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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