Classic Poem

The publick Gladness that's to us restor'd,
For your escape from what we so deplor'd,
Will want as well resemblance as belief,
Unless our Joy be measur'd by our Grief
When in your Fever we with terrour saw
At once our Hopes and Happiness withdraw;
And every crisis did with jealous fear
Enquire the News we scarce durst stay to hear
Some dying Princes have their Servants slain,
That after death they might not want a Train
Such cruelty were here a needless sin;
For had our fatal Fears prophetick been,
Sorrow alone that service would have done,
And you by Nations had been waited on
Your danger was in ev'ry Visage seen,
And onely yours was quiet and serene
But all our zealous Grief had been in vain,
Had not Great Charles 's call'd you back again:
Who did your suff'rings with such pain discern,
He lost three Kingdoms once with less concern
Lab'ring your safety he neglected his,
Nor fear'd he Death in any shape but this.
His Genius did the bold Distemper tame,
And his rich Tears quench'd the rebellious Flame.
As once the Thracian Hero lov'd and griev'd,
Till he his lost Felicity retriev'd;
And with the moving accents of his wo,
His Spouse recover'd from the shades below
So the King's grief your threatned loss withstood,
Who mourn'd with the same fortune that he woo'd:
And to his happy Passion we have been
Now twice oblig'd for so ador'd a Queen.
But how severe a Choice had you to make,
When you must Heav'n delay, or Him forsake?
Yet since those joys you made such haste to find
Had scarce been so, if he were left behind,
How well did Fate decide your inward strife
By making him a Present of your Life?
Which rescu'd Blessing we must long enjoy,
Since our Offences could it not destroy.
For none but Death durst rival him in you;
And Death himself was baffled in it too.