Upon his Majesties late jorny into Scotland
Upon his majesties late jorny into Scottland and salf return—Ann:-1633-Jun.
The Planets whilst they move in sevrall Sphears
Cutt out our time, in weekes, in months, in years
In night and Day, whose revolutions bring
The Day, Night, Week, Month, Year into a ring
What doe our Princes less when they are forth
A progress West or East, or South or North
Is not the first step that they forward sett
The Suns, when he his goulden locks doth wett
In Thetis lap to all that stay behinde
Is not the world Eclipst to them and blinde?
Doe not all minutes stretch themselves and growe
Each to an hower to such as thinke them soe?
Doe not our crost yet longing hopes present
Each hower a month or year in bannishment?
They doe: and 'twas not long sithence we were they
Who stood in exile from our Starr of day
Whilst visiting those parts whence He did rise
He casts a generall splendor through those skies
Leaving us only Cynthia and her train
To guive us hopes He would returne again
Our Clime with Troppicks changed, and the same
Season of day, now length of night doth claime
Those only who by Elevation
Before enjoyd a lucid Horizon
Once yearly, now with more perfection shine
A whol month, Phebus suffring noe decline
Did I but call't a month; They deemd it less
If they could apprehend their happines
And we I'me sure had reason t'thinke it more
Than many Ages counted o're and o're
For as the Suns withdrawing leaves one skye
A pray to cruell winters Tyranny
Whilst it doth bless an other; soe twas thus
In Scottland June but February with us.
Till His returne: which changd the Season quite
Then ours with Corn, with Snow their Hills were white
The night that was resignes, and dayes begun
With us allready by our Gratious Sunn
Lett them pass Envy-free who boast them may
In the possession of this month or day
For time wrapt up in swiftnes doth appeer
When past; as if an Age were but a year
A year a month, a month a week, and that
An hower or minute; whilst we consolate
Our selves may in this bliss; that future time
Seemes all wayes slower-winged in it's clime
Thier Jubile was short and quickly gon
Ours under Charles is a perpetuall on.
The Planets whilst they move in sevrall Sphears
Cutt out our time, in weekes, in months, in years
In night and Day, whose revolutions bring
The Day, Night, Week, Month, Year into a ring
What doe our Princes less when they are forth
A progress West or East, or South or North
Is not the first step that they forward sett
The Suns, when he his goulden locks doth wett
In Thetis lap to all that stay behinde
Is not the world Eclipst to them and blinde?
Doe not all minutes stretch themselves and growe
Each to an hower to such as thinke them soe?
Doe not our crost yet longing hopes present
Each hower a month or year in bannishment?
They doe: and 'twas not long sithence we were they
Who stood in exile from our Starr of day
Whilst visiting those parts whence He did rise
He casts a generall splendor through those skies
Leaving us only Cynthia and her train
To guive us hopes He would returne again
Our Clime with Troppicks changed, and the same
Season of day, now length of night doth claime
Those only who by Elevation
Before enjoyd a lucid Horizon
Once yearly, now with more perfection shine
A whol month, Phebus suffring noe decline
Did I but call't a month; They deemd it less
If they could apprehend their happines
And we I'me sure had reason t'thinke it more
Than many Ages counted o're and o're
For as the Suns withdrawing leaves one skye
A pray to cruell winters Tyranny
Whilst it doth bless an other; soe twas thus
In Scottland June but February with us.
Till His returne: which changd the Season quite
Then ours with Corn, with Snow their Hills were white
The night that was resignes, and dayes begun
With us allready by our Gratious Sunn
Lett them pass Envy-free who boast them may
In the possession of this month or day
For time wrapt up in swiftnes doth appeer
When past; as if an Age were but a year
A year a month, a month a week, and that
An hower or minute; whilst we consolate
Our selves may in this bliss; that future time
Seemes all wayes slower-winged in it's clime
Thier Jubile was short and quickly gon
Ours under Charles is a perpetuall on.
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