I do confess, the over-forward tongue Of public duty turns into a wrong, And after-ages, which could ne'er conceive Our happy Charles so frail as to receive Such a disease, will know it by the noise Which we have made in shouting forth our joys. And our informing duty only be A well-meant spite, or loyal injury. Let then the name be alter'd; let us say They were small stars fix'd in a Milky-way, Or faithful turquoises, which Heaven sent For a discovery, not a punishment; To show the ill, not make it; and to tell By their pale looks the bearer was not well. Let the disease forgotten be, but may The joy return us yearly as the day; Let there be new computes, let reckoning be Solemnly made from his recovery; Let not the Kingdom's Acts hereafter run From his (though happy) Coronation, But from his health, as in a better strain. That plac'd him on his throne; this makes him reign. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...I'VE NEVER SEEN SUCH A REAL HARD TIME BEFORE' by HAYDEN CARRUTH LOVE BEING ALL ONE by ROBERT FROST TO THE ROCK THAT WILL BE A CORNERSTONE OF THE HOUSE by ROBINSON JEFFERS CURTAIN by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON |