No rash procedure will his actions stain: 
  To business, ripen’d by digestive thought,
  His future rule is into method brought:  90
  As they who first proportion understand,
  With easy practice reach a master’s hand. 
  Well might the ancient poets then confer
  On Night the honour’d name of Counsellor,
  Since, struck with rays of prosperous fortune blind,
  We light alone in dark afflictions find. 
  In such adversities to sceptre train’d,
  The name of Great his famous grandsire[20] gain’d: 
  Who yet a king alone in name and right,
  With hunger, cold, and angry Jove did fight; 100
  Shock’d by a covenanting league’s vast powers,
  As holy and as catholic as ours: 
  Till fortune’s fruitless spite had made it known,
  Her blows, not shook, but riveted, his throne.

   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.