A POEM Humbly presented to His most Excellent MAJESTY King. VVilliam the Third, Upon His most Miraculous and Happy Preservation from that Barbarous Jacobitish Conspirary To Assassinate His Royal Person, February Anno 1695.
By R. B.
—Nec Ignes
Nec potuit ferrum!
LONDON; Printed by J. Dover, for Richard Baldwin near the Oxford-Arms in Warwick-lane, 1696.
A POEM upon His Majesty's Miraculous and Happy Preservation from JACOBITE and FRENCH Assassines.
WHilst Treach'rous
France in his
Versail secures
His Guilty Mould'ring Carcass, and immures
In lewd
Maintinion's Arms his
Conscious Soul,
Which in streams of Blood makes Gasping
Europe rowl,
And
Massacres whole Countries by
Surprize,
Boasting his
breach of
Faith for
Victories:
Whilst he t'Inglorious
Poisonings resorts,
And in
Secret Murthers makes his great Efforts;
Sordid Attempts! despis'd by
Men of
Arms,
Honour their Blood for
Just Atcheiv'ments warms▪
These Court the
Glorious Field, and seek Renown
Where toyling
Hero's strive for
Vict'ries Crown:
But
Mean, and
Abject Souls, such as the
base
Case-hard'ned
Priests, and
Cain's pale
Treach'rous Race
Of Hated
Vagabonds, and
Bigotted Fools,
Bog-Trotting
Ruffians, Mercenary
Tools,
[Page 4](Fit Instruments t'advance the vast Design
In which
great Lewis, and
just James conjoin)
Barb'rous Attempts these naturally Chuse,
Black as their
Cause, such are the Means they use.
The
Brave are
Heaven's Care, this
Caesar taught
When his frighted Pilot in a
Tempest wrought,
Proud swelling Surges crusht the Trembling Keel,
And made the Captain's blust'ring Courage reel,
Mountains of Water combate on the Main,
And into foaming Billows dash again;
The Scaly Legion to the Bottom creep
T' avoid the Fury of the angry Deep;
The Watry Regions glows with Sparks of Fire,
And all the Glories of the Day retire,
Dark pitchy Clouds obscure the spangled Sky,
And thunder down their Terrors from on High:
The Crazy Vessel like a Cork was tost,
And th' half-dead Seamen yielded all was lost.
Th'
Ʋndaunted Hero checques their gloomy Fear,
And buoys their Spirits sinking in Dispair:
Caesar, and th'
Empires Fortune are lodg'd here:
Not all the
Raging Floods can Swallow's up;
I see a
Calm from yonder Mountain's Top:
A bright Serenity shines in my Mind,
And shews the
Empires Work is yet behind;
This
shatter'd Vessel, tho' by Tempests Tore,
Shall
Caesar whaft to the Appointed Shore,
Nor will his better
Stars see him Forlorn
Who was for
Glory, and an
Empire Born.
How oft hath
England's
greater Caesar found
His Guardian Angel
shield his Temples round?
Your
Sacred Head was
cover'd from on
High
When
Storms of
Ball obscur'd the Ecchoing Sky;
When
Bombs, whose Murth'ring Thunders rend the
Air,
Like the
Last Tempest which the Globe shall Tear,
Have set great
Camps, and
Cities all on
Fire
As if the
World should in that Blaze expire;
Your
Heav'n-skreen'd Person hath
unshaken stood
In midst of
Hurricanes of
Fire and
Blood.
[Page 6]Great Cannon-Ball,
disarm'd of all their Force,
Slide o'er Your
Shoulders, baffled in their Course!
Some
touch Your Royal Garments, and
pass by,
's if
Aw'd by Laws of Supreme
Destiny.
Not all the
Battles Rome's great
Gen'rals fought,
Not all the Trophies which to
Rome they brought,
With Your
Immortal Triumphs e'er can shine,
If we regard
Your Glories at the
Boyn;
Or
Namur's Walls, which like to
Vulcan's
Forge,
Or
Etna's Top,
Thunder, and
Fire disgorge.
This
Castle France Impregnable did boast,
Here he laid out his
utmost Care, and Cost,
In this he vaunted as of
Babel's Tower,
'twas the
Result of all his
Might, and
Power:
This Your
Great Soul with Indignation fill'd,
This
Mighty Fortress to Your Sword must
yield!
Namur's the Word, and 'tis Resolv'd upon
France shan't
keep Towns, and
England's
King look on!
What
Conduct here, what
Bravery was shown,
What
Rage, what
Arts, in former Fights unknown?
[Page 7]This Draggoon
Buffleur with Amazement saw,
And fill'd
Chantillie's shaken Soul with Awe;
They saw the
English against
Rocks aspire,
Combat with
Cannon, Grapple
Storms of
Fire!
Courage like this our
Stout Fore-Fathers shew'd,
They
Came, they
Saw, like
Caesar, and
Subdu'd.
Astonisht
Villeroy the Seige Beheld,
And th'
English reap the Honour of the
Field,
His
Hundred Thousand French durst not appear,
But stood, like
Statues, Petrified with Fear.
Whilst, Royal SIR, with
Honour You Chastise,
Your Foes resort to
Feeble Treacheries,
In
Camp they Basely seek Your
Precious Life
By
Poyson, or a
Consecrated Knife;
In Your
Own Court their Treasons they pursue;
What is 't their
Guilty Fears won't hurry 'em to?
A Set of
Spurious Wretches, Vile, and
Base,
Spawn'd, like their Councils, of th'
Infernal Race,
The
Scum, Reproach, and
Pest o'th' Human Line,
As the
fall'n Angels are of that Divine;
Both fight against
Almighty Power, and
Light:
These are the
Crew Chose by
Most Christian France,
His
Long-Projected Empire to Advance;
Now that his
Priest-blest Arms, and Councils fail,
He'll try if
Hell-spawn'd Tories can't prevail.
SIR, 'tis Your
Noble Vertue makes them dread,
And raise their
baffled Plots against Your Head;
Had You
at first but
Crusht the Viprous Brood,
They had not Now been
Hunting for Your
Blood!
But Your
Mild Reign, Indulgent to a
Fault,
Cherisht those
Serpents which Your Life
Assault;
Those
Home bred Foes, more
dangerous by far
Than all the Open Violence of War:
Not Impious
Louis with his
Fleet, and
Host,
Of which (till the
Late Reigns) he ne'er could Boast,
Could stop the
Justice of Your
Conq'ring Sword,
But for the
Aids Our Traytors
Hence afford.
Now, Sir, Your
Thunder let the
Miscreants share,
Whom
Heav'n discovers, let not
Favour spare:
[Page 9]Root the
Malignant Race that dare disown
Your
Peoples Right to
Give a
Forfeit Crown,
Who from
false Toppicks, false Conclusions draw,
And give the Prince a
Pow'r to
Null the
Law;
These, to foment Our Woes,
Two Titles bring▪
Make One
de facto, One
de jure King;
Such
Politiciaus would a
Claim Reserve,
The
French Designs to
Complement, and serve▪
To
pamper their Insatiate
Avarice,
They'd
Europe sell, and
England sacrifice.
When
such as these are from Preferments
Purg'd,
And by Your
Justice for their Treasons
Scourg'd,
Intrigu'ing
France shall gain no more from
hence,
Supplies of
Treasure, and
Intelligence;
But this will
mortify the Monsieur more
Than five
Campaigns have ever done before;
The
Gallic Power would but
weak appear,
If not supported by his
Engins Here.
Great Sir, by
Wonders Rais'd,
England to save
From b'ing a
Spiritual, and a
Temp'ral Slave,
And for some
Greater Work to
Come Reserv'd;
On whom all
Europe fix their
Suppliant Eyes
To
Save 'em from
French Chains, and
Cruelties;
See with what
Zeal Your People
join in
One
To
Guard Your Person, and
Secure Your Throne▪
Th'
Associating Senate lead the Van,
Your
Lords and
Commons as one Single Man;
Your
Loyal City, Opulent, and
Great,
'bove all the Glorious Sun e'er shin'd on yet;
Taking
Copy from
Original so fair,
Express their
Love, their
Duty, and their
Care.
No sooner was the
Welcome Tydings hurl'd
Of their
Darling's Safety thro' Your
English World,
But in
Rural Triumphs they their Joy proclaim;
And vow to
Die for
Brave King
WILLIAM.
In Chearful Throngs each
County crowds to Sign,
And with their
Representatives Conjoin:
This
Bond of
Ʋnion is approv'd by All,
And Swells from
Corporate to
National.
[Page 11]Nor will the
General Pact determine here,
But
Foreign Princes in the
League appear;
The
Potentates of
Europe, One and
All,
States, and
Crown'd Heads, Allies, and
Neuteral:
None can be
Safe, all Government's
destroy'd,
When
Butchers are for
Holy Ends Imploy'd.
How
Execrable must this make the Names
Of the
Twin-Cut-Throats Lou' le Grand, and
James?
Whilst these
fresh Treasons wake your
Friends at
Land
Your
floating Tow'rs, their
Force at
Sea withstand;
This to Your
Royal Vigilance We owe,
Soft they
Approach'd, but found no
Sleepy Foe:
Soon when your
Startling Squadron came in view,
The Noisy
French Armada straight withdrew,
Th'
affrighted Flota to the
Sands do Creep,
And durst not meet Your
Adm'ral on the Deep▪
Their
Pannick Army they
Debarque again,
And Heave their Cannon in the watry Main;
And, tho' in
Haste their
Hero to
Restore,
They durst not venture on Your English Shoar.
They mind the
Setting of their
Rising Sun.
Great
RƲSSEL stops them in their
Hot Carier,
Russel, whose
Name the
French with
Trembling hear.
That
Illustrious Captain,
Monsieur durst not meet,
They
felt his
Courage, when He
burnt their
Fleet.
Thus what
false France design'd for
England's Woe,
Kind Prov'dence turns to
France's Overthrow,
And,
well Improv'd, will
fix Your
Interest more
On Your
People's Hearts than ever heretofore.
But I must Crave your
Majesty's Excuse
For an
Ʋnpollisht, Melancholly
Muse,
Who,
Ʋninstructed in the Arts of Verse,
Presumes Your
Royal Story to Rehearse,
This might become
fam'd Mouse, or
Dorset's Lyre,
Whose
Eloquence can
charm, and
Sence inspire:
But, if Hearty Zeal may for the rest Atone,
May
Heav'n-sav'd William long wear
England's Crown▪
FINIS.