Classic Poem

Up , up wronged Charls his friends, what can you be
Thus Mantled In a stupid Lethargie,
When all the world's in Arms? and can there be
Armies of Fears abroad and none with thee?
Breath out your souls in sighs, melt into tears,
And let your griefs be equal to your fears;
The Sphaeres are all a jarring, and their jarres
Seems counter-like to Calculate the Starres;
The Inferior Orbes aspire, and do disdaine
To move at all, unlesse they may attain
The highest Room, our Occedentall Sunne
Eclips'd by Starres, forsakes his Horizon ,
Bright Cinthia too (they say) hath hid her face
As 'twere Impatient of her Sol's disgrace;
And our fears tell us, that unlesse the Sunne
Lend us his beams again, the World will run
Into another Chaos, where will be
Nought but the cursed Fruits of Anarchie;
Sedition, Murder, Rapine, and what's worse
None to Implore for Aid; Oh, hears the Curse,
But stay ye Starres, what will ye wish to bee?
More Sunns then one will prove a Prodigie:
To afright the Amazed World, will ye be-night
That glorious Lamp, that Fountain of all light,
Will none but Sol's own Chaire, please your desire?
Take heed bold Stars you'le set the world on fire.