Forth Feasting A Panegyricke To The King Poem by John Adamson

If, in this Storme of joy and pompous Throng,
This Nymphe (great King) come euer Thee so neare
That Thy harmonious Eares Her Accents heare,
Giue Pardon to Her hoarse and lowlie Song.
Faine would Shee Trophees to Thy Vertues reare,
But for this statlie Task Shee is not Strong,
And Her Defects Her high Attempts doe wrong,
Yet as Shee could shee makes Thy VVorth appeare.
So in a Mappe is showen this flowrie Place;
So wrought in Arras by a Virgines Hand
With Heauen and blazing Starres doth Atlas stand,
So drawen by Chare-coale is Narcissus Face:
Shee maye Aurora be to some bright Sunne
Which maye perfect the Day by Her begunne.

What blustring Noise now interrupts my Sleepe?
VVhat echoing Shouts thus cleaue my chrystal Deep?
And call mee hence from out my watrie Court?
VVhat Melodie, what Sounds of Joy and Sport,
Bee these heere hurld from eu'rie neighbour Spring?
VVith what lowd Rumours doe the Mountaines ring?
VVhich in vnusuall Pompe on tip-toes stand,
And (full of VVonder) ouer-looke the Land?
VVhence come these glittring Throngs, these Meteors bright,
This golden People set vnto my Sight?
VVhence doth this Praise, Applause, and Loue, arise?
VVhat Load-starre east-ward draweth thus all Eyes?
Am J awake? or haue some Dreames conspir'd
To mocke my Sense with Shadowes much desir'd?
Stare J that liuing Face, see J those Lookes,
VVhich with Delight wont to amaze my Brookes?
Doe J behold that VVorth, that Man divine,
This Ages Glorie, by these Bankes of mine?
Then is it true what long J wish'd in vaine?
That my much-louing Prince is come againe?
So vnto Them whose Zenith is the Pole,
VVhen sixe blacke Months are past, the Sunne doeth rolle:
So after Tempest to Sea-tossed VVights
Faire Helens Brothers show their chearing Lights:
So comes Arabias Meruaile from her VVoods,
And farre farre off is seene by Memphis Floods,
The feather'd Syluans Clowd-like by her flie,
And with applauding Clangors beate the Skie,
Nyle wonders, Seraps Priests (entranced) raue,
And in Mygdonian Stone her Shape ingraue;
In lasting Cedars marke the joyfull Time
In which Apollos Bird came to their Clime.

Let Mother Earth now deckt with Flowres bee seene,
And sweet-breath'd Zephyres curle the Medowes greene:
Let Heauens weepe Rubies in a crimsin Showre,
Such as on Indies Shores they vse to powre:
Or with that golden Storme the Fields adorne,
Which Ioue rain'd, when his Blew-eyed Maide was borne.
May neuer Houres the Webbe of Day out-weaue,
May neuer Night rise from her sable Caue.
Swell prowd my Billowes, faint not to declare
Your Joyes, as ample as their Causes are:
For Murmures hoarse sound like Arions Harpe,
Now delicatlie flat, now sweetlie sharpe.
And you my Nymphes, rise from your moyst Repaire,
Strow all your Springs and Grotts with Lillies faire:
Some swiftest-footted get her hence and pray
Our Floods and Lakes, come keepe this Holie-day;
What e're beneath Albanias Hills doe runne,
Which see the rising or the setting Sunne,
Which drinke sterne Grampius Mists, or Ochells Snows:
Stone-rowling Taye, Tine Tortoyse-like that flows,
The pearlie Don, the Deas, the fertile Spay,
Wild Neverne which doth see our longest Day,
Nesse smoaking-Sulphure, Leaue with Mountaines crown'd,
Strange Loumond for his floting Isles renown'd:
The irish Rian, Ken, the silver Aire,
The snakie Dun, the Ore with rushie Haire,
The Chrystall-streaming Nid, lowd-bellowing Clyd,
Tweed which no more our Kingdomes shall deuide:
Rancke-swelling Annan, Lid with curled Streames,
The Eskes, the Solway where they loose their Names,
To eu'rie one proclaime our Joyes, and Feasts,
Our Triumphes; bid all come, and bee our Guests:
And as they meet in Neptunes azure Hall,
Bid Them bid Sea-Gods keepe this Festiuall.
This Day shall by our Currents bee renown'd,
Our Hills about shall still this Day resound:
Nay, that our Loue more to this Day appeare,
Let vs with it hence foorh begin our Yeare.

To Virgins Flowres, to Sunne-burnt Earth the Raine,
To Mariners faire Winds amidst the Maine:
Coole Shades to Pilgrimes, which hote Glances burne,
Please not so much, to vs as Thy Returne.
That Day (deare Prince) which rest vs of thy Sight,
[Day, no, but Darknesse, and a duskie Night]
Did fraight our Brests with Sighs, our Eyes with Teares,
Turn'd Minutes in sad Months, sad Months in Yeares:
Trees left to flowrish, Medowes to beare Flowres,
Brookes hid their Heads within their sedgie Bowres,
Faire Ceres curst our Fields with barren Frost,
As if againe shee had her Daughter lost:
The Muses left our Groues, and for sweete Songs
Sate sadlie silent, or did weepe their Wrongs;
Yee know it Meads, yee murmuring Woods it know,
Hilles, Dales, and Caues, Copartners of their Woe;
And yee it know my Streames, which from their Eine
Oft on your Glasse receiu'd their pearled Brine;
O Naïds deare (said They) Nap&ecedil;as faire,
O Nymphes of Trees, Nymphes which on Hills repaire,
Gone are those maiden Glories, gone that State,
Which made all Eyes admire our Hap of late.
As lookes the Heauen when neuer Starre appeares,
But slow and wearie shroude them in their Spheares,
VVhile Tithons wife embosom'd by Him lies,
And World doth languish in a drearie Guise:
As lookes a Garden of its Beautie spoil'd,
As Wood in Winter by rough Boreas foil'd;
As Pourtraicts raz'd of Colours vse to bee:
So lookt these abject Bounds depriu'd of Thee.

VVhile as my Rills enjoy'd Thy royall Gleames,
They did not envie Tibers haughtie Streames,
Nor wealthie Tagus with his golden Ore,
Nor cleare Hydaspes which on Pearles doth rore,
Empampred Gange that sees the Sunne new borne,
Nor Acheloüs with his flowrie Horne,
Nor Floods which neare Elysian Fields doe fall:
For why? Thy Sight did serue to them for all.
No Place there is so desart, so alone,
Euen from the frozen to the torrid Zone,
From flaming Hecla to great Quincys Lake,
Which Thine abode could not most happie make.
All those Perfections which by bounteous Heauen
To diuerse Worlds in diuerse Times were giuen,
The starrie Senate powr'd at once on Thee,
That Thou Examplare mightst to Others bee.

Thy Life was kept till the three Sisters spunne
Their Threedes of Gold, and then it was begunne.
With curled Clowds when Skies doe looke most faire,
And no disordred Blasts disturbe the Aire,
When Lillies doe them decke in azure Gownes;
And new-borne Roses blush with golden Crownes;
To bode, how calme wee vnder Thee should liue,
What Halcyonean Dayes Thy Reigne should giue,
And to two flowrie Diademes Thy right;
The Heauens Thee made a Partner of the Light.
Scarce wast Thou borne, when joyn'd in friendly Bands
Two mortall Foes with other clasped Hands,
With Vertue Fortune stroue, which most should grace
Thy Place for Thee, Thee for so high a Place,
One vow'd thy sacred Brest not to forsake,
The Other on Thee not to turne her Backe,
And that Thou more her loues Effects mightst feele
For Thee shee rent her Sayle, and broke her Wheele.

When Yeeres Thee vigour gaue, O then how cleare
Did smoothred Sparkles in bright Flames appeare?
Amongst the Woods to force a flying Hart,
To pearce the mountaine-Wolfe with feathred Dart,
See Faulcons climbe the Clowds, the Foxe ensnare,
Out-runne the winde-out-running daedale Hare,
To loose a trampling Steede alongst a Plaine,
And in meandring Gyres him bring againe,
The Preasse Thee making place, were vulgare Things;
In Admirations Aire on Glories Wings
O! Thou farre from the common Pitch didst rise,
With Thy designes to dazell Enuies Eyes:
Thou soughtst to know, this Alls eternall Source,
Of euer-turning Heauens the restlesse Course,
Their fixed Fyes, their Lights which wandring runne,
Whence Moone her Siluer hath, his Gold the Sunne,
If Destine bee or no, if Planets can
By fierce Aspects force the Free-will of Man:
The light and spiring Fire, the liquid Aire,
The flaming Dragons, Comets with red Haire,
Heauens tilting Launces, Artillerie, and Bow,
Lowd-sounding Trumpets, Darts of Haile and Snow,
The roaring Element with People dombe,
The Earth with what conceiu'd is in her Wombe,
VVhat on Her moues, were set vnto Thy Sight,
Till Thou didst find their Causes, Essence, Might:
But vnto nought Thou so Thy Mind didst straine
As to bee read in Man, and learne to raigne;
To know the VVeight, and Atlas of a Crowne,
To spare the Humble, Prowdlings pester downe.
VVhen from those pearcing Cares which Thrones invest,
As Thornes the Rose, Thou weari'd wouldst Thee rest,
VVith Lute in Hand, full of coelestiall Fire,
To the Pierian Groues Thou didst retire:
There, garlanded with all Uranias Flowres,
In sweeter Layes than builded Thebees Towres,
Or them which charm'd the Dolphines in the Maine,
Or which did call Euridicè againe,
Thou sungst away the Houres, till from their Spheare
Starres seem'd to shoote, Thy Melodie to heare.
The God with golden Haire, the Sister Maides,
Left, nymphall Helicon, their Tempès Shades,
To see Thine Jsle, heere lost their natiue Tongue,
And in Thy world-divided Language sung.

Who of Thine After-age can count the Deedes,
With all that Fame in Times hudge Annales reedes,
How by Example more than anie Law,
This People fierce Thou didst to Goodnesse draw;
How while the Neighbour Worlds (tows'd by the Fates)
So manie Phaëtons had in their States,
Which turn'd in heedlesse Flames their burnish'd Thrones,
Thou (as ensphear'd) kepdst temperate Thy Zones;
In Africke Shores the Sands that ebbe and flow,
The shadie Leaues on Ardennes Trees that grow,
Hee sure may count, with all the Waues that meet
To wash the Mauritanian Atlas feet.
Though crown'd thou wert not, nor a King by Birth,
Thy Worth deserues the richest Crowne on Earth.
Search this Halfe Spheare and the opposite Ground,
Where is such Wit and Bountie to bee found?
As into silent Night, when neare the Beare
The Virgine Huntresse shines at full most cleare,
And striues to match her Brothers golden Light,
The Hoast of Starres doth vanish in her Sght,
Arcturus dies, cool'd is the Lyons ire,
Po burnes no more with Phaëtontall Fire,
Orion faints to see his Armes grow blacke,
And that his flamming Sword hee now doth lacke:
So Europes Lights, all bright in their Degree,
Loose all their Lustre paragond with Thee.
By just Discent Thou from moe Kings dost shine,
Then manie can name Men in all their Line:
What most They toyle to find, and finding hold
Thou skornest, orient Gemmes, and flattring Gold:
Esteeming Treasure surer in Mens Brests,
Than when immur'd with Marble, closd in Chests;
No stormie Passions doe disturbe thy Mind,
No Mists of greatnesse euer could Thee blind:
Who yet hath beene so meeke? Thou life didst giue
To Them who did repine to see Thee liue;
What Prince by Goodnesse hath such Kingdomes gain'd?
Who hath so long his Peoples Peace maintain'd?
Their Swords are turn'd in Sythes, in Culters Speares,
Some giant Post their anticke Armour beares:
Now, where the wounded Knight his Life did bleed,
The wanton Swaine sits piping on a Reed.
And where the Canon did Joves Thunder skorne,
The gawdie Hunts-man windes his shrill-tun'd Horne:
Her greene Lockes Ceres void of feare doth die,
The Pilgrime safelie in the Shade doth lie,
Both Pan and Pales (carelesse) keepe their Flockes,
Seas haue no Dangers saue the Winds and Rockes:
Thou art this Jsles Palladium, neither can
[While Thou art kept] it bee o're-throwne by Man.

Let Others boast of Blood and Spoyles of Foes,
Fierce Rapines, Murders, Iliads of Woes,
Of hated Pompe, and Trophaees reared faire,
Gore-spangled Ensignes streaming in the Aire,
Count how They make The Scythian them adore,
The Gaditan the Souldiour of Aurore,
Vnhappie Vauntrie! to enlarge their Bounds,
VVhich charge themselues with Cares, their Friends with Wounds,
Which haue no Law to their ambitious Will,
But (Man-plagues) borne are humane Blood to spill:
Thou a true Victor art, sent from aboue
What Others straine by Force to gaine by Loue,
World-wandring Fame this Prayse to Thee imparts,
To bee the onlie Monarch of all Hearts.
They many feare who are of many fear'd,
And Kingdomes got by Wrongs by Wrongs are tear'd,
Such Thrones as Blood doth raise Blood throweth downe,
No Guard so sure as Loue vnto a Crowne.

Fye of our westerne World, Mars-daunting King,
With whose Renowne the Earths seuen Climats ring,
Thy Deedes not only claime these Diademes,
To which Thame, Liffy, Taye, subject their Streames:
But to Thy Vertues rare, and Gifts, is due
All that the Planet of the Yeere doth view;
Sure if the World aboue did want a Prince,
The World aboue to it would take thee hence.

That Murder, Rapine, Lust, are fled to Hell,
And in their Roomes with vs the Graces dwell,
That Honour more than Riches Men respect,
That Worthinesse than Gold doth more effect,
That Pietie vnmasked showes her Face,
That Innocencie keepes with Power her Place,
That long-exil'd Astrea leaues the Heauen,
And turneth right her Sword, her Weights holds euen,
That the Saturnian World is come againe,
Are wish'd Effects of Thy most happie Raigne.
That dayly Peace, Loue, Trueth, Delights encrease,
And Discord, Hate, Fraude, with Jncombers cease,
That Men vse Strength not to shed others Blood,
But vse their Strength now to doe other Good,
That Furie is enchain'd, disarmed Wrath,
That (saue by Natures Hand) there is no Death,
That late grimme Foes like Brothers other loue,
That Vultures prey not on the harmlesse Doue,
That Wolues with Lambs doe Friendship entertaine,
Are wish'd Effects of thy most happie Raigne.
That Towns encrease, That ruin d Temples rise,
And their wind-mouing Vanes plant in the Skies,
That Ignorance and Sloth hence runne away,
That buri'd Arts now rowse them to the Day,
That Hyperiòn farre beyond his Bed
Doth see, our Lyons rampe, our Roses spred,
That Iber courtes vs, Tyber not vs charmes;
That Rhein with hence-brought Beams his Bosome warmes,
That Euill vs feare, and Good vs doe maintaine,
Are wish'd Effects of Thy most happie Raigne.

O Vertues Patterne, Glorie of our Times,
Sent of past Dayes to expiate the Crimes,
Great King, but better farre than thou art greate,
Whome State not honours, but who honours State,
By Wonder borne, by Wonder first install'd,
By Wonder after to new Kingdomes call'd,
Young kept by Wonder neare home-bred Alarmes,
Old sau'd by Wonder from pale Traitours Harmes,
To bee for this Thy Raigne which Wonders brings,
A King of Wonder, Wonder vnto Kings.
If Pict, Dane, Norman, Thy smooth Yoke had seene,
Pict, Dane, and Norman had thy Subjects beene:
If Brutus knew the Blisse Thy Rule doth giue,
Euen Brutus joye would vnder Thee to liue:
For Thou Thy People dost so dearlie loue,
That they a Father, more than Prince, Thee proue.

O Dayes to bee desyr'd! Age happie thrice!
If yee your Heauen-sent-Good could duelie prize,
But yee (halfe-palsie-sicke) thinke neuer right
Of what yee hold, till it bee from your Sight,
Prize onlie Summers sweet and musked Breath,
When armed Winters threaten you with Death,
In pallid Sicknesse doe esteeme of Health,
And by sad Pouertie discerne of Wealth:
J see ane Age when after manie Yeares,
And Reuolutions of the slow-pac'd Spheares,
These Dayes shall bee to other farre esteem'd,
And like Augustus palmie Raigne bee deem'd.
The Names of Arthur, fabulous Palladines,
Grau'n in Times surlie Brows in wrincked Lines,
Of Henries, Edwards, famous for their Fights,
Their Neighbour Conquests, Orders new of Knights,
Shall by this Princes Name be past as farre
As Meteors are by the Idalian Starre.
If Gray-hair'd Proteüs Songs the Truth not misse,
And Gray-hair'd Proteüs oft a Prophet is,
There is a Land hence-distant manie Miles,
Out-reaching Fiction and Atlanticke Iles,
Which (Homelings) from this litle World wee name,
That shall imblazon with strange Rites his Fame,
Shall reare him Statues all of purest Gold,
Such as Men gaue vnto the Gods of old,
Name by him Fanes, prowd Pallaces, and Towns,
With some great Flood, which most their Fields renowns.
This is that King who should make right each Wrong,
Of whome the Bards and mysticke Sybilles song,
The Man long promis'd, by whose glorious Raigne,
This Isle should yet her ancient Name regaine,
And more of Fortunate deserue the Stile,
Than those where Heauens with double Summers smile.

Runne on (great Prince) Thy Course in Glories Way,
The End the Life, the Euening crownes the Day;
Heape Worth on Worth, and stronglie soare aboue
Those Heights which made the World Thee first to loue,
Surmount Thy Selfe, and make thine Actions past
Bee but as Gleames or Lightnings of Thy last,
Let them exceed them of Thy younger Time,
As farre as Autumne doth the flowrie Prime.
Through this Thy Empire range, like Worlds bright Eye,
That once each Yeare survayes all Earth and Skie,
Now glaunces on the slow and restie Beares,
Then turnes to drie the weeping Austers Teares,
Just vnto both the Poles, and moueth euen
In the infigur'd Circle of the Heauen.
O long long haunt these Bounds, which by Thy Sight
Haue now regain'd their former Heate and Light.
Heere grow greene Woods, heere siluer Brookes doe glide,
Heere Meadowes stretch them out with painted Pride,
Embrodring all the Banks, heere Hilles aspire
To crowne their Heads with the aetheriall Fire:
Hills, Bullwarks of our Freedome, giant Walls,
Which neuer Fremdlings Slight nor Sword made Thralls;
Each circling Flood to Thetis Tribute payes,
Men heere (in Health) out-liue old Nestors Dayes:
Grimme Saturne yet amongst our Rocks remaines,
Bound in our Caues, with many Mettald Chaines:
Bulls haunt our Shades like Ledas Louer white,
Which yet might breede Pasiphaè Delight,
Our Flocks faire Fleeces beare, with which for Sport
Endemion of old the Moone did court,
High-palmed Harts amidst our Forrests runne,
And, not impall'd, the deepe-mouth'd Hounds doe shunne;
The rough-foote Hare him in our Bushes shrowds,
And long-wing'd Haulks doe pearch amidst our Clowds.
The wanton wood-Nymphes of the verdant Spring,
Blew, Golden, Purple, Flowres shall to Thee bring,
Pomonas Fruits the Paniskes, Thetis Gyrles
Thy Thulys Amber, with the Ocean Pearles;
The Tritons, Heards-men of the glassie Field,
Shall giue Thee what farre-distant Shores can yeeld,
The Serean Fleeces, Erythrean Gemmes,
Vaste Platas Siluer, Gold of Peru Streames,
Antarticke Parrots, A Ethiopian Plumes,
Sabaean Odours, Myrrhe, and sweet Perfumes:
And I my selfe, wrapt in a watchet Gowne,
Of Reedes and Lillies on mine Head a Crowne,
Shall Incense to Thee burne, greene Altars raise,
And yearly-sing due Paeans to Thy Praise.

Ah why should Isis only see Thee shine?
Js not thy Forth, as well as Isis Thine?
Though Isis vaunt shee hath more Wealth in store,
Let it suffice Thy Forth doth loue Thee more:
Though Shee for Beautie may compare with Seine,
For Swannes and Sea-Nymphes with imperiall Rhene,
Yet in the Title may bee claim'd in Thee,
Nor Shee, nor all the VVorld, can match with mee.
Now when (by Honour drawne) thou shalt away
To Her alreadie jelous of thy Stay,
When in Her amourous Armes Shee doth Thee fold,
And dries Thy Dewie Haires with Hers of Gold,
Much questioning of Thy Fare, much of Thy Sport,
Much of Thine Absence, Long, how e're so short,
And chides (perhaps) Thy Comming to the North,
Loathe not to thinke on Thy much-louing Forth:
O loue these Bounds, where of Thy royall Stemme
More then an hundreth wore a Diademe.
So euer Gold and Bayes Thy Browes adorne,
So neuer Time may see thy Race out-worne,
So of Thine Owne still mayst Thou bee desir'd,
Of Strangers fear'd, redoubted, and admir'd;
So Memorie the Praise, so precious Houres
May character Thy Name in starrie Flowres;
So may Thy high Exployts at last make euen,
With Earth thy Empyre, Glorie with the Heauen.