Classic Poem

At this glad Triumph, when most Poits use
Their Quill, I did not bridle up my Muse
For sloath or lesse devotion. I am one
That can well keep my Holy-dayes at home;
That can the blessings of my King and State
Better in Pray'r then Poims gratulate;
And in their fortunes beare a Loyall part,
Though I no bon-fires light, but in my heart.
Truth is, when I receav'd the first report
Of a New Starr Risen and seene at Court,
Though I felt joy enough to give a tongue
Unto a Mute, yet duty strook mee dumbe:
And thus surpriz'd by rumour, at first sight
I held it some Allegeance not to write.
For howe're children, unto those that look
Their Pedigree in God's, not the Church-book,
Faire Pledges are of that eternity
Which Christians possesse not till they dy;
Yet they appeare, view'd in that Perspective
Through which wee look on men long since alive,
Like Succours in a Camp, sent to make good
Their place, that last upon the Watches stood.
So that in Age, or Fate, each following Birth
Doth sett the Parent so much neerer Earth:
And by this Grammer, wee our Heires may call
The smiling Preface to our Funerall.
This sadded my soft Sense, to think that Hee
Who now makes Lawes, should by a bold decree
Be summon'd hence, to make Another roome,
And change His Royall Palace for a Tombe.
For none e're truly lov'd the present Light,
But griev'd to see it rivall'd by the Night.
And if't be Sin to wish that Light extinct,
Sorrow may make it Treason but to think't.
I know, each Malecontent, or giddy man
In his religion, with the Persian,
Adores the Rising Sun; And his false view
Best likes, not what is Best, but what is New.
O that wee could these Gangrenes so prevent
(For our owne Blessing and their Punishment)
That all such might, who for wild Changes thirst,
Rack't on a hopelesse expectation, burst
To see us fetter time, and by his stay
To a Consistence fixe the flying day;
And in a Solstice by our prayers made,
Reskew our Sun from Death, or Envye's shade.
But here with Fate wee dally, and in this
Sterne Destiny mocks and controules our wish;
Informing us, if Fathers should remaine
For ever here, Children were borne in vaine;
And wee in vaine were Christians, should wee
In this world dreame of Perpetuitye.
Decay is Nature's Kalendar; nor can
It hurt the King to think He is a Man:
Nor grieve, but Comfort Him to heare us say
That His owne Children must His Scepter sway.
Why slack I then to contribute a vote
Large as the Kingdome's joy, free as my thought?
Long live the Prince, and in that Title beare
The World long witnesse that the King is here:
May he grow up, till all that good Hee reach
Which wee can wish, or his great Father teach:
Let Him shine long a mark to Land and Mayne,
Like that bright Spark plac't neerest to Charles' Wayne:
And like Him, lead Succession's goulden Teame,
Which may possesse the Brittish Diademe.
But in the meane space, let His Royall Sire,
Who warmes our hopes with true Promethean fire,
So long his Course in Time and Glory run,
Till he estate His Vertue on His Sonne.
So in His Father's dayes This Happy One
Shall crowned bee, yet not usurp the Throne;
And Charles reigne still, since thus Himself will be
Heire to Himself through all Posteritye.