GENIUS

TO Ime, Fate, and Fortune have at length conspired, To give our Age the day so much desired. What all the minutes, hours, weeks, months, and years, That hang in file upon these silver hairs, Could not produce, beneath the Britain stroke, The Ro and, Sax n, Dane, and Norman yoke, This oint of Time both done Now London rear Thy forehead high, and on it strive to we re Thy Gems Teach thy ste pe Tow S to rise H gher with people: S to with sparkling eyes Thy spacious windows: and in eum ry street, Let thronging oy, Love, and Amazement meet. Cleave all the air with shouts, and let the cry Strike through as long, and universally As thunder; For, thou now art blessed to see That sighed, for which thou didst begin to be. When Brutus plough first gave thee infant bounds, And , thy GENIUS walk's auspicious rounds In every furrow; Then did I forelook, And saw this day marked white in Clotho's book. The several Circles, both of change and sway, Within this Isle, there also figured lay: Of which the greatest, perfectest, and last Was this, whose present happiness we taste. Why keep the silence Daughters? What dull peace Is this inhabits you? Shall office cease Upon that aspect of him, to whom you owe Shall TIME know, That , wherein your flame stood still, And Now heaven avert and i'ld Of that black l oak. Ere pause possess your breasts I w sh you more of Plagues: "Zeal when it rests, Leaves to be zeal. Up thou tame RIVER, wake, And from thy liquid limbs this slumber shake: Thou drownest thy self in inofficious S eepe; And these thy sluggish waters seem to creep, Rather them flow. Up rise, and swell with pride Above thy banks. "Now is not every Tide. INdeed, true Glad esse does not always speak: "Joy bred and born but in the tongue, is weak. You (least the fervor of so pure a flame, As this my City bears, might lose the name, Without the apt eventing of her heat) Know greatest Iames (and no less good, than great.) In the behalf of a l my virtuous Sons, Whereof my eldest there, thy pomp foreruns, (A Man without my flattering, or his Pride, As worthy, as he's blessed oh be thy guide) In his graven name, and all his Brothers' right, (Who thirst to drink the Nectar of thy sighed) The Council, Commoners, and Multitude; (Glad, that this day so long denied, is viewed) I tender thee the heartiest welcome, yet That ever King had to his Empires seat: Ne er came man, more longed for, more desired And being come, more reverenced, loved, admired: Hear, and record it: " In a Pri ce it is " No little virtue, to know who are is. With Like devotions, do I stoopet'embrace This springing glory of thy Godlike raze; His Countries wonder, Hope, Love, Joy and Pride: How well doth he become the royal side Of this erected, and broad spreading Tree, Under whose shade may Brittane ever be. And from this branch, may thousand branches more Shoot over the Main, and knit with every shore In bonds of Marriage, Kindred, and Increase; And style this Land, the Nam ill of their peace. This is your Servants wish, your Cities vow, Which still shall propagate it self, with you; And free from spurs of Hope, that slow minds : " He seeks no hire, that owes his life to Love. And here she comes that is no less a partly In this days greatness, then in my glad heart. Glory of Queens, and Glory of your Name, Whose Graces do as far outspeak your Fame, As Fame does silence, when her Trumpet rings You Daughter, Sister, Wife of several Kings: Beside Alliance, and the style of Mother, In which one title you drown all your other. Instance, be that fair shoot, is gone before our eldest Joy, and top of all your store, With those, whose sighed to us is yet denied, But not our zeal to them, or ought beside This City can to you: For whose estate She Hope's you will be still good Advocate To her best Lord. So, while you mortal are, No taste of Sour mortality once dare Approach your house; nor Fortune greet your Gram But coming on, and with a forward face. A Flamin? Sure thou still dost dream. And both thy tongue, and thought rides on the strea e Of Fantasy: Behold here He nor She, Have any Altar Fane, or Diety. Stoop; read but this Inscription: and then view To whom the place is consecrate. 'Tis true That this is Janus Temple, and that now He turns upon the Year his freshest brow; That this is Mars his month; and these the Ides, Wherein his Anne was honoured; Both the Tides, Titles, and Place, we know: But these dead rites Are long since buried, and new power excites More high and hearty flames. Lo, there is he, Who brings with him a greater Anne then she: Whose strong and potent virtues have de aced Stern Mars his statues, and upon them placed His, and the world's blessed blessings: This hath brought Sweet Peace to fit in that bright state she ought Unbloody, or untroubled; hath forced hence All tumults, ears, or other dark portents, That might in ade weak minds; hath made men see Once more the face of welcome Liberty: And does (in all his present acts) restore That first pure world, made of the better Over. Now Innocence shall cease to be the spoil Of ravenous Greatness, or to sleep the soil Of raised Peasantry with tears, and blood; No more shall rich men (for their little good) Sul to be made guilty; or vile Sp es Emoy the lust of their so murdering eyes: Men shall put off their Iron minds, and hearts; The I me forget his old malicious arts this new minu e; and no print remain Of what was thought the former ages stain. Back Flamin, with thy superstitious fumes, And S nse not here; Thy ignorance presumest Too much, in acting any Ethnic rite In this translated Temple: Here no wight, To sacrifice save my devotion comes, That brings in steed of those thy Masculine gums. My Cities heart, which shall for ever burn Upon this Altar, and no Time shall turn The same to ashes: Here I fix it fast, Flame bright, flame high, and may it ever last. Whilst I, before the figure of thy Peace, Still tend the fire; and give it quick increase With prayers, wishes, vows; whereof be these The least, and weakest: that no Age may lose The memory of this so rich a day; But rather, that it henceforth yearly may Begin our spring, and with our spring the prime, And first account of Years, of Months, of Time: And may these Ides as fortunate appear To thee, as they to Caesar fatal were. Be all thy Thoughts born perfect, and thy Hope's In their events still crowned beyond their scopes. Let not wide Heaven that secret blessing know To give, which she on thee will not bestow: Blind Fortune be thy slave; and may her store (The less thou seest it) follow thee the more. Much more I would: but see, these brazen Gates Make hast to close, as urged by thy Fates; Here ends my Cities office, here it breaks: Yet with my tongue, and this pure heart, she speaks A short farewell; and lower then thy feet, With fervent thanks, thy royal pains does greet. Pardon, if my abruptness breed disease; He merits not t'offend, that hasts to please. STay, what art thou, that in this strange attire, Darest kindle stranger, and unhallowed fire Upon this Altar? I so did guess By my short view, but whence didst thou ascend Hither? or how? or to what mystic end?