Classic Poem

Occasionally Written on the Reading of a Libel, which begun with this Couplett.

Dread Sir ,

T HAT you are stil'd illustrioully Great,
Is owing to your Virtue, not your Fate:
Virtue was your Ascendant, 'tis your Guide,
Your sacred Guard, by which you're fortified.
Virtue, with Valour, ever were your Aim;
By those alone you saw, and overcame.

When yet but young, Heav'n try'd what you could do
It saw your Conduct, and approv'd it too;
And long 'ere we the Bliss possess'd, we saw
The youthful Prince, keep the proud King in Awe:
Saw the fierce Tyrant tremble at your Name,
And burst with Envy at your spreading Fame:
Dread your approaching Greatness, then in view,
And think what injur'd Innocence might do:
When England's King, and arm'd with royal Might,
You should no more in Vain demand your Right.

These Thoughts drove guilty Lewis to Despair,
And for a future Armament prepare:
To Britain then he does for Succour fly,
And we no wiser on his Faith rely;
Lend him Ships, Money, our best Workmen too,
Teach him to fight against our selves, and you.
But he! ingrateful he, forgets the Cause,
Deludes our Princes to subvert our Laws:
His Politicks are soon approv'd, and they
Yield to his Methods, him alone obey,
And introduce an Arbitrary Sway.
Laws, old and new, were strain'd the King to serve,
Juries were pack'd, Judges from Justice swerve;
Our Patriot Bishops to the Tow'r were sent,
And Thoughts were then held worth a Punishment.
Irish, like Egypt's Locusts, came in Swarms,
Crouded our Streets, and fill'd us with Alarms:
Then o'er the Land this Rumour spreads, prepare
Not for Dragoons, but for a Massacre!

Those Days, methought, were dismal Time of Wo,
But Heav'n unlook'd for Blessings did bestow;
Sent you, dread Sir, to buoy our sinking State,
And raise Britania almost desperate.

But when our Statesmen your Arrival heard,
And how the People all for you declar'd;
Then were they stricken with a pannick Fear,
Which still increas'd as you approach'd more near.
Like Syria's Camp, swift as the Wind they flew,
Tho' our Deliverer was not then in View.
By Night, their Dreams, foretold they were undone,
From broken Sleeps they start, prepar'd to run.
Cry, where's the Prince? how far is he from Town?
Help, help Disguise, that I may pass unknown.
Confounded doubly thus with Guilt and Fear,
They run, they fly, you know not how nor where.
Some lurk in Holes, and others sneak away,
As Owls and Batts, abscond at Sight of Day.

Not Alexander, nor fam'd Caesar too,
Tho both were Heroes, could compare with You:
They, but faint Shadows were of your Renown,
In them the Plan was laid, 'tis you the Story crown.

How at the Boyne you fought, surviving Fame
Shall to succeeding Ages still proclaim.
What noble Courage at Namur was shown!
What Conduct there in former Fights unknown!
When 'mongst the Bombs, and murd'ring Cannon you,
Expos'd your Royal-Self, nor once withdrew.
Intrepid, you by hissing Bullets stood,
Amidst an Hurricane of Fire and Blood:
Whilst they around your sacred Person fly,
Yet touch'd not, aw'd by careful Destiny.
Astonish'd Boufflers, this with Wonder saw!
And tim'rous Villeroy was struck with Awe;
His panting Statues, petrified with Dread,
Appear'd like Cepheus 'fore the Gorgon's Head.
Close in their Camp your Valour they beheld,
Whilst all around you plant fresh Lawrels in the Field.

The Gallick Monarch, tir'd with Wars alarms,
Now begs your Friendship, and desists from Arms:
His Stores exhausted, and his Treasures spent,
To sue for Peace, proud Lewis is content.
And you, tho' crown'd with Lawrels and Success,
Your People's Father might I thus express:
Yet to prevent th' Effusion of more Blood,
Are pleas'd to hear of Peace for Europe's Good.
The Dawn already seems on us to smile,
And Plenty comes again to bless our Isle.
Then, when in Peace, Great William we possess,
Our Wishes cannot frame more perfect Happiness.