AN ACCOUNT OF THE Great and Glorious Actions OF Mr. Walker the Protestant Governor, AT THE SIEGE OF LONDON-DERRY,
MAster of Arts and Arms, Heav'ns double Champion, Thou,
Who Preachest Truth's great Cause, and Fight'st it too:
Whose Thunder loud as
Mark's bold
Lyon roars,
And whose Renown high as
John's
Eagle soars.
Heroick, Gospeller, whose Fame thus Crown'd
At once the
Organ, and the
Trumpet sound:
Anthems and
Ecchoes both thy Trophies raise,
The Churches sost and Soldier's rougher Praise.
So keen the Swift-wing'd Vengeance of thy Arm,
Thy Foes in
Limbo pent thou plyedst so warm,
That poor
Teague swears the Walls of
London-Derry
Are hotter than St.
Patrick's Purgatory.
Nor do'st Thou only stand the
Irish Rage,
With a whole Kingdom one poor Town engage:
Thy bold Defiance do's at once persue
The
Popish J—s and
Pagan Lewis too.
Their equal Scores both
Teague and
Monsieur pay,
Under thy Walls their Bones together lay.
Ireland and
France so truckling, the unstrung
And broken Harp on mourning Willows hung;
And the
French baffled Pride so forc'd to stoop,
That ev'n the languid
Flour-de-Lisses droop.
Their glorious Exorcist so well thou'hast play'd,
The
Romish Devils ne're were better laid;
Whil'st bragging
Talbot at a distance raves,
And for his Brother Wolves howls o're their Graves;
Hearing how thy repeated Triumph sounds,
Lies sickning, bleeding, dying of their Wounds.
Thou second
Xenophon, greater
Archimede,
By such a Chief a Band so valiant led,
Courage and Conduct so much thy Applause,
Thy Glory has no Equal but thy Cause.
Nor let the murmuring Sons of
Mars repine
To see the Envied
Gown in
Armor shine.
Learning and Wit from Arms what Plea dares bar,
The best and noblest Graduates in War,
When from
Jove's Brain their own
Minerva born,
The Martial Wreath's their Native Chaplet worn.
Learning so brave and bold, where lies the Wonder
Sprung from the Thunderer, to weild the Thunder!
Let our Church muster all her Champion Sons,
Her
Ʋshers, S—t's and
T—n's
The mighty Deeds by her
Book Warriors done,
And all the
Paper-Battles lost and won.
Rome's batter'd Gates, and all her shatter'd Columns
Petarr'd with Arguments, and Bomb'd with Volumes.
Thy Glories those brisk Combatants outshine,
Whose Triumphs, Mighty Seer, must yield to thine.
Thy Pen of Steel the Churches best Disputer;
And thou the boldest
Bellarmine Confuter.
Thou leading
Levite, Crown'd in Honours Field,
Great
Judah's Lyon Impress of thy Shield;
Go on, and raise thy single Name ev'n higher,
Than e're
Rome's haughty Vicar durst aspire;
To what new Vanity would that Vaunter swell,
Cou'd his long Arrogance prove half so well
His boasted Title, the Successive Lord
Of
Peter's
KEYS, as thou of
Peter's
SWORD.
But thy Success why should we so admire,
For sure thy Cannons breathe no common Fire!
Methinks I see with an uplifted Hand
The great
Levitick Boanerges stand.
With thy own Altar Coal the Touch is given,
And carries with it ev'n a Bolt of Heav'n.
To the same Notes should thy just Praise be strung,
Which
Israel's Worthy, the great
David sung;
David the
Prophet, and the
Heroe too,
Whose conqu'ring Arm his Fam'd Ten Thousand slew;
Whil'st thou dost his Victorious Footsteps trace
'Gainst a more barbarous
Philistine Race.
Now Dastard
L— to thy deathless Shame
Hear thy bold Successor's lmmortal Fame:
That Guardian Hand that shall our Cause deliver,
His Glory Rising where Thine Sets for Ever.
FINIS.
Licensed, June 3d. 1689.