By occasion of the Young Prince his happy birth

At this glad Triumph, when most Poets use

Their quill, I did not bridle up my Muse

For sloth or less devotion. I am one

That can well keep my Holy-dayes at home;

That can the blessings of my King and State

Better in pray'r then poems gratulate;

And in their fortunes bear a loyal part,

Though I no bone-fires light but in my heart.

Truth is, when I receiv'd the first report

Of a new Starre risen and seen at Court;

Though I felt joy enough to give a tongue

Unto a mute, yet duty strook me dumb:

And thus surpriz'd by rumour, at first sight

I held it some allegiance not to write.

For howere Children, unto those that look

Their pedigree in God's, not the Church book,

Fair pledges are of that eternitie

Which Christians possess not till they die;

Yet they appear view'd in that perspective

Through which we look on men long since alive,

Like succours in a Camp, sent to make good

Their place that last upon the watches stood.

So that in age, or fate, each following birth

Doth set the Parent so much neerer earth:

And by this Grammar we our heirs may call

The smiling Preface to our funerall.

This sadded my soft sense, to think that he

Who now makes Lawes, should by a bold decree

Be summon'd hence to make another room,

And change his Royal Palace for a tomb.

For none ere truly lov'd the present light,

But griev'd to see it rivall'd by the night:

And if't be sin to wish that light extinct,

Sorrow may make it treason but to think't.

I know each male-content or giddy man,

In his religion with the Persian,

Adores the rising Sun; and his false view

Best likes not what is best, but what is new.

O that we could these gangrenes so prevent

(For our own blessing and their punishment)

That all such might, who for wild changes thirst,

Rack't on a hopeless expectation, burst,

To see us fetter time, and by his stay

To a consistence fix the flying day;

And in a Solstice by our prayers made,

Rescue our Sun from death or envies shade.

But here we dally with fate, and in this

Stern Destiny mocks and controules our wish;

Informing us, if fathers should remain

For ever here, children were born in vain;

And we in vain were Christians, should we

In this world dream of perpetuitie.

Decay is natures Kalendar; nor can

It hurt the King to think he is a man;

Nor grieve, but comfort him, to hear us say

That his own children must his Scepter sway.

Why slack I then to contribute a vote

Large as the Kingdoms joy, free as my thought?

Long live the Prince, and in that title bear

The world long witness that the King is here:

May he grow up till all that good he reach

Which we can wish, or his Great Father teach:

Let him shine long a mark to Land and Mayn,

Like that bright Spark plac't neerest to Charles Wayn,

And like him lead successions golden Teame,

Which may possess the Brittish Diademe.

But in the mean space, let his Royal Sire,

Who warmes our hopes with true Promethean fire,

So long his course in time and glory run,

Till he estate his vertue on his son.

So in his Fathers dayes this happy One

Shall crowned be, yet not usurp the Throne;

And Charles reign still, since thus himself will be

Heir to himself through all Posteritie.