Classic Poem

Awake Britannia, rouse thy selfe, and say
Good Morrow to thy sonns, bid them good day;
This Sun's returned to cheare thee with his light,
And by his Radiant Beames has banisht night
Goe cleane thy face from Blood, from Sweat, and Teares,
Which has defac'd thy Beuties twenty yeares
Thou are now a Bride, a Royall Queene, noe more
A wretched Widdow growling on the flore.
The bace ambitious Giant Race are feld,
That would thee and thy Jupiter have Queld;
He lightning has, Thunder, and forked Darts,
If they revive againe, to wound their harts:
Then goe adorne thy selfe as heretofore,
When his great Syre the sacred Septer bore
Anoint, perfume, and dresse thy selfe in Pride,
And hasten to him, as a love sick Bride;
Present thy selfe unto his roiall hand,
Thou in thy Jupiter shall all command:
'Twas he alone could save thee, set thee free,
From Bloody Rape, and Tyrannous Anarchy
Then I:O Sing and Paeans to his praise,
And round thy Temples wind the Virdant Bayes.

Haile aged Tree! Jove keepe thee from all harmes,
That hid our Royall Monarch in thy Armes,
From that rude Centaure with the bloody beake,
That Durst Lawes humane and Divine to breake,
He sought not only Crownes and Septers to usurp,
But allsoe all the Royall race t'exterp;
And hope t'build upon their ruine such a frame
Of Empire, as should Eternize his name
He has his wish, oblivion can not drownd
His name, 'twill still upon record be found,
Whilst winged time his whirling course shall run,
Nor can his fame dye when the world is done
Then sacred Blood of Kings and Priests shall sue
For Justice against him and his cursed Crew
Haile blessed Oake, be thou for ever free
From either stroke or blast, may who wounds thee
Pentheus fortune fine: Let some kinde hand
Empale thee with a wall, that thou mayst stand
As high in Brittaines Love, as Sol did see
In Rome of Old the Sacred Cornell tree.