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Poem	Whom does this stately Navy bring? O! ‘tis Great Britain's Glorious King, Convey him then, ye Winds and Seas, Swift as Desire and calm as Peace. In your Respect let him survey What all his other Subjects pay; And prophesie to them again The splendid smoothness of his Reign. Charles and his mighty hopes you bear: A greater now then C?sar's here; Whose Veins a richer Purple boast Then ever Hero's yet engrost; Sprung from a Father so august, He triumphs in his very dust. In him two Miracles we view, His Vertue and his Safety too: For when compell'd by Traitors crimes To breathe and bow in forein Climes, Expos'd to all the rigid fate That does on wither'd Greatness wait, Had plots for Life and Conscience laid, By Foes pursu'd, by Friends betray'd; Then Heaven, his secret potent friend, Did him from Drugs and Stabs defend; And, what's more yet, kept him upright ‘Midst flattering Hope and bloudy Fight. Cromwell his whole Right never gain'd, Defender of the Faith remain'd, For which his Predecessors fought And writ, but none so dearly bought. Never was Prince so much beseiged, At home provok'd, abroad obliged; Nor ever Man resisted thus, No not great Athanasius. No help of Friends could, or Foes spight, To fierce Invasion him invite. Revenge to him no pleasure is, He spar'd their bloud who gap'd for his; Blush'd any hands the English Crown Should fasten on him but their own. As Peace and Freedom with him went, With him they came from Banishment. That he might his Dominions win, He with himself did first begin: And that best victory obtain'd, His Kingdom quickly he regain'd. Th' illustrious suff'rings of this Prince Did all reduce and all convince. He onely liv'd with such success, That the whole world would fight with less. Assistant Kings could but subdue Those Foes which he can pardon too. He thinks no Slaughter-trophees good, Nor Laurels dipt in Subjects blood; But with a sweet resistless art Disarms the hand, and wins the heart; And like a God doth rescue those Who did themselves and him oppose. Go, wondrous Prince, adorn that Throne Which Birth and Merit make your own; And in your Mercy brighter shine Then in the Glories of your Line: Find Love at home, and abroad Fear, And Veneration every where. Th' united world will you allow Their Chief, to whom the English bow: And Monarchs shall to yours resort, As Sheba's Queen to Judah's Court; Returning thence constrained more To wonder, envy, and adore. Disgusted Rome will hate your Crown, But she shall tremble at your Frown. For England shall (rul'd and restor'd by You) The suppliant world protect, or else subdue.
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