The Restauration. OR, A POEM on the Return of the MOST MIGHTY and ever Glorious PRINCE, CHARLES the II. TO HIS Kingdoms.  
By ARTHUR BRETT of Christs-Church Oxon.  — Deum Delphósque meos. 
LONDON, Printed by J. H. for Samuel Thomson at the Bishops-head in St. Paul's Churchyard. 1660.   

The Restauration. OR, A POEM on the Return of the Most Mighty and ever Glorious Prince, CHARLES the II. to his Kingdoms.  

HOw shall I thy entrance sing?  
Lord of Hearts, of Nation's King,  
Or thy Restauration bear?  
Of Royal Father Royal Heir.  
When I consider thy Return,  
What Flames within my Breast do burn?  
I know not how to vent my joy,  
How to begin Vive le Roy,  
Or enter upon my great Song,  
The King has been away so long.  
Thus after a dark dismal night,  
We can't sustain Meridian-light;  
The Dawn must gently intervene,  
Lest Phoebus kill as soon as seen:  
So Sorrow by degrees must waste,  
Joy stifles, coming on too fast.  
Shall I be silent then, and sit  
And only hear other men's Wit?  
No, I'll call my Thoughts together,  
Summon all my Forces hither,  
Rather than fail at such a time,  
My Soul shall go into a Rhyme:  
Who on so rich a Subject try,  
Their as rich Vein of Poetry,  
Though never so much care they take,  
False-Latine-Heraldry will make;  
Having no Gold on Gold to spread,  
I shall not break Clarencieux Head:  
While others serve the King in State,  
And bring Red Wine in Yellow Plate;  
I'll like that Honest Asian,  
Present him Water in a Can.  
I will say something wrong or right,  
Cast in my share, though but a Mite;  
But as a Drop unto that Sea  
Which now sustains his Majesty:  
Those Craggy Mountains which surround  
Our Pleasant, Fertile, English Ground  
(A Finer Mantles Courser Border)  
That stand to keep the Sea in order,  
And now stretch out, stretch out their head  
To catch their Sovereign's first Tread;  
Those Cliffs Parnassus are to me,  
Salt-water Hippocrene shall be.   

Oh for the silver Quill of Quarles  
To celebrate our Gracious CHARLES!  
Oh for a Holy David's Lyre,  
And new Te-Deum's in the Choir!  
Oh for a Strain ascending quite  
'Bove Denham, Cowley, or the Knight!  
Oh for Muse's Ninety Nine!  
Oh for a Fancy as Divine  
As Virgil's, and as smooth and fit  
As Ovid's, when of Love he writ!  
The Story I must now rehearse,  
Deserves a more than common Verse;  
Uxbridge, and the Isle of Wight  
Can not settle all things right,  
But Breda hath that Business done,  
Perfecting what they but begun:  
Strange News! a King and Kingdoms Three,  
Send each their Letters and agree;  
When heaven propitious appears,  
A Day does more than month's or years;  
Breda, that to her Tackling stuck,  
She got a Name from being took;  
But let's forget those warlike Feats,  
Those Stratagems, those lawful Cheats;  
Let those brave deeds of Dutch and Spanish,  
French and Heroick English vanish;  
Let Spinola's memorial cease;  
She's now more famous for a Peace:   

Our Sister Nation justly may  
Her ancient Thistle throw away,  
Those Arms became her exiled Prince,  
His Fortunes now are blossomed since;  
He hath (if that can be) his due,  
Is King of Scots and Scotland too:   

For this he scap't such snares, such plots,  
Such sicknesses, such wounds, such shots,  
As Chance on the King's Son may bring  
In a hot war against the King;  
For this he often crosed the Sea  
Safer than others do the Dee,  
And on the main was reverenced more  
Than he was like to be a shore,  
The Loyal waves did quiet stand,  
There were too many Storms at land;  
For this at W— fatal fight  
Was wrought that Miracle his flight,  
When that rich soil was o'er and o'er  
Watered with English-Scottish Gore,  
That he must perish in the Woods,  
Or fly o'er troops, or swim through bloods.  
It was for this, 'twas Heaven's intent  
That he should meet this Parliament,  
And so from nothing All commence,  
And show the world there's Providence:  
When Nature bid him first to be  
So sweet, so full of Majesty,  
That he did no Perfection lack  
She put him in a comely black,  
A comely, but a mournful Hue,  
She had good reason so to do,  
Presaging that her British Sons  
Would prove unruly, boisterous ones,  
Would into strange confusion run,  
Murder the Sire, banish the Son;  
But Comedy's now on the Stage,  
And Tragedy has ceased to rage's;  
We're passed the black part of the Scene,  
And what remains will be serene:  
Great CHARLES unto large Empire born,  
Has had his Crown made all of Thorn;  
Now he'll have one of better Stuff,  
If  have Gold enough;  
His Winter's gone, he has now his Spring,  
The Honey after so much sting;  
In Patience's and virtue's Field  
Has conquered Fate, and it doth yield:  
That blazing Comet's direful beard,  
Which made us at his birth afeared,  
Though it were long it had an end,  
Can not eternal harms portend;  
Now CHARLES the Martyr, CHARLES the First,  
Whose Murder hath the Nation cursed,  
CHARLES of Blessed Memory,  
Who lived a Prisoner, died free,  
Triumphant CHARLES looks from on high,  
And sees his Blood has ceased to cry;  
Sees his own Prophecy fulfilled,  
That English hearts at last should yield,  
That the remembrance of their Gild  
And of his Blood which they had spilt  
Should melt their flints (for blood is known  
To mollify the hardest stone:)  
That they should their error see,  
And that his Royal Progeny  
(Which has been Fortune's quilted Ball)  
Should mount the higher by its Fall;  
His Son should with more Glory rise,  
Because he on a Scaffold dies;  
So we behold (if Nature may  
Allude to State) the following day  
Its Rays with greater Lustre spread  
When as the former sets in Red:   

Now Circulation of blood  
In a new sense will be made good;  
The Head was made with shame to bleed,  
Now let the Legs and Feet take heed;  
Gods own Anointed is at hand  
To judge the Sinners of the Land,  
To curb those over-daring souls,  
And use his words whose place he holds,  
They that have opposed my Reign  
Let 'em be brought out and slain;  
Shall he not be their King? he'll rise,  
And be their Priest, and sacrifice  
Those Bulls unto his Father's shade,  
Which o'er our necks such rule have had;  
Oh no! I dream, Oh! I mistake,  
He comes to build, not down to break;  
he's merciful, he loves to save;  
How could he else all Virtues have?  
The Royal Eagle will not pray;  
He loses Subjects if he slay;  
Dovelike he knows not how to kill,  
But comes with Olive in his Bill:  
Memory is an Art, but yet  
There is a greater to forget;  
He can forget his Father's fall,  
How they took Crown and Life and all;  
How our late Sun his splendour lost,  
And sat where he had shined most;  
How he of men and Kings the best,  
Had his East turned to his West;  
'Tis his endeavour, 'tis his care,  
Well to do, with ill to bear;  
What has been done is gone and passed,  
And he'll make up what Noll laid waste;  
How he will with his people deal  
He gives both under hand and seal,  
When to the Parliament he sends,  
Sweetly gins, and sweetly ends;  
Never such words, I dare avow,  
Were written in Court hand till now;  
he'll be, he'll be The Faith's Defender,  
Yet such whose Consciences are tender,  
Such as unsatisfied are,  
As far as may a King, he'll spare;  
(That clause it will end all our strife,  
That Line, it is a Line of Life;)  
Not like base Tyrants, who disgrace  
Royalty of the Royal race;  
That keep men's bodies free and safe,  
But they'●e oppress their nobler half;  
This is to save the Case from hurt,  
And leave the Jewel in the Dirt;  
Our Sovereign's of another mind,  
Is even to Dissenters kind.  
He who in the world has been,  
Who in his banishment has seen  
Such Variety abroad,  
So many a way, so many a Mode,  
finds 'tis impossible that we  
Should here in all things all agree;  
Unity men in vain design,  
It is an Attribute Divine;  
Bodies arned made of the same clay,  
Nor Souls of th' same celestial Ray,  
What you may hate, I may think good,  
As this man's poison's's that man's food;  
The Church in this fine Sunshine day  
Will give her Children leave to Play,  
So as it be not with edged tools,  
And they not prove madmen or fools:  
While those who urge with too much heat  
On others that which they think meet,  
Their beam of truth must be the day,  
And we must needs say as they say,  
Do as they do, guess as they guess,  
Those that will force our Consciences,  
Seem not to know what Conscience is,  
And of their Sovereign's temper miss:  
But to be clement, to be mild,  
That he has had up from a child;  
And while infused gifts we scan,  
We praise the Maker not the man;  
As for's acquired ones, for those  
Which only to himself he owes,  
Would you them know? perhaps you would,  
And I would tell you if I could;  
If I could paint a noble soul  
As Xeuxis did his Lass of old,  
Borrow a curious fancy hence,  
Hence a style, a judgement thence,  
Something of CHARLES than you should know  
Which now lies hid, and will do so  
Till he salute the Loyal rout,  
And let it at his mouth run out:  
Into affliction he was hurled  
The great Free-school of all the world,  
And yet (which seemeth strange and odd)  
Hath thrived under too much rod,  
For Losses, Crosses, Banishment,  
Never were for Thalia's meant;  
He has heard with's ears, seen with's eyes  
Enough to make him richly wise;  
H'as that Experience attained  
Which by study can't be gained,  
That which others learn by scraps,  
Or read in books, or see in maps;  
In times of war he dares to fight,  
And in times of peace can write;  
He to Minerva is so dear,  
She has lent him both her Book & Spear;  
Such is our Prince who doth return  
The Phoenix of the Royal Urn:   

With him returns that beauteous Dame  
We Ecclesia Anglicana name,  
The Hierarchy is getting ground  
(Its Platonic year's come round)  
Or, if that that should be withstood,  
Something that's better or as good;  
David, if holy writ we mark,  
Still brings back with him the Ark;  
Mitres attend the Diadem,  
Half moons! 'tis that enlightens them;  
Sceptres and Crosiers join hand,  
Together fall, together stand;  
Oh Holy, Blessed Trinity  
Will now no more be Heresy,  
Nor Litany an impious thing  
Although we pray in't for the King:   

But Hammond, whither thou so fast?  
Why this unseasonable haste?  
Have the true Israelites indeed  
Now they are settled no more need  
For time to come, H. H. D. D.  
Their fiery pillar-guide to see?  
Couldst thou not stay one Fortnight more  
And see us rightly God adore,  
Till thou enthroned CHARLES hadst saw'n,  
And graced the Ermine with thy Lawn?  
Must Moses now be laid by,  
And just on Canaan's Borders die?  
Well, go and be the Messenger,  
The tidings to the shades to bear,  
Your News forget not as you make  
Your passage through the Lethe Lake;  
Since angry Fate will have you go,  
Go (Reverend Sir) and tell below  
(Which for to tell who'd not expire?)  
The Royalists have their Desire;  
The Royalists, not Cavaliers,  
That word, that thing may breed new fears;  
Tell him who so long domineeed  
And Trophies of our Slavery reered,  
(If he hath got to th' blessed Coast,  
And not his way t' Elysium lost,)  
Tell him a CHARLES is up again,  
And Cromwel's ordinary men;  
Tell the brave English souls beneath,  
The Sword is fast up in the sheath,  
That all things are as quiet here,  
As they can possibly be there,  
That we did this for little gain,  
There were no hundred thousands slain,  
No, it was at an easier rate,  
They'd not new guests sent 'em of late:   

And you who teach our outward ears,  
And glitter in your lesser spheres;  
Let your light farther be extended,  
Stars shine the more when Sols descended;  
When 've displanted all Deluders,  
All Levitical Intruders,  
All sapless trees, all withered rinds,  
Without Divinity Divines,  
When you the Angels of the flocks  
Are grafted in your proper stocks,  
The Candles in the Candlesticks,  
Do not earth with heaven mix,  
Don't too much worldly lustre get,  
For fear of other snuffers yet;  
There was got in your torch a thief,  
But a traveller brought relief,  
Came from Colestream to the Thames,  
Saved Ephod, Bells, and Breastplate Gems,  
Now for the future have a care,  
Dangers escaped make men beware;  
Dark clouds besat your Firmament,  
men's love to you was cold, was spent,  
For such darkness brighter show,  
For such coldness hotter grow,  
And flourish for such calumny's,  
By an Antiperistasis;  
Your eyes, ye watchmen, they have winked,  
Your Vestal fire has been extinct,  
Scorn all earthly fumes and vapours,  
And from heaven light your tapers.   

Now seeing what offends our sense  
May please us in another tense;  
Since 'tis a curious sight to look,  
From th' mountains where w' have footing took  
Down on the watery moving one's,  
And lately conscious to our groans;  
Since Land-scapp's may delight the eyes  
Though representing gloomy skies;  
How willingly could I be bold  
My King eclipsed to behold?  
How could I be this Prince's Page!  
To trace him in his pilgrimage;  
To follow him through his distress,  
Through his Paran-wilderness;  
And at every miles end stop,  
While grief a Crystal bead may drop;   

Come Bertius, (and yet methinks  
Why should I view it through the Chinks?  
The Diamond now itself explays,  
And in the ring gins to blaze;  
Why should I th' flying Meteor haunt?  
he's since a Star, and culminant;  
But I must go, I can't forbear,  
Fancy transports me through the air,  
Where I may see each Citadel  
Each town, each court where CHARLES did dwell;  
I must be one if him it please,  
Of wand'ring jov' Satellites;)  
Come, man of Geographicks, come,  
Show me's Itinerarium;  
Show me the places where h'as been,  
Or rather where he has not been seen,  
Still tossed and turned, still on the wing,  
His type Aeneas answering:   

First St Germane yields him rest,  
Had you been there you would have guest  
Windsor had changed her Thames for Sein,  
Her houslesse Lord to entertain:  
To Guernsey he and Jersey comes  
Now made their Kings retiring rooms,  
The Esquires of the two bigger Isles,  
Though not concerned yet in their broils;  
But they who on the main did seize,  
Can take th' Appendices with ease;  
'Twas but that argument to press  
From the greater to the less;  
Therefore he into Holland struck,  
The Orange must defend the Oak;  
Then into Scotland he must fly  
From the Lowlands to the High;  
But that cold Country could afford  
Only cold comfort to her Lord;  
MONCK had not then inspired the Land,  
Nor placed there his Loyal Band:  
To France he sails, but must not fix,  
The lily's too (strange flowers) had pricks;  
The Paris folk are not so bold  
As English Princes to behold,  
Afraid of the Great STEWART's are,  
They are the race of Lancaster:  
To stately Colen next he goes,  
To Germane friends from  foes;  
Colen then might justly glory,  
Although her Legend were a story,  
What e'er the rhyming Friar sings,  
When he was there, there were three Kings.  
And the Pope doth improperly  
To build his crest three stories high,  
A Mitre would do better there,  
The triple Crown is Charles' wear.  
But Rhenish could not cheer his heart,  
Only Canary plays that part;  
Only the Generous Castille  
When others frowned lent him a smile;  
Own'd him as much now as before,  
(Spaniards know Gold though in the ore)  
Held with the Sceptre 'gainst the sling,  
And used Don CARLO like a King;  
As we not many an age ago  
Resettled Pedro in his Throne;  
Even Kings by one another live,  
Courtesies can receive and give:  
The Golden Fleece did sweat and toil  
To bear him to his Native soil,  
But then some ill might have come on't,  
There might have been a Charles-pont;  
Fortune did us that honour doom,  
We should both call and fetch him home:   

Come then, prepare, prepare for him,  
Teach Wichwood Forest how to swim,  
The main with cansass periwigg,  
Navies of Bucentoro's rig;  
So we shall have a seemly fleet,  
A King, a King, a King to meet;  
Triton's dance, and Mermaid's sing,  
Out of the sea some Venus spring,  
And with Cupid's trim the boat  
In which Great CHARLES himself's afloat;  
May we no storms, no tempests have,  
No dancing of the air or wave,  
No Lappland puffs, no Finland weather,  
Sent by incarnate Furies hither,  
Rather may milder blasts prevail,  
And fill the proudly swelling sail,  
May the breath of Hybla's flowers  
The odours of Hymetta's bowers,  
Molucca's, Araby's perfume  
(Which else would uselessly consume)  
Themselves into one breeze compose,  
And centre in those linen cloth's,  
White peaceful colours, signs of love,  
So they are used, so they'll prove  
To him that to the King submits,  
To th' unrepenting winding-sheets:  
Ye now most glorious Eastern Seas  
Foam up at once your Amber-grease,  
Your Amber-grease in stead of Myrrh,  
A present to this Royal Sir;  
Ye Whales that lord it in the deep,  
Come and do homage, come and creep  
To him of whom you hold in fee  
Your sovereignty of the sea;  
But leave your Whalishness a while,  
Calmly make towards a calm Isle,  
Gently glide along and steady,  
Your forelorn hope's been here already;  
Ye Dolphins too may hither pack,  
All with Arion's on your back;  
Only Sword-fish keep away,  
Come not into our peaceful Bay,  
Come not you near those happy sands  
Whereon our dearest Sovereign lands,  
Those sands which on record will stand  
As much as e'er did Colchos strand;  
When as the ages coming on  
Shall study how these things were done,  
And wonder at so rich a fraught,  
As we do at the Argonaut:  
Let us enjoy what they'll admire,  
Let our affections take new fire,  
Let us and's Majesty combine,  
And for this breach the closer join;  
Just as those bones which broke in twain  
Grow stronger when they're set again:  
Let's get such skill how to obey  
As he hath Sceptres how to sway,  
And till a Prince of Wales be born  
Let Ich Di-en of all be worn:   

And when as Grebner's Prophecy  
Shall be a real History,  
When as the Martyr's Son and Heir  
Shall sit in the Confessors chair,  
When he in that rich Chapel shines  
Which cost us all the Indian Mines,  
When (Briton's) your wise Delegates  
(The Third joined with the Second States)  
With Pearls and Purples him array,  
Flowers not growing every May,  
When he of whom we were bereft,  
And had small Expectation left  
To see these seas by him thus crossed,  
But Hope had all her Anchors lost,  
Whose reigning in his Father's stead  
Is like returning from the dead;  
When he is Crowned in all your sights,  
And takes possession of his rights,  
When this is done, and you look on,  
Believe a Resurrection;  
A time when time shall be no more,  
When you must look o'er your old score;  
When that wide stretching Conscience  
Which can with Royal blood dispense,  
Which like a frozen serpent lies,  
Heeding nor Kings nor Deity's,  
At unseen fires shall melt and thaw,  
And wake, and hisse, and sting and claw;  
And that Adventurer shall be found  
To have gone on the surest ground,  
Who for to gain eternal bliss  
Gives God his due, and Caesar his.   

You also who of high things talk  
While on the Royal Change you walk,  
Asiatick, African,  
Romanist or Muselman,  
Of whatsoever Country, Sect,  
Fashion, Trade, or Dialect,  
Who saw where Caesar's Image stood,  
Saw it defaceed, saw it renewed,  
You told of that, go tell of this,  
That England once more England is;  
Possessed one's are turned civil,  
A Monk has conjured down the Devil;  
How well would he become the Burse  
Seated upon a brazen horse?  
Amidst those Kings that ruled before,  
Whose Successors he doth restore;  
So of Great Warwick's mind is he,  
Rather to make a King than be;  
He, whom you all can't choose but know,  
He whom you heard of long ago,  
When on the Seas he got renown,  
And brought the blustering hogen's down,  
And High and Mighty from 'em won  
To give it unto CHARLES the Son;  
He, Oh Egyptians, wh' undertaken  
To free us from our Mammaluke;  
He, Germane who on us bestowed  
That which your country would have owed  
To Famous Gustav's Sword and Shield,  
Had he escaped Lutzen field;  
He unto whom even your Grandfool  
Ottomanist's, may go to School,  
And if he's wise example take  
His Janissaries off to shake;  
The Greeks whose wine 've often drunk  
In a health to CHARLES and Monck,  
Take notice we as well as you  
Have our Demetrius Soter too;  
Armenian, Persian, Tartar, Mede,  
Think with what courage, with what speed  
From North to South he Victor ran,  
And you'll remember Tamerlane;  
Your Patron, Monsier's, is a word,  
Ours has a heart, a hand, a sword,  
Your Dennis is no man knows where,  
Our George is here, is here I'll swear;  
You Portugue's who knew of late  
What 'tis to have such turns in State,  
To fetch your Ostracized Lord  
Home back again of your own accord,  
Join souls with us, while we rehearse  
To CHARLES a Hymn, to Monck a Verse:   

Long live the Gen'ral, longer He  
To whom the Gen'ral bow's his knee;  
Let the King prosper in his reign,  
Let CHARLES proceed a Charle maigne;  
Let him excel Beaucleark in Art,  
And be as stout as Lion's-heart;  
As Wise as Richmond-Henry, who  
Quelled discords, and made one of two:  
As Pious as young Edward was,  
That Excommunicated Mass;  
As Famous as Elizabeth,  
Who out-fumeed Size-Cinq's blasting breath;  
As Peaceful as James, and as Just;  
Let him be trusted, let him trust;  
Let no strange jealousies arise,  
Clouds unbecoming British skies!  
Let Crosses still be voted down,  
So as to have none in the Crown;  
Let him his Father's soul possess,  
In Parts be like him, not Success;  
If, if there be a King of Kings,  
That knows all thoughts, all words, all things,  
An Angel which his feet doth set  
One on the dry, one on the wet,  
Which doth salvation command  
For th' King at Sea, and can on Land;  
If we don't beat the air in vain,  
But notice of our Vows is ta'en;  
If we can pierce th' All-hearing ears,  
Which seemed stopped these 13 years;  
If prayers can prevail with Fate,  
Let him be CHARLES but Fortunate:  
I must go on, Let him have health,  
Let him never want for wealth;  
And be the man most fit to grow  
His Saviour's Viceroy here below:  
If a Fifth Monarch there must be,  
Let England's Emperor be Herald   
FINIS.