English Puritan & Reformed

A Panegyric to the King

Robert Wild (1609-1679) · 1,281 words · 6 min

The source for this document is https://quod.lib.umich.edu/e/eebo/A66012.0001.001

Project Note

This is licensed under Creative Commons CC BY-NC-ND. This license allows reusers to copy and distribute the material in any medium or format in unadapted form only, for noncommercial purposes only, and only so long as attribution is given to the creator.

The source of this document is the Early English Books Online (EEBO-TCP) website. Those books were transcribed in a character for character manner and can be very cumbersome to read since there was no standard spelling during that time. Many spelling variations such as "unlesse", "vnlesse", and "vnles" regularly appear.

This project was conceived to clean up those books as much as possible and make them more accessible to the interested reader, leading to the creation of a massive list of variant spellings and their corrections. This was used to clean up the text, but is of course only as complete as the list itself. Because of the nature of the original transcription, some words have missing characters or places where the original language (e.g., Greek) was not transcribed. This effort does not change that. Be aware that the original transcription can also be faulty and in some cases entire sentences may be missing.

Although this is no substitute for a properly compared, proofed, and scholarly edition, I believe that the result is a document which is far more accessible, particularly for searching for terms using standard spelling. The document has been cleaned and presented in what I hope is a pleasing and useful format for the vast majority of Christian brothers and sisters who just want access to read these spiritually nourishing works.

However, a word of warning: The Puritans were a very diverse group of people and their age was characterized with godliness, but also much upheaval, disputation and strife. They disagreed on many doctrines and some of these works contain less orthodox or Scriptural views than others. The reader is strongly advised to read with discernment, particularly if it is unknown whether author is trustworthy.

This project took a huge amount of time and skill to bring to fruition. I would particularly like to thank David Jonescue for the initial list of Puritans he found on EEBO and the concept behind this project as well as the continuous, unceasing efforts toward seeing this complete. Without his labor, this would not be available. Alex Sarrouf was invaluable in providing the initial list of over 7,000 spelling variations he had identified and corrected, as well as continuing to review more than 16,000 additions to that list for any typos.

Logan West
(with David Jonescue and Alex Sarrouf)
www.puritansearch.org

A PANEGYRIQUE Humbly Addrest to the Kings Most Excellent Majesty: ON His Auspicious Meeting His Two Houses OF PARLIAMENT, February the 4 ^th. 5 ^th. 1672/3. And His Most Gratious SPEECH There Delivered on that Occasion.

By R. W.

[illustration]
HONI SOIT QVI MAL Y PENSE
DIEV ET MON DROIT.

London, Printed by A. P. for Phillip Brooksby, next Door to the Ball in West-Smithfield, near the Hospital-Gate. 1673.

A PANEGYRIQUE TO His Sacred Majesty OF GREAT BRITTAIN.

        GReat
        
         SIR
        
        ! When ere your
        
         Gracious Voice
        
        we hear
       
         Ravisht
        
        we stand, and wish ourselves
        
         all Ear
        
        ;
       
        Your
        
         Speech,
        
        which equal
        
         Joy
        
        and
        
         Wonder
        
        breeds,
       
        Can be
        
         Excell'd
        
        by nothing but your
        
         Deeds
        
        ;
       
        Those Glorious
        
         Deeds
        
        Heaven sent you here to Act,
       
        To Scourge the
        
         Insolent,
        
        and
        
         Good
        
        Protect;
       
        While with a
        
         strong,
        
        and yet a
        
         gentle
        
        hand,
       
        You
        
         Bridle
        
        Nations, and our
        
         Hearts
        
        Command:
       
        Secure us from
        
         Our selves,
        
        and from the
        
         Foe,
        
        Make us
        
         Unite,
        
        and make us
        
         Conquer
        
        too
       
        Those
        
         Fiercer Factions
        
        which Men's
        
         Souls
        
        did move,
       
        Are by your
        
         Favor
        
        Reconcil'd in Love:
       
        And now our only
        
         Strife
        
        is to Outvye
       
        Each other in the Fruits of
        
         Loyalty.

        When
        
         Fate
        
        or
        
         Error
        
        had our Age misled,
       
        And over these Kingdoms black
        
         Confusion
        
        spread,
       
        The only
        
         Cure
        
        which could from Heaven come,
       
        Was so much
        
         power
        
        and
        
         Clemency
        
        in
        
         One
        
        ;
       
        The
        
         Genius
        
        of our Nation, with disdain
       
        Beheld those
        
         Puppets
        
        which Usurp'd your Raign;
       
        But longed, (with their
        
         Strange Madnesses
        
        oppressed,)
       
        Upon your
        
         Bosom
        
        its sick
        
         Head
        
        to rest:
       
        So when a
        
         Lyon
        
        shakes his Dreadful Mayn
       
        And angry grows, let
        
         Him
        
        that first took pain
       
        To tame his youth, Approach, the Haughty Beast
       
        Will
        
         bend
        
        to him, but
        
         fright
        
        away the rest.

        By
        
         sweet,
        
        yet
        
         secret Politicks
        
        you Raign,
       
        Which
        
         Foreign Statesmen
        
        Pry into in vain;
       
        The Nations Ancient
        
         Honor
        
        you increase,
       
        And Heal, as well with
        
         Needful Wars,
        
        as
        
         Peace
        
        :
       
        Heaven, that hath placed this
        
         Island,
        
        to give Law,
       
        To Ballance
        
         Europe,
        
        and her
        
         States
        
        to Aw,
       
        In this Conjuncture doth on
        
         Britain
        
        smile,
       
        The
        
         Greatest Sovereign,
        
        and the
        
         Greatest Isle
        
        :
       
        Some think
        
         this Portion
        
        of the World, was Rent
       
        By the rude Ocean, from the
        
         Continent
        
        ;
       
        But whilst your
        
         Forces
        
        with the
        
         French
        
        Combine,
       
        You make the
        
         Lands
        
        more
        
         Terribly
        
        to
        
         Join.

         Fame
        
        swifter than your winged
        
         Navy
        
        flies
       
        Through every Land that near the
        
         Ocean
        
        lies,
       
        Sounding your
        
         Name,
        
        and telling dreadful News
       
        To all that
        
         Pyracy
        
        and
        
         Rapine
        
        use;
       
         Algiers
        
        with trembling Knees for
        
         Peace
        
        does beg,
       
        Undone by'th Valour of your Noble
        
         Spragg
        
        :
       
        And
        
         greater Pirates
        
        too, much nearer home,
       
        Who thought to
        
         grasp
        
        a power great as old
        
         Rome
        
        ;
       
        Striving to carry all
        
         Commerce
        
        away,
       
        And make the
        
         Universe
        
        their
        
         only
        
        Prey:
       
        Are now forced to
        
         Disgorge,
        
        and sadly find
       
        Nature has
        
         You, Lord of the Seas
        
        designed.

        With such a
        
         Chief,
        
        the meanest Nation, blest,
       
        Might hope to lift her
        
         Head
        
        above the rest:
       
        What may be thought
        
         Impossible
        
        to do
       
        For us, embraced by the
        
         Sea
        
        and
        
         You
        
        :
       
        Lord's of the worlds
        
         great wast,
        
        the
        
         Ocean,
        
        we
       
        Whole
        
         Forrests
        
        send to range upon the Sea:
       
        And every Coast may
        
         trouble
        
        or
        
         Relieve,
        
        But none can
        
         visit
        
        us without
        
         your
        
        leave.
       
         Angels
        
        and we have this Prerogative
       
        That none can at our happy Seat Arrive:
       
        Whilst we
        
         descend
        
        at Pleasure to Invade
       
        The
        
         bad
        
        with vengeance, and our
        
         friends
        
        to aid:
       
        Our
        
         little World,
        
        the Image of the great,
       
        Like that amidst the
        
         boundless Ocean
        
        set,
       
        Of her own
        
         growth
        
        hath all that
        
         Nature
        
        craves,
       
        And all that's
        
         rare,
        
        as
        
         Tribute
        
        from the
        
         Waves
        
        :
       
        As
        
         Egypt
        
        does not on the
        
         Clouds
        
        rely,
       
        But to her
        
         Nile
        
        owes more than to the
        
         sky
        
        :
       
        So what our
        
         Earth,
        
        and what our
        
         Heaven
        
        denies,
       
        Our ever constant Friend
        
         the Sea
        
        supplies:
       
        That
        
         friend
        
        whom whilst base
        
         Neighbors
        
        seek to gain,
       
        Your
        
         Thunder
        
        with their
        
         blood Purples
        
        the Main:
       
        The Taste of
        
         hot Arabian Spice
        
        we know
       
        Free from the
        
         scorching Sun
        
        that makes it grow:
       
        Without the
        
         Worm,
        
        in
        
         Persian Silks
        
        we shine,
       
        And without
        
         Planting,
        
        drink of every
        
         Vine
        
        :
       
        To Digg for
        
         Wealth,
        
        we
        
         weary
        
        not our Limbs,
       
         Gold,
        
        though the
        
         heaviest
        
        Mettal, hither
        
         Swims:
        
        Ours is the
        
         Harvest
        
        where the
        
         Indians Mow,
        
        We
        
         Plow
        
        the Deep, and
        
         Reap
        
        what others
        
         Sow
        
        :
       
        Things of the
        
         Noblest kind
        
        our own Soil breeds,
       
        Stout are our
        
         Men,
        
        and Warlike are our
        
         Steeds
        
        :
       
         Rome,
        
        though her Eagle through the world had flown,
       
        Could never make this
        
         Island all
        
        her own:
       
        Here the
        
         Third Edward,
        
        and the
        
         black Prince
        
        too,
       
        Victorious
        
         Henry
        
        flourished, and now
        
         You
        
        :
       
        For whom,
        
         Proud Dutch,
        
        (reserved, like the
        
         Greek
        
        State,
       
        Till
        
         Alexander
        
        came to urge their Fate)
       
        Must make
        
         New Trophies,
        
        which the Couq'ring hands
       
        Of
        
         Mighty York,
        
        or (who in's stead Commands)
       
        The
        
         Matchless Rupert
        
        from the Sea do bring,
       
        To Adorn the
        
         Triumphs
        
        of our Glorious King:
       
        Whilst most
        
         Heroic Montmouth,
        
        to add more,
       
        Transplants the
        
         Laurels
        
        of the
        
         Belgian
        
        Shore.

        Yet need your
        
         Foes
        
        not
        
         Dread
        
        (if they'll
        
         Submit
        
        )
       
        Your
        
         Power,
        
        you with such
        
         Sweetness
        
        Temper it:
       
        Prefer'd by
        
         Conquest,
        
        happily o'rethrown,
       
         Falling
        
        they'll
        
         Rise,
        
        to be with us made one
       
        That
        
         Aiery Liberty,
        
        whereof they Boast
       
        Is but a
        
         Spacious Shadow
        
        at the most:
       
        For they'll find on
        
         just Account
        
        of things
       
        No
        
         Freedom
        
        ▪ like the
        
         Rule
        
        of Pious
        
         Kings
        
        :
       
        So kind
        
         Dictators
        
        made, when they came Home,
       
        Their
        
         Vanquisht Foes,
        
        Free Citizens of
        
         Rome,
        
        Less Pleasure take,
        
         brave souls,
        
        in Battails won,
       
        Than in
        
         restoring
        
        those that are
        
         Vndone
        
        :
       
         Tigers
        
        have
        
         Courage,
        
        and the
        
         rugged Bare,
        
        But Man
        
         alone
        
        can, whom he Conquers
        
         spare
        
        ;
       
        To
        
         Pardon
        
        willing, and to
        
         Punish
        
        loath,
       
        You strike with
        
         one
        
        Hand, but you Heal with
        
         both
        
        ;
       
        Lifting up all that Prostrate lie, you grieve
       
        You cannot make the
        
         Dead
        
        again to Live:
       
        Whilst your Arms make
        
         your Stubborn
        
        Foes to fall,
       
        Your
        
         Gracious Favors
        
        needs must Conquer all.

        What you have done
        
         already
        
        is well known,
       
        And we with
        
         humblest Gratitude
        
        must own;
       
        When in your
        
         Royal Robes,
        
        you lately went
       
        To meet your
        
         Kind and Dutious Parliament,
        
        (That
        
         healing Senate,
        
        which all Storms can Calme,
       
        And cure the Nation with its
        
         Acts
        
        of Balm:)
       
         Blessings and Pray'rs
        
        were sent to Heaven aloud,
       
        By
        
         every
        
        Member of the Gazeing Croud:
       
        No sooner that
        
         Illustrious body
        
        saw
       
        Their
        
         Dearest Sovereign,
        
        but a
        
         Loveing Awe
        
        Shines in each Face, and with a
        
         greedy Ear
        
        Receives those
        
         Oracles
        
        he uttered there:
       
        Their
        
         Grateful Duties
        
        straight the
        
         Cause
        
        Espouse,
       
        As Highly Just to make our
        
         Lyon
        
        Rouse:
       
        They Thank His
        
         Royal Cares
        
        so much has done,
       
        And
        
         Vote supplies
        
        for what there is to come.

        Ah!
        
         blessed fruits
        
        ! such happy
        
         Union
        
        brings,
       
        The Loyalst Subjects with the best of Kings:
       
         Subjects
        
        that to maintain this
        
         needful
        
        Warr,
       
        Freely will
        
         part
        
        with what
        
         he
        
        fain would spare:
       
        Their
        
         public Purse
        
        they offer —
        
         Let all go,
        
        Rather then
        
         Truckle
        
        to'th encroaching
        
         Foe
        
        :
       
        When our
        
         Kings Honor,
        
        and our
        
         Countries good
        
        Is touched, we value neither
        
         Coyn
        
        nor
        
         Blood
        
        :
       
        Cursed be he, those
        
         Sacred bonds
        
        that parts,
       
        "Kings greatest Treasures, are their Subjects Hearts:
       
        And there your
        
         Majesty
        
        hath such a share,
       
        No
        
         Earthly Monarch
        
        may with you Compare.

        But our
        
         Weak Muse
        
        begs Pardon, that she dare
       
        I'th Face of
        
         Dazling Majesty
        
        appear:
       
        She only meant, her
        
         own full Joys
        
        to sing,
       
        Succeeding
        
         Times,
        
        shall
        
         Bays
        
        and
        
         Olive
        
        bring
       
        To Crown your
        
         head,
        
        whilst you in Triumph Ride
       
        O're Vanquisht
        
         Nations,
        
        and the
        
         Sea
        
        beside:
       
        Whilst all the
        
         Neighbouring States
        
        shall unto
        
         You,
        
        Like
        
         Joseph's
        
        Sheaves, pay Reverence, and
        
         Bowe.

ITER BOREALE.

FINIS.