Now, Now, The Mirth Comes - The Hymns and Carols of Christmas

The English Civil War
Duty to Tyrants.
Good
princes must be pray'd for: for the bad
They must be borne with, and in rev'rence had.
Doe they first pill thee, next, pluck off thy skin?
Good children kisse the rods, that punish sin.
Touch not the Tyrant; Let the Gods alone
To strike him dead, that but usurps a Throne.
TO THE KING,
To cure the Evill.
To find that Tree of Life, whose Fruits did feed,
And Leaves did heale, all sick of humane seed:
To finde Bethesda, and an Angel there,
Stirring the waters, I am come; and here,
At last, I find, (after my much to doe)
The Tree, Bethesda, and the Angel too:
And all in Your Blest Hand, which has the powers
Of all those suppling-healing herbs and flowers.
To that soft Charm, that Spell, that Magick Bough,
That high Enchantment I betake me now:
And to that Hand, (the Branch of Heavens faire Tree)
I kneele for help; O! lay that hand on me,
Adored Cesar! and my Faith is such,
I shall be heal'd, if that my King but touch.
The Evill is not Yours: my sorrow sings,
Mine is the Evill, but the Cure, the Kings.
Christmas Poetry By Robert Herrick
Note: The “cure” would come in 1662 with the Restoration of the monarchy. Herrick wrote
several other poems that relate to this conflict.
Page 51 of 72