She spoke; the God of Love aloud
Sneez'd again; and all the crowd

Of little Loves, that waited by,
Bow'd, and bleft the augury.

This good omen thus from heaven

Like a happy fignal given,

Their loves and lives (all four) émbrace,

And hand in hand run all the race.
To poor Septimius (who did now
Nothing else but Acme grow)
Acme's bofom was alone

The whole world's imperial throne;
And to faithful Acme's mind
Septimius was all human-kind.

If the Gods would please to be
But advis'd for once by me,
I'd advise them, when they spy
Any illustrious piety,

To reward her, if it be fhe-
To reward him, if it be he

With fuch a husband, fuch a wife
With Acme's and Septimius' life.

ODE

O DE

UPON HIS MAJESTY'S RESTORATION AND

RETURN.

"Quod optanti divûm promittere nemo "Auderet, volvenda dies, en, attulit ultro." VIRG.

N

OW bleffings on you all, ye peaceful stars,
Which meet at laft fo kindly, and dispense

Your univerfal gentle influence

To calm the stormy world and still the rage of wars!
Nor, whilft around the continent
Plenipotentiary beams ye fent,

Did your pacific lights disdain
In their large treaty to contain
The world apart, o'er which do reign

Your feven fair brethren of great Charles's-wain ;
No star amongst ye all did, I believe,
Such vigorous afsistance give,
As that which, thirty years ago,
At Charles's birth, did, in despite
Of the proud fun's meridian light,
His future glories and this year forefhow.

The ftar that appeared at noon, the day of the king's birth, juft as the king his father was riding to St. Paul's to give thanks to God for that blefling.

No lefs effects than these we may

Be affur'd of from that powerful ray, Which could out-face the fun, and overcome the day..

Aufpicious ftar! again arife,

And take thy noon-tide station in the skies,
Again all heaven prodigiously adorn ;
For lo! thy Charles again is born.
He then was born with and to pain;
With and to joy he 's born again.
And, wifely for this fecond birth,
By which thou certain wert to bless
The land with fuil and flourishing happiness,
Thou mad'ft of that fair month thy choice,
In which heaven, air, and fea, and earth,

And all that's in them, all, does fmile and does rejoice. 'Twas a right season ; and the very ground

Ought with a face of paradise to be found,

Then, when we were to entertain

Felicity and innocence again.

Shall we again (good Heaven!) that blessed pair behold, Which the abused people fondly fold

For the bright fruit of the forbidden tree,

By feeking all like Gods to be?

Will Peace her halcyon neft venture to build
Upon a fhore with fhipwrecks fill'd,

And truft that sea, where she can hardly fay

She 'as known these twenty years one calmy day ?

Ah! mild and gallefs dove,

Which doft the pure and candid dwellings love,

Canf

Canft thou in Albion ftill delight?

Still canft thou think it white?

Will ever fair Religion appear

In these deformed ruins? will fhe clear
Th' Augean stables of her churches here ?

Will Juftice hazard to be seen

Where a High Court of Justice e'er has been ?
Will not the tragic scene,

And Bradshaw's bloody ghoft, affright her there,
Her, who fhall never fear?

Then may Whitehall for Charles's feat be fit,
If Juftice fhall endure at Westminster to fit.

Of all, methinks, we least should fee
The chearful looks again of Liberty.

That name of Cromwell, which does freshly still
The curfes of fo many fufferers fill,
Is ftill enough to make her stay,
And jealous for a while remain,
Left, as a tempeft carried him away,
Some hurricane should bring him back again.
Or, fhe might juftlier be afraid

Left, that great ferpent, which was all a tail

(And in his poisonous folds whole nations prifoners made)

Should a third time perhaps prevail

To join again, and with worse fting arise,
As it had done when cut in pieces twice.
Return, return, ye facred Four!

And dread your perish'd enemies no more.

Your fears are caufelefs all, and vain,
Whilft you return in Charles's train;
For God does him, that he might you, restore,
Nor fhall the world him only call

Defender of the faith, but of

you all.

With a full tide to every port they flow,

With a warm fruitful wind o’er all the country blow.

Honour does as ye march her trumpet found,

The Arts encompass you around,

And, against all alarms of Fear, Safety itself brings up the rear ; And, in the head of this angelic band, Lo! how the goodly Prince at laft does ftand (O righteous God!) on his own happy land: 'Tis happy now, which could with so much ease: Recover from fo defperate a disease;

A various complicated ill,

Whofe every fymptom was enough to kill;
In which one part of three frenzy possest,
And lethargy the reft :

'Tis happy, which no bleeding does endure,
A furfeit of fuch blood to cure :
'Tis happy, which beholds the flame
In which by hoftile hands it ought to burn,

Or that which, if from Heaven it came,
It did but well deferve, all into bonfire turn.

We