Some lazy ages, lost in sleep and ease, No action leave to busy chronicles: Such, whose supine felicity but makes In story chasms, in epoch's mistakes; O'er whom Time gently shakes his wings of down, Till, with his silent sickle, they are mown. 110 Such is not Charles' too, too active age, Which, govern'd by the wild distemper'd rage Of some black star infecting all the skies, Made him at his own cost, like Adam, wise. Tremble, ye nations, which, secure before, Laugh'd at those arms that 'gainst ourselves we bore; Roused by the lash of his own stubborn tail, Our lion now will foreign foes assail. With alga[21] who the sacred altar strews? To all the sea-gods Charles an offering owes: 120 A bull to thee, Portumnus,[22] shall be slain, A lamb to you, ye Tempests of the main: For those loud storms that did against him roar, Have cast his shipwreck'd vessel on the shore. Yet as wise artists mix their colours so, That by degrees they from each other go; Black steals unheeded from the neighbouring white, Without offending the well-cozen'd sight: So on us stole our blessed change; while we The effect did feel, but scarce the manner see. 130 Frosts that constrain the ground, and birth deny To flowers that in its womb expecting lie, Do seldom their usurping power withdraw, But raging floods pursue their hasty thaw. Our thaw was mild, the cold not chased away, But lost in kindly heat of lengthen'd day. Heaven would no bargain for its blessings drive, But what we could not pay for, freely give. The Prince of peace would like himself confer A gift unhoped, without the price of war: 140 Yet, as he knew his blessing's worth, took care, That we should know it by repeated prayer; Which storm'd the skies, and ravish'd Charles from thence, As heaven itself is took by violence. Booth's[23] forward valour only served to show He durst that duty pay we all did owe. The attempt was fair; but Heaven's prefixed hour Not come: so like the watchful traveller, That by the moon's mistaken light did rise, Lay down again, and closed his weary eyes. 150 'Twas Monk whom Providence design'd to loose Those real bonds false freedom did impose. The blessed saints that watch'd this turning scene, Did from their stars with joyful wonder lean, To see small clues draw vastest weights along, Not in their bulk, but in their order, strong. Thus pencils can by one slight touch restore Smiles to that changed face that wept before. With ease such fond chimeras we pursue, As fancy frames for fancy to subdue: 160 But when ourselves to action we betake, It shuns the mint like gold that chemists make. How hard was then his task! at once to be, What in the body natural we see! Man's Architect distinctly did ordain