Some lazy ages, lost in sleep and ease, No action leave to busy chronicles: Such, whose supine felicity but makes In story chasms, in epocha[44] mistakes; O'er whom Time gently shakes his wings of down, Till with his silent sickle they are mown. Such is not Charles[45] his too too active age, Which, governed by the wild distempered rage Of some black star, infecting all the skies, Made him at his own cost, like Adam, wise. Tremble, ye nations, which, secure before, Laughed at those arms that 'gainst ourselves we bore; Rouzed by the lash of his own stubborn tail, Our Lion now will foreign foes assail. With alga, who the sacred altar strews? To all the sea-gods Charles an offering owes: A bull to thee, Portunus, shall be slain, A lamb to you, ye tempests of the main:[46] For those loud storms, that did against him roar, Have cast his shipwrecked 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-cozened sight: So on us stole our blessed change; while we The effect did feel, but scarce the manner see. 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 lengthened 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: Yet, as he knew his blessing's worth, took care, That we should know it by repeated prayer; Which stormed the skies, and ravished Charles from thence, As heaven itself is took by violence. Booth's forward valour only served to show, He durst that duty pay, we all did owe:[47] 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. 'Twas Monk, whom Providence designed to loose Those real bonds false freedom did impose. The blessed saints, that watched 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: But when ourselves to action we betake, It shuns the mint, like gold that chemists make.[48] How hard was then his task, at once to be What in the body natural we see! Man's architect distinctly did ordain