An Epigram to our Great and Good King Charles, on his Anniversary Day, 1629

How happy were the subject if he knew,
Most pious king, but his own good in you!
How many times, Live long, Charles! would he say,
If he but weigh'd the blessings of this day,
And as it turns our joyful year about,
For safety of such majesty cry out?
Indeed, when had Great Britain greater cause
Than now, to love the sovereign and the laws;
When you that reign are her example grown,
And what are bounds to her, you make your own?
When your assiduous practice doth secure
That faith which she professeth to be pure?
When all your life's a precedent of days,
And murmur cannot quarrel at your ways?
How is she barren grown of love, or broke,
That nothing can her gratitude provoke!
O times! O manners! surfeit bred of ease,
The truly epidemical disease!
'Tis not alone the merchant, but the clown,
Is bankrupt turn'd; the cassock, cloke and gown,
Are lost upon account, and none will know,
How much to heaven for thee, great Charles, they owe!