UNWELCOME news! Whitehall its sable wears, And each good subject lies dissolved in tears! Justly indeed; for Charles is dead, the great, (Who can so much as such great griefs repeat?) King Charles the good, in whom that day there fell More than one tribe in this our Israel! Ah! cruel Death! we find thy fatal sting In losing him who was so good a King,— A King so wise, so just, and he’d great part In Solomon’s wisdom and in David’s heart; A King! whose virtues only to rehearse Rather requires a volume than a verse. Sprung from the loyns of Charles of blessed fame, A worthy son of his great father’s name, His parent’s and his grandsire’s virtues he, As h’ did their crown, enjoy’d _ex traduce_, Of th’ best and greatest of Kings the epitome. His justice such as him none could affright From doing t’all to God and subjects right. Punish he could, but, like Heaven’s Majesty, Would that a traitor should repent, not die. His prudence to the laws due vigour gave, He saved others and himself did save. His valour and his courage, write who can? Being a good souldier ere he was a man. Wrestling with sorrows in a land unknown, Whilst Herod did usurp his royal throne, Banish’d his native country, every day, Like Moses, at the brink of death he lay. But that storm’s over, and blest be that hand That gave him conduct to his peaceful land; Where this great King the Gordian knot unties, Of Heaven’s, the kingdom’s, and his enemies; Not with the sword, but with his grace and love, Giving to those their lives that for his strove: Never did person so much mercy breath Since our blest Saviour’s and his father’s death. In fine, his actions may our pattern be, His godly life, the Christian diary; But now he’s dead, alas! our David’s gone, And having served his generation, Is fall’n asleep; that glorious star’s no more That English wise men led unto the shore Of peace, where gospel-truth’s protest Cherished within our pious mother’s breast, And with protection of such Kings still blest; Blest with his piety and the nation too, Happy in’s reign, with milk and honey flew; Yea, blest so much with peace and nature’s store Heaven could scarce give or we desire he more; But yet, alas! he’s dead! Mourn, England, mourn, And all your scarlet into black cloth turn; Let dust and ashes with your tears comply. To weep, not sing, his mournful elegy; And let your love to Charles be shown hereby In rendering James your prayers and loyalty. Long may Great James these kingdoms’ sceptre sway, And may his subjects lovingly obey, Whilst with joint comfort all agree to sing, Heaven bless these kingdoms and “God save the King!” London: printed by F. Millet for W. Thackeray, at the sign of the Angel in Duck Lane, 1685. ACCESSION OF JAMES II.