AN ODE UPON THE HAPPY RETURN OF King Charles II.  
TO His LANGVISHING NATIONS, May 29. 1660.  
By JAMES SHIRLEY, Gent.  
Composed into Music by Dr. Coleman.  
Et capitur minimo Thuris Honore Deus▪  
LONDON, Printed 1660,   

To the King.  

I.  
ANd is there one Fanatique left, in whose  
Degenerate Soul a thought can stray,  
And by the witchcraft of a cloud, oppose  
This Bright, so long expected, Day?  
Whence are these wild effects of Light,  
Emergent from our tedious night?  
Oh! can it be, those life-creating beams,  
That warm the Earth, and gild our streams,  
Purging th'infected air, our eyes, and mind,  
Making even Moles themselves to see, should strike these poor men blind?   

II.  
It will convert an Atheist to a faith  
Of the Creation, no less strange,  
Will he believe our Chaos, when he hath  
Read the Miracles of our change:  
In such a rout was all our Frame  
Of things, until the Fiat came;  
Stoop, and lay down thy reason trifling man,  
After a dark Abyss to show his face,  
When natures, stifled in the deep, came gliding to their place.   

III.  
●ut wonder cease, the Altars call to burn  
With thanks and vows; what sacrifice.  
●an be enough, great Pricne, for your return,  
Who are the Joy of Hearts and Eyes?  
Our duty's paid to him, that is  
The Spring of Your, and all our bliss:  
Let us to Loyal Monk some trophies bring,  
To whom, next God, we own the King,  
Our peace, & Princes; and may you think fit,  
Whilst on Your Head three Crowns, on his as many garlands sit.   

iv  
Now welcome, Royal Sir, our bells impart,  
And piles of wood, but heat and noise:  
Then take it from the language of a heart,  
Whose crowd of wishes break into a voice;  
And thus do upward fly. May all  
That pious men can think, or call  
A blessing, wait and watch about your throne;  
Live long our glorious King, and be your own!  
And when time, faint with years, points to the Bier,  
Find it no loss, to be in Heaven, and Charles the second there   
James Shirley.   

TO THE PEOPLE.  

WElcome thou happy day, in which was born  
The pledge of all our Joy, the Prince,  
Welcome again the same white happy morn,  
Although sad thirty winters since!  
And now I sing  
That Prince our King.  
The cure of all our wounds is Herald  
Guns, every Bell,  
And Bonfires tell  
His safe return, our Island round  
Nothing but Charles, King Charles resound.  
A joyful sight to see.  
●he Major, and Train of Scarlet-brethrens ride  
To meet the King, next them we told  
●ve hundred more, all in their plush and pride,  
And Chains, you may believe were gold.  
Conduits made fine  
Pissed Claret wine.  
The Troops and Trumpets were hard by,  
Buff and gold lace  
As thick as grass  
Triumphant march, to and again,  
Some gallant horse, some gallant men,  
A joyful sight to see.   

●●e Dutch at this strange turning of the stream  
Will be our Trout another while,  
●ur King & Commonwealth's all one to them,  
So they may keep their Fishing still,  
Purchase and prey  
And Spawn at Sea:  
But oh, the French that were so free!  
Pardonne moy,  
Excuse their joy.  
The Exiled CHARLES this day is come,  
Who may send all the Pedlars home.  
A joyful sight to see.  
The Irish, that in Usquebauh did pledge  
His Birth, their jolly tunes give over.  
A Lord not now is master of a Hedge,  
Scarce bonny clabbor within door.  
But you, that were  
No Rebel there  
May reassume your merry glee,  
And change your tone  
Of Hone, oh Hone  
When you shall hear a voice proclaim  
Back to the Province whence you came  
A joyful sight to see.   

The Scots like honest Men, Hosanna cry,  
They knew his Father much well,  
And say, God save the King; Amen say I,  
From such as have the trick to sell,  
There are some few  
That are true blue.  
The Welsh with joy transported be,  
Plutter and Nails  
Bless Prince of Wales  
Who now is King, and pright as star  
Upon the top of Penmenmaure,  
A joyful sight to see.  
But oh, the Landlord of the Rich Peru  
Is sailing with his golden Fleet,  
And in a sea, of pure Canary too,  
To land his Oar at Charles his feet.  
Rouse from your shade  
Dull men of Trade!  
The storms are laid, the seas are free,  
A peace with Spain  
Brings all again  
You shall like Grandes march in state  
And swim in Rios de la Plate,  
A joyful sight to see.   

That Hand that brought our best of Kings and Men,  
Now fix him in his Royal Throne.  
That Knaves may never preach him out again,  
Nor us into Rebellion,  
'Tis our turn now  
To Vote and Vow,  
And Justice cry our streets throughout.  
So. Charles, God bless,  
Queen, Dukes no less,  
And Monk, who has thrown off his Hood,  
And by his Prudence, without blood,  
Brought all these things about.   
FINIS.