THE 17th CENTURY SONG BOOK
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WHEN THE KING ENJOYS HIS OWN AGAIN

What Booker can prognosticate,
Or speak of our Kingdom's state?
I think myself to be as wise,
As he who looks most in the skies,
My skill goes beyond the depth of the pond,
Or river in the greatest rain,
By which I can tell that all things will be well,
When the King comes home in peace again.

There is no astrologer then, say I,
Can search more deep in this than I,
To give you a reason from the stars,
What causeth peace or Civil Wars,
The man in the moon may wear out his shoon,
In running after Charles' wain,
But all to no end the times they will mend,
When the King comes home in peace again.

Though for a time you may see Whitehall,
With cobwebs hanging overall
Instead of silk and silver brave,
As formally it used to have.
And in every room the sweet perfume,
Delightful for that princely train,
The witch you will see,
When the time it shall be,
That the King comes home in peace again.

Till then upon Ararats Hill,
My hope shall cast her answer still,
Until I see some peaceful dove,
Bring home the branch which I do love.
Still will I wait 'till the waters abate,
Which must disturb my troubled brain,
For I'll never rejoice 'till I hear that voice again,
That the King comes home in peace again.