Classic Poem

On the Death of his Roayal Majestie , C HARLES late King of E NGLAND , & c .

W H at went you out to see? a dying King?
Nay more, I fear an Angel suffering.
But what went you to see? a Prophet slain?
Nay that and more, a Martyr'd Soveraign.
Peace to that sacred dust! Great Sir , our fears
Have left us nothing but obedient tears
To court your hearse, and in those pious flouds
We live, the poor remainder of our goods.
Accept us in these latter Obsequies,
The unplundred riches of our hearts and eyes;
For in these faithfull streams, and emanations,
W'are Subjects still beyond all Sequestrations .
Here we cry more than Conquerors: malice may
Murder Estates, but hearts will still obey;
These are your glory's yet above the reach
Of such whose purple lines confusion preach.
And now, ( Dear Sir ) vouchsafe us to admire
With envy your arrival, and that Quire
Of Cherubims and Angels that supply'd
Our duties at your triumphs: where you ride
With full caelestial Joyes , and Ovations ,
Rich as the Conquest of three ruin'd Nations .
But 'twas the heavenly plot that snatch'd you hence,
To crown your Soul with that magnificence,
And bounden rites of honour, that poor earth
Could only wish and stangle in the birth.
Such pitied emulation stop'd the blush
Of our ambitious shame, non-suited us.
For where souls act beyond mortality,
Heaven only can perform that Jubilee .
We wrastle then no more, but blesse your day,
And mourn the anguish of our sad delay:
That since we cannot adde, we yet stay here
Fettered in clay: Yet longing to appear
Spectators of your blisse, that being shown
Once more, you may embrace us as your own;
Where never envy shall divide us more,
Nor City tumults, nor the worlds uproar;
But an eternal hush, a quiet peace
As without end, so still in the increase,
Shall dull humanity asleep, and bring
Us equal Subjects to the Heavenly King.
Till then I'le turn Recusant , and forswear
All Calvin , for there's Purgatory here.