England's Happiness Restored, OR A CONGRATULATION Upon the Return of his GRACE James Duke of Monmouth, On Thursday night the 27th of this instant November 1679.  
GReat Britai●'s Isle, Commandress of the Flood,  
Who hast so long the boast of Europe stood.  
Happy since Warlike Monmouth long Exileed,  
Is to his Royal Father reconciled:  

Dreadful in Arm that Glorious Prnice once more,  
Is Landed safe on thy Triumphant shore.  
Whom Seas and Wind● we●e joyful to restore:   
On dauncinng Waves the Watery Syreans Sung,  
Whilst Auziar Tritons drove his Yatch along.  
Striving to haste him, so long wished for home,  
His Country's shield and Scourg to Tyrant Rome:  
A Prince whose Soul's of Virtues all compiled,  
In Camps like Thunder, and in Courts so mild.  
That Nature stood amazed when he was given,  
To see him made of Kindred Mould to Heaven;  
Which sheves him, Caesar's off'pring and the Son,  
Of mighty Charles, whose Glories still run on.  
And shine like Stars, since first his Reign began,  
In spite of Hell or Vile Conspiring Man.  
But when Obedient Monmouth left the Land,  
In order to his Father's great Command.  
The Throne was Clouded with unusial fear.  
And all the Vulgars' hopes did disappear:  
The Skies in Sable Mourned for his retreat,  
Whom Arms and Glory rendered so complete.  
Fame's darling and the Noblest of his Age;  
That Treads the Compass of the World's vast Stage,  
Whilst smiling Honour's Sprinkled on his Brow,  
And from htis Soul does Tides of greatness Flow.  
Heroic Virtues, his attendants are,  
And O fars Fortune's weight on him i War,  
His high renown borne on the Wings of Fame.  
Has made the Nation's starte● where it came:  
Whilst that the God of Battle marked his Eye,  
And where it aimed sent fullflushed Victory.  
His dazzling lustre awed his proudest Foes,  
Whilst round about he Warlike Terror throws:  
This is the great Soul Monmouth, he whose Sword;  
Such brave Atchevivements dares, and can afford:  
Without once Pausing his Heroic Blood,  
For his great Father, and his Country's good.  
Rejoice then happy land since such brave worth  
If need requires will lead thy Armies forth,  
Let Rocks be Split, and Waters break their bounds  
WhiIst Thundering Peals of joyful Echo's sound,  
To see the Royal Father smiling on.  
The safe Arrival of his Warlike Son:  
Now let those cares and fears who late did shroud  
Our Sunshine joy be vanished to a Cloud.  
That Bells, and Fires, and Thundering Cannons may.  
Dcclare the joyful Triumph of the day;  
Whilst envious Rome, her hissing Snakes lays by,  
And grieves to see successless Treasons die.  
And all her proud infernal thoughts expire:  
Which she conceived when Monmouth did retire,  
That Dragon's rage who fain would England spoil.  
And stretched on Racks, with flame her Marters' broil.  
Great Monmouth's Sword, if not his Name can Quell,  
And drive those Monsters, lately loosed from Hell:  
(And like Pandora's Box, of Evils Hurled;  
To Plague the Civil Nations of the World,  
Down to the dreadful Place from whence they came,  
And make them Plunge into their Primal Flame;  
Fate now thy worst, Heroic Monmouths come,  
The hopes of England, and of Christendom:  
May his Great Father's anger never Rise!  
Against a Son, that does Obedience Prize,  
Virtuous and good, beyond what we express.  
Noble by Nature, and by Art no less:  
Where all these Virtues in a Prince doth Crowd;  
Let envy Fly before him like a Cloud,  
So bright in Honour, and in Arms so Great.  
Heaven Guards him still from all the storms of Fate:  
And fresh blown wonders so transplendent prove;  
Whilst still he floats on Tides of strongest love,  
May sacred Hollows now suround his Head.  
And loud Mouthed Fame through boundless Nations spread,  
The joy of Albion, and the happy day.  
Since Clouds removed once more her Starlike ray,  
Sends out his Glister to the Frozen North:  
And great Soul'd Mars, for its defence stands forth.  
Who ro●ling through the Globe at length is come,  
Laden with Trophies of more Honour home,  
Now dreadful Rome, no more thy frowns can fright.  
Nor all thy Horrors hatched in shades of Night;  
Our Gaurdian Angel in a mortal form,  
Will drive thy Thunders back, and quell thy storm,  
Tho' Wirl-winds from thy Yeaning bosom rise.  
To wrack the World, and shake the blushing Skies;  
We'll stand secure and dare thy utmost Frown:  
Whilst Fate herself thy Pride shall tumble down,  
Great Monmouth, darling of our British Isle:  
Who now repairs once more to make her Smile;  
And in Obedience to his Father's will,  
Such pleasing Joys from bleeding hearts distil.  
That Transports Triumph upon every brow:  
And Sreams of Love through each Meander flow:  
Then for great Monmouth, thus restored le's sing.  
Long live great Charles our wise and Sacred King,   

London Printed by D: M. in the Year, 1679.