A Speech, Made To The Kings Maiestie Comming In His Progress To Rippon, The 15. Of Aprill, 1617 Poem by John Ashmore

High Iove, with all the gods together met,
To see (great King) thy comming to this Town,
The casements large of heaven have open set,
And from their star-pav'd floors have sent me down,
Thee in their name to welcome to this place;
Which both thy Bountie, and thy Presence grace.
Young Phœbus, from his bright and radiant haire,
Such ioyfull light abroad here neuer shed
Since good King Adlestone of yore did reare
These stately piles with gold embelished;
Which after-times (miss-led) did rent asunder,
And at the last (alas!) were fir'd with thunder.
What Iliads of grief! what dole-full teen!
What Out-cries then were heard of young and old!
What Lamentation in the streets was seen,
As in this fear-full case they did behold
These holy things doom'd to the fire a prey?
But at a trice the Heaven his rage did stay.
For, in the Dest'nies rowles, that open were,
(Thrice sacred King of men) they found, that thou
These wofull ruines should againe up-reare,
And Royall gifts for aye on it bestowe:
Nor can we think how better they deserve
That build, then they from down-fals that prezerve.
No marvaile then, if every field and tree,
The windowes and the tops of houses too,
With people of all sorts replenisht be,
And where thou go'st if Nymphs sweet flowers do strowe.
From every place (good King) see how they run.
To feast their eyes; and cry, Hee's com, Hee's com.
Nor were the sluces of thy Bounty so
Set open to the Churches good alone:
But, it aboundantly did also flowe,
And to the Town by grace-full streams was show'n,
When (made a body Politique) they did rise
To Place, with Hutton's, York's, and Mallory's.
And though Pactolus, with his golden sands,
Be farre remote from places where they dwell:
Yet come they not (good King) with empty hands:
For, other gifts they bring which gold excell;
Trve Loyall Hearts: which thou wilt not forsake.
Of Harvest small, the gods small hand-fulstake.
The gods aboue, thy loving Subiects here,
Thy sacred Person in protection take:
And so Adieu, to gods and men most deer;
Whom, in such Progresses, oft happy make:
And, by Heroïck deeds beseeming thee,
Make way to th'high tow'rs of Eternity.