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Your Acts, your Statutes, and not to withstand
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Your Will and Pleasure; but whilst I do live,
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I will subjection to your Highness give?
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If God be pleas'd to lengthen out my days,
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I will not onely Speak, but Write your praise;
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And all the Nations this day under Sun,
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Shall fully know what Englands King hath done
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To Londons City; when Gods hand did lye
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Most heavy on her in her misery:
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How Wine and Oyl he poures in her wound,
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How with his prayers he seeks to set her sound;
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How he doth comfort her amidst her grief,
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How to the poor he sendeth great releif;
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What comfortable words from him proceeds,
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What Royal vertue, grace, and goodly deeds.
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O happy London, in so good a King,
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That in thy miseries such comfort bring,
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In thy afflictions he should look upon
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Thy wants, and woes when all thy friends are gone:
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Whilst London stands, her King she will obey,
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And for his Majesty will daily pray;
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She never more will heave a single hand,
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His sacred pleasure she will not withstand;
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But will obedience and subjection give,
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Unto Authority while she doth live;
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Live, live, O London, live, and do not dye,
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Thy King's thy friend now in thy misery:
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The King, the King, of Kings doth daily pray,
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That God would turn his heavy hand away
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From me and mine, and in my great distress
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Would comfort send, and with his graces bless:
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What City in the World hath such a Prince?
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Not one example can be shown e're since
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The Worlds creation; who did so provide
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For his poor Subjects, who must needs have di'd:
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Yea, thousands at this day had been in grave,
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Who are alive in health whom he did save:
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And under God by his rich means did cure,
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In health amongst us Lord let him endure.
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