THE ROYAL ANAGRAM. Carolus Secundus Rex Angliae,
Ana—— LUX ELUCESCO REGNIS SAN' ARDUA. ——gram.
THat Humane Names from the Omniscient Club
Of Providence receive their fatal Dub,
Significative, and Ominous to be
Of th'Owners good or evil Destiny,
The Holy Volumes clearly do make out,
'Tis Infidelity there of to doubt.
My bashful Muse is conscious, that too high
She hath aspir'd, this Truth t'exemplifie [...]:
She's no Enthusiast, nor dares pretend
To Inspiration; Loyalty's her End.
T'evidence this, the Heavens did conspire
To dub You CHARLES; Behold, a Caelestial Fire;
A Noon [...]ay Star appear'd, to vouch the truth
Of th' Ominous Name [...]he new-Christen'd Youth:
In its An [...]mizing it i [...]
That i [...] great [...]
Lett [...] into Order [...]
LUX ELUCESCO RE [...]S SAN' ARDUA;
Into our Native Language (if you please)
'Tis thus convertible with truth and ease,
I DO MY KINGDOMS ALL ILLUMINATE,
I SALVE THE DIFFICULTIES OF THE STATE.
O great Prophetick Truth! this Bonum Nomen
Hath by experience prov'd our Bonum Omen.
Vir tui Nominis, Dread Sir, You are,
Nothing more man'fest, if we may compare
The Salutiferous Events, issues plain
Of your transcendent Wisdom, glorious Reign:
It is the Lustre of your Royal Rays
Clears our Horizon, gives us Halcyon-days:
'Tis your Illustrious presence keeps these Nations
From Northern Fogs, and Southern Exhalations,
And from th'effects of damn'd Associations.
'Tis your discerning Wisdom, profound Reach,
That hath so seasonably stopt the breach
Of ripe Rebellion, and so calmly laid
The Devil of Confusion, who assay'd
By's Machiavillian COOPER to unstave
The Vessel of the State. Oh Sovereign Salve!
'Tis You that stopt its Leaks, and made it tite,
Not only fit for Service, but Delight:
'Tis You, Terrestrial God, who is th'Incloser
Of Him that is the Worlds All-wise Disposer.
Noli me tangere, by a Divine Right,
Is your just Motto, maugre all the spight
Of Acherontick Miscreants; All their Plots
Serve but to render them the Devil's Sots.
Their great Achit'phel's Shaft was (as they thought)
Always Fatiferous never wing'd for nought;
He from his Quiver it no sooner took,
But your discerning Eye espy'd the Hook
Under that specious White of Babels Whore
(Their trite old Bawd) your Royal side to gore.
The deepest Strat'gems of that Hellish Crew
Could not stand undiscover'd before You;
But, Dagon-like, must fall before the Light
Of th'irresistable lustre of your Sp'rit:
You've baffl'd Hell, and put Him to a stop
That of all the pack of Hell-hounds ran the top;
Your Favours have th'effects of Judas's Sop:
And may they always have that just Reward,
That deal so falsly with their Gracious Lord.
Printed by Nath. Thompson, at the Entrance into the Old-Spring-Garden near Charing-Cross, 1683.