Fires of Ioy
are raised:
sacred to the euer happie and æternal memory of our SOVERAYGNE
the
Great Apollo, and his most Roiall Ofspring.
Before prepared to
be offered
to the sacred Maiesty of our deceased Soueraigne King IAMES.
And
now presented
to the Roiall handes of our Gracious Lord, King CHARLES, heire
of
the Kingdoms, Vertues, and glories of his Father.
T H E S
C E N E.
P A R N A S S V S.
Glorified, through
innumerable
lights, flowing from the Beames of the bright APOLLO.
Who,
seated
in a high, and glorious Throne, crowned with Lawrells, holdes in his
hand
a Crowne, the reward of some noble Poett, whom he pleaseth most to
honour:
Beneath APOLLO,
on the right hand of the Theater, is placed the PRINCE
his highness, in a Triumphant Chariott, drawne by Fame.
Ouer
against
him, the Queene of Bohemia,with her Royall Progeny, all Laureat, in a
Triumphant
Chariott, drawne by Peace.
In
the mid'st,
at APOLLO's feete; breaks forth the
fountaines
of Aganippe, mother of Poetts, which falling by degrees vppon seuerall
pretious, & transparent Rocks, setteth forth the variety of Witts
imployment.
M U S I
C K.
And now the
goulden Charriot
of the Sunne,
Had more then halfe his
glorious
Course begunn,
The fiery Steedes
drew neere
those wauing streams,
That vse to coole their
mouths,
and quench their beams.
And Phebus
wearied, longs
for Thetis bedd:
Yet in his passage, turnes
his radiant
head
Vppon Parnassus;
thence hee
flyes away,
And flying Cries, Apollo,
rule the Day.
Chorus with
voyces:
Now the
Sunne makes hast
away
Lett Apollo rule
the Day,
Who out-shines the
sunne as far
As the Sunne, some
lesser starre.
M
U S I C K.
To
the greatest
of Maiestie, our Soueraigne,
glorious Emperour of
Parnassus,
most
happy King of the
Muses, &
incompa-
rable Monarck of Light.
Behould Apollo,
Monarck of
this Light,
The Heau'ns, and Earth,
conspire to make him bright.
See how theis flames,
changing their
wonted Sky,
Receiue their luster, from
his sacred Eye.
Well may the Sunne,
leaue
shining, & giue way;
To see this newe Commander
of the Day.
But shine thou still; and
may these
Starrs beneath
Make to thy forehead an
immortall Wreath.
Chorus.
Proud
Parnassus in this
King,
Offers sacred
Crownes to bring,
Which might seeme
to others,
bright,
But Apollo dimmes
their light.
And with one
commanding eye,
Rules the beauties
of this skye.
M
U S I C K.
To the high,
and mighty Prince,
heire
apparent, to the great
illuminat
Apollo;
famous Protector of the
nation
Laureat.
Thou in thy Charriot,
drawne by winged Fame,
That sends forth Eccho's
of thy
glorious Name,
Great Charles,
high
heire, to all Apollos rights,
To thee Parnassus
consecrates
theis lights.
Thou Authour of my Muse,
make smooth
my verse,
When I shall dare thy
greatnes to
reherse;
Till then, to sing thee, I
might
seeme as vayne,
As some small streame,
that thinckes
t'increase the Mayne.
And though yet absent,
still my
thoughtes adore
Thy heav'nly Nymphe,
borne
to inritch this Shore.
Shee must increase
our ioys,
crowne our desires,
And ioyne her
flames, vnto Apolloes
fires.
Chorus.
Happy
Charles, o Eye
of Fame;
Lett mee sing thy
sacred Name,
Thou that art in
all this Quire,
And thy Nimphe,
that coms from
farre,
When she sees her
Charles his
Starre;
Shall with ioy
receiue that guide
That shall make her
Charles his
bride.
M
U S I C K.
To the most heroick
Princesse
of all
Princes, Eliza
Berecinthia,
Queene of Beauty.
Sound on sweete
strings, supply my
ruder voice,
While I astonisht stand,
in midst
of Choice,
Of heave'nly Beauties,
which, in
thee and thyne;
Most faire Eliza,
like the Morning
shine.
Parnassus crownes thee,
with his laureat armes,
Free as the Eagle,
from fearce
thunders harmes.
beholde the Raynbowe,
mirror
of thr Sunne,
Ritch Scarfe of varied
ayre, (firme Peace
begun)
Smiles on thy clearer Tymes,
conspires with Fate,
To build thy Fortune
a triumphant Gate,
And Peace shall
draw thy
Chariott, while thy Day,
Shall wake the Morne,
and
with her blushes play.
Chorus.
Here I
still admiring
stande,
At that
dainty-fingred hand,
That could cast
within that measure,
Such a boundlesse
Sea of treasure.
Her the Gods
haue sworne
to raise,
To a Crowne of
happy daies.
M
U S I C K.
To the most Roiall
Progenye, of
the
Great Emperour of
Parnassus,
the
glorious expectations
of Europe,
and
shyning hopes of the
Vniuersall
Worlde.
Smile still sweete Cherubins,
raise vp those wings,
And see what Fortune,
Queene
of Kingdoms brings;
Shee in the midst
of glorious Scepters
standes,
Made by the Gods,
fitt for
no mortall handes,
But yours: and Earth,
proclayming
you for Kings,
New-found Dominions
to your Scepters
bringes.
Chorus.
These soe
soft, and tender
things,
Must be framed into
Kings;
Wanton Tyme as yet
delayes,
And with cheeks of
Roses playes;
But their births
soe blest by
starres,
Doe fore-tell
triumphant warrs.
M
U S I C K.
The close to APOLLO.
Heere with these Muses,
our Apollo
lives,
And heere to men his
sacred aunsweres
gives:
And vnto him
as King,
and to his Race,
Are onelie due the
beauties of this
place.
But see that hand; charg'd
with triumphant
Bays,
To crowne that Muse,
that
best should sing his praise.
Oft haue the Sisters
mett
in Choicest Quires,
To sing the pleasures of Apollos
fires;
Oft have they labour'd, to
expresse his
might,
As King of Muses,
Emperour
of Light.
Yet still the Laurell
stands, as
due to none,
But her, whom greatest Villiers
brought vnknowne,
Before Apollo's
throne, and
made her sing,
With heave'nly tunes, the
greatnes
of his King.
To the admyred
Fountayne
of Aganippe.
Slide fairely
Nimph, runn
not soe fast awaye,
These shining Rocks
deserve
a longer staye;
Eridanus shall
quench his
heavenly beames,
At sight of Aganippes
varied
streames;
And Iris shall for
greefe
hang downe her head,
When shee behouldes theis
colours
on thy bed.
That winged Atlas,
chief
of Iuno's spies,
Shee that is deckt with Argo's
watchful eyes,
Shall strike her colour'd
sayles,
tear downe her fights,
And yeild to Aganippes
conque'ring
lights.
But yee Apollo's Preests,
who from these vaynes,
Receive your fullnesse, in
your
diff'rent straynes;
Strike gently with your Censures,
nor refuse,
Ambitious of your grace,
my straunger Muse;
While shee shall followe Aganippes
waves,
From Hiacinthin
heav'ns,
to sable Graues.
M U S I
C K.
The first
fall of the
fountayne
Vpon a Rock of
Hiacinthes.
To this first streame of Hiacinthes,
belong
Those Poetts, who
to Heau'n
have rais'd their song;
Heere Erythræa dipt
her sacred tung,
When shee of Gods
descent
soe deepely sung;
Heere did the Ancients
tune
their curious strings,
To their delightfull songs
of heav'nly
things;
Of that great triumph,
when confirm'd
in Grace,
The Angells sawe
their Makers
glorious Face,
Mans clayme to
Heau'n,
through Sinne condemn'd to payne,
And Man, by God
and Man,
redeem'd againe.
Theis, and a thousand more
mysterious
stopps,
Were play'd vppon by
vertue of these
dropps;
But now, these bancks
forlorne,
the waters flye,
Downe to these earthly
streames,
and in them dye.
M U S I
C K.
The second fall of
the Fountayne
Vpon a Rock of Emeralds.
This Rock of Emralds,
showes in youthfull robe,
The Seate of Man, Prince
of this Earthly Globe.
The Scene is Morall
action, oft
express'd
By pure and spotlesse Poetts;
for the rest,
This Fountaine
never fed
them, whom we showe,
Lye here tormented on this
Rock
below.
M U S I
C K.
The third fall, vpon
a fiery
Rock of Pyropus.
Hould of rash hands,
sett not the
world on fire,
With hart-consuming
flames, Loues
fond desire.
Oh how their mouths lye
bathing!
gorg'd with meats,
That fill not, but torment
with
endlesse heats!
Poore Aganippe,
shall thy
waters bring
To men a poyson, worse
then Serpents
sting?
Noe thou art cleere, it is
our venom'd
harte,
That hath infected Loues,
pure, harmlesse darte.
Loue was a gentle
heate,
sent from aboue,
To soften stony harts, and
hate
remove;
But now Loue is an
Art,
where foule Desire,
Takes his Degrees, in
seats of scorching
fire.
M U S I
C K.
The fourth fall,
vpon a
Rock of Rubies.
Behould, within this Rubies
sanguine brest,
The firy streames of Loue
would seeme to rest;
But Loue is
restlesse; heere
the Poetts sing,
Of those sharpe warrs,
which from
this passion spring.
The Flames of Ilium,
Romes, and Sabins stryfe,
Prowd Tarquins
error, to
that fayre, chast Wyfe.
Thus Loue inflam'd
the bloud,
and bloud thus fir'd,
For due revenge, a sea of
bloud
requir'd.
M U S I
C K.
The fifth, and last
Fall,
vpon a Rock of Agatts.
On this Darke Rock
of Agatts,
waters fall,
That showes lifes period, Death,
the end of All.
But hetherto my Muse hath
trode
the ground,
In which our great Apollo's
fame is Crown'd;
This day is due to
Triumphs; let
that Muse
Vntimely weepe, that can
these ioys
refuse.
Wee now pay vows, yeeres
of our
yeeres we give,
That this our bright Apollo
long may live,
And see his foes, if any
such aspire,
To stopp the Musick of
this glorious Quire,
Lie prostrate at his
feete, and
mercy crye,
Till pardon flowe, from His
appeased eye.
Chorus.
And thus
bright Apollo
shines,
While the Sunne his
way declines;
Since the heau'n,
vpon his spheare,
Can not two
Apollo's beare.
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