Great Britain -- History -- Commonwealth and Protectorate, 1649-1660 -- Fiction; Historical fiction
Since it hath pleased the Almighty God, out of his infinite mercy, so
to make us happy, by restoring of our native King to us, and us unto
our native liberty through him, that now the good may say, _magna
temporum felicitas ubi sentire quæ velis, et dicere licet quæ sentias_,
we cannot but esteem ourselves engaged in the highest of degrees, to
render unto him the highest thanks we can express. Although, surpris’d
with joy, we become as lost in the performance; when gladness and
admiration strikes us silent, as we look back upon the precipiece of
our late condition, and those miraculous deliverances beyond
expression. Freed from the slavery, and those desperate perils, we
dayly lived in fear of, during the tyrannical times of that detestable
usurper, Oliver Cromwell; he who had raked up such judges, as would
wrest the most innocent language into high treason, when he had the
cruel conscience to take away our lives, upon no other ground of
justice or reason, (the stones of London streets would rise to witness
it, if all the citizens were silent.) And with these judges had such
councillors, as could advise him unto worse, which will less want of
witness. For should the many auditors be silent, the press, (as God
would have it,) hath given it us in print, where one of them (and his
conscience-keeper, too,) speaks out. What shall we do with these men?
saith he; _Æger intemperans crudelem facit medicum, et immedicabile
vulmis ense recidendum_. Who these men are that should be brought to
such Scicilian vespers, the former page sets forth—those which conceit
_Utopias_, and have their day-dreams of the return of I know not what
golden age, with the old line. What usage, when such a privy councillor
had power, could he expect, who then had published this narrative? This
much so plainly shows the devil himself dislikt their doings, (so much
more bad were they than he would have them be,) severer sure than was
the devil to their Commissioners at Woodstock; for he warned them, with
dreadful noises, to drive them from their work. This councillor,
without more ado, would have all who retained conceits of allegiance to
their soveraign, to be absolutely cut off by the usurper’s sword. A sad
sentence for a loyal party, to a lawful King. But Heaven is always
just; the party is repriv’d, and do acknowledge the hand of God in it,
as is rightly apply’d, and as justly sensible of their deliverance in
that the foundation which the councillor saith was already so well
laid, is now turned up, and what he calls day-dreams are come to passe.
That old line which (as with him) there seemed, _aliquid divini_, to
the contrary is now restored. And that rock which, as he saith, the
prelates and all their adherents, nay, and their master and supporter,
too, with all his posterity, have split themselves upon, is nowhere to
be heard. And that posterity are safely arrived in their ports, and
masters of that mighty navy, their enemies so much encreased to keep
them out with.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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