To the King, on his peaceable return, and magnificent entry into London By E. N. P. E. N. P. 1697 Approx. 23 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 8 1-bit group-IV TIFF page images. Text Creation Partnership, Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) : 2007-10 (EEBO-TCP Phase 1). A54779 Wing P20B ESTC R221387 99832703 99832703 37177 This keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above is co-owned by the institutions providing financial support to the Early English Books Online Text Creation Partnership. This Phase I text is available for reuse, according to the terms of Creative Commons 0 1.0 Universal . The text can be copied, modified, distributed and performed, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission. Early English books online. (EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A54779) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 37177) Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1641-1700 ; 2149:7) To the King, on his peaceable return, and magnificent entry into London By E. N. P. E. N. P. [2], 10 p. printed for Elizabeth Whitlock, near Stationers-Hall, London ; M DC XC VII. [1697] In verse. Reproduction of the original in the British Library. Created by converting TCP files to TEI P5 using tcp2tei.xsl, TEI @ Oxford. Re-processed by University of Nebraska-Lincoln and Northwestern, with changes to facilitate morpho-syntactic tagging. Gap elements of known extent have been transformed into placeholder characters or elements to simplify the filling in of gaps by user contributors. 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Copies of the texts have been issued variously as SGML (TCP schema; ASCII text with mnemonic sdata character entities); displayable XML (TCP schema; characters represented either as UTF-8 Unicode or text strings within braces); or lossless XML (TEI P5, characters represented either as UTF-8 Unicode or TEI g elements). Keying and markup guidelines are available at the Text Creation Partnership web site . eng William -- III, -- King of England, 1650-1702 -- Poetry -- Early works to 1800. Great Britain -- History -- William and Mary, 1689-1702 -- Poetry -- Early works to 1800. 2006-10 TCP Assigned for keying and markup 2006-10 Aptara Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2006-11 Jason Colman Sampled and proofread 2006-11 Jason Colman Text and markup reviewed and edited 2007-02 pfs Batch review (QC) and XML conversion TO THE KING , ON HIS Peaceable Return , AND MAGNIFICENT ENTRY into LONDON . By E. N. P. — Quod Divum promittere nemo Auderet , volvenda Dies en attulit ultro . Virg. LONDON , Printed for Elizabeth Whitlock , near Stationers-Hall , MDCXCVII . TO THE KING , UPON HIS Peaceable Return , AND MAGNIFICENT ENTRY into LONDON ▪ BEGIN my Muse ! Begin a lofty strein , Let WILLIAM in immortal Verses reign ! Sing as He fights — And all the chiming Crew , With such disdainful spritely Flame pursue ; As that with which his blooming Martial heat , Made Luxemburgh from batter'd Mons retreat : 'Till the poor Scoundrels quit the sacred Fields , And hoary Choerilus his Laurel yields . 'T was but in Alexander's thoughtless times , When standard Gold was paid for Tinsel Rhimes , Homer was dead , nor could the Conqueror's tears Revive his Muse , or wondrous Characters ; And when Fops write , and Manly sense decays , D — n or B — e may usurp the Bays . Scorn all the thoughts of such , and spurn the Ground , From sordid Earth above the Stars rebound . Think how the mighty WILLIAM , fierce in Arms , With God-like Courage stood the Gauls Alarms . How his vast Genius with inferior Force , Oppos'd the rising storms impetuous Course . Think how he drew his heartless Troops from far , And with his callow Legions fac'd the War. Warm'd 'um to strength beneath his youthful wing , And made their Courage in an Instant spring . Dar'd rugged Veterans by hardships bold , And the dark Powers of unresisted Gold. Think how He stood by Villian Arts delaid , His gallant Thoughts , and vast Designs betray'd , While dark Cabals to Treachery's inur'd , Were by their meannes from Revenge secur'd . And sullen Fate with furrow'd Brows look'd down , And Europe sunk beneath the dreadful frown . Hell's Monarch near the Gaulish Ensign fought , And to the Field his Rebel Armies brought Moloch , Abaddon , Mammon , Asmodai , Lead up the Squadrons , and enhaunc'd the Fray. 'T was now the Time to take their Arms again , Their King might now the Northern Throne obtain , Drawn out , they rally'd up their Ancient Pride , And angry Heavens superior Arms defy'd . They scorn'd the mighty Wounds they felt before , Those pointed Bolts their impious Leader bore : Dark Malice , black Revenge , and boundless Hate , Gave their infernal Arms , and gloomy Counsels weight . But could Eternal Woes no more prevail ? Could Wisdom , taught by dire Experience , fail ? Could Rebels fight inmerst in endless Pains ? Or raise their Arms beneath their burning Chains ? What! could Oblivion Sieze the Gaulish State ? Or they forget their haughty Charles's Fate ? Charles would the gallant Courser's back bestride , And thro' Parthenope triumphant ride . But when the foaming Bit he roughly drew He fell , and out the fiery Courser flew . Could Gaul forget the fatal Pavian field ? Could gallant Francis no Reflections yield ? The Hero sunk , crush'd by a stronger hand : Nor can poor Mortals angry Fate Command . Could they forget that modern monstrous Tyde , Which all the Belgian Dykes and Walls defy'd , Which foaming o're the level Country rag'd , And in the Deluge mighty Towns engag'd , Such may forget : But He , who turns the Poles ; He , who the swelling Ocean's waves controuls , Laughs at inferior Force , and bars the Way , And bids Extravagance it self obey : Else , tho' his ruddy Bolts were all excus'd , Yet , why was mighty WILLIAM's Soul infus'd ▪ Could You so kindly sooth imperious Rage ? Could You encourage a degenerate Age ? Could You , an unconcern'd Spectator , view The Ravisher Europa's Charms pursue ? No ; but as brave Achilles , dip'd of old , Rose from the Stygian Waves obdur'd and bold ▪ Safe in himself , yet , when he took the Field , Could manage the Coelestial Sword and Shield : So into Deathless streams fair Virtue threw Your Infant Soul , while all the Graces flew Around you Royal Head , the sacred Wave To the soft Spirit so deep a Tincture gave , That Guilt in vain its Art and Malice tries , Your Adamantine Breast their utmost Force defies . Still as your Years advanc'd your mighty Mind ▪ To Noble Thoughts , and Gallant Acts inclin'd . You careless sloth , and mean Diversions scorn'd , And brave Ambition your vast Soul adorn'd . To match those wondrous Patterns nam'd of Old , Hero's in Fame's Eternal sheets enroll'd . Arms were your sport ; but your supreme Delight ; Impartial Justice , and unquestion'd Right : Valour and Prudence , your defensive Charms , Your pointed Shafts , and your Vulcanian Arms ; This , in your Youth dispers'd the Factious Crew , From that , surpriz'd , the Gaulish Conquerors flew . Seneff and Mons diffus'd your dreadful Name , Steenkirk and Landen shew'd your Martial Flame , Where You , tho' by superior Force opprest , To partial Fates expos'd your sacred Breast . As some fierce Lion whom the noisy Swains , Pursue with rustic Arms along the Plains , Softly retreats , and with his flaming Eyes , Arrests their Furies , and out-braves their Cries : Now sallies out , and makes the Crouds recoil , Now backward stalks , and scorns to take the foil ; Lashes his sides , and with a dreadful roar , Makes Woods and Hills the awful sound restore . Till safe i th' covert of the neighbouring Wood , He licks his Jaws besmear'd with Foam and Blood. So You with inward conscious Virtue fir'd , Slowly before the Gaulish Troops retir'd . And tho' fair Conquest towards the Clouds were flown , You terrible in Blood , and fiercer grown . Could Death among a thousand Deaths command , And graspe the Fate of Empire in your Hand : You broke Batallions with a daring Word , Your Eyes shot Death before your thundring Sword. Thro' smoke and Flames you forc'd your glorious way , And at your Feet their faded Laurels lay ; Weltring in Blood whole gasping Armies roul'd , And the wild rage of rally'd Force controul'd , While you untouch'd drew back ; so when great Jove , Comply'd with Semele's imprudent Love ; The Earthly Dame , by gaudy Hopes beguil'd , Sunk in the Flames , but the Celestial Child , With Lightnings sported , and at Thunders smil'd . But th' Hero when by Fortunes slight o're lay'd , Bounds from the Foil undaunted , undismay'd , A noble fire glows in his angry Breast , Nor can He bend his boiling Thoughts to rest ; Till to his Courage yielding Fortune bows , And Virtue 's strength above her sullen Frowns allows . Again , Great Sir , You quickly took the Field , Judgment was your impenetrable shield . Deep Forecasts gloomy Casque your Head secur'd , Resentments dark your temper'd Sword obdur'd . You march'd invisible to mortal Eyes , No stratagem could your vast Thoughts surprize , Till You explain'd 'um first by thundring Balls , Against Namure's pale Works , and trembling Walls . Namure , where gallant Boufflers fix'd his Rest , And like the Falcon hover'd o're his Nest . Secur'd his Young , and bade them range the sky , And on rough Men their Beaks and Pounces try : Where great Vauban had shown his utmost Art , And fam'd Megrigni bore a fatal part . The Gaulish Troops with glowing Envy view'd , What Bravery your impetuous Armies shew'd , They saw them strom vast Works which reach'd the skies , Dare more than Men , but ever win the Prize : They saw the batter'd Town by piece-meal yield , And how true Valour 's last Retrenchment reel'd ; The Cloud of Witnesses at distance stood , Louring , and threatning hideous storms of Blood ▪ But with brute Thunders grumbling roul'd away , Heard her expiring Groans , and curs'd the Day , From the Black scene , like baffled Rivals , flew , And left impregnable Namure for You. The Gaulish Prince that ominous Rupture saw , And at a distance felt the dismal Flaw : He saw the little Clouds ascending Hand , Would soon with horrid Gloom the Skies Command . He saw You thro' those Gates could force your way , Where loaded Gold might , unaccepted stay : He knew what Weakness in his Empire reign'd , How hardly wasted Fields the Camp maintain'd . What deep Consumption on his Vitals prey'd , With what reluctance ruin'd Slaves obey'd : That strongest Cordials could no Lives renew , Nor batter'd Arms Eternal Wars pursue . He found he ne'er could break those golden Chains , Which your prodigious Influence maintains . But Europe now could to her self be true , And keep the Field when manag'd , SIR , by You. Such Thoughts the mighty Monarch's Counsels sway'd , And all his old aspiring Heats allay'd ; Hee 'd not a Ruine on his Crowns entail , Nor cross that Genius which would still prevail . Peace Europe , Peace declining Gaul might crave , But YOU , not HE , the sacred Larges gave Europe , which YOU her glorious Umpire chose , Could on your Arms for War and Peace repose . To YOU great LEOPOLD his Cares resign'd , On YOU weak SPAIN her weary'd Head reclin'd . Nay , mighty LOUIS , whose inglorious Arms , With haughty Superstitions rude Alarms , Had shock'd the World , could now in YOU confide , Whose happy Skill first check'd his soaring Pride . He knew Heroic Souls would constant prove , In Wars rough storms , and in the Calms of Love. He knew in War youl 'd Honour's road pursue , And fear'd no Treacheries in Peace from YOU . Time with the Sun thus Western Tempests keep , Sink as He falls , and hush themselves to sleep . Thus two huge Billows on the Ocean meet , Swell upwards , and with curling Furies greet , Rush at others Heads , and foam , and roar , And at a distance shock the sounding shoar ; Yet when their Rage to th' utmost height is blown , Twine in each others Arms , and slide in One. For You his Flag the mighty Monarch veil'd , While cross the Seas your happy Squadron sail'd . WILLIAM , and his auspicious Fortune's more , Than that of Julius , or of Rome before , For YOU the Sun contracts his scorching Beams , And sober Sein confines his silver Streams . For You the Vulture moults his stretching Wings , And from his Gorge th' uneasy Burthen flings . Gaul dy'd within , but your victorious Hand , Could both your Passions , and your Sword command . You throughly knew the Gauls declining State , Yet nobly scorn'd to add the fatal weight . You bade them Live ; be still , refresh their wounds , Thrive , and be Great , within their ancient Bounds . Bade Louis reign secure ; his hoary Head , Lay down in Peace among the mighty Dead . Bade Europe smile , and all her tuneful Swains , Sing their soft Lays along their peaceful Plains ; But all the neighbouring Lands with Envy view , What our Britannic World enjoys in You. Thus , when the Royal Eagle snatch'd the Prey , And to his Eiery bore the Babe away . The Babe all fearless innocently smil'd , And the fierce Eaglet's hungry rage beguil'd , ( Kings can't be harsh , where Innocence obtains , In Royal Breasts Eternal pitty Reigns ) The Babe liv'd by the Parent-Eagle's care , In every Quarry had his constant share , A noble Family's Foundations lay'd , And Peace , and Grandeur , to his Heirs convey'd . Welcome , Great Monarch , to the longing shore , Your British skies can want their Sun no more . Welcome to Your Imperial Chamber , where Joys great as your prodigious Acts appear . Welcome , as to the Spring , soft April showers ! Or Mornings pearly Dews to drooping Flowers ! Welcome , as Breezes to the Western Isles ! Or harmless Infants to their Parents smiles ! Welcome , as Cordials to the fainting Soul ! Or Day , or Warmth , to those about the Pole ! Sweet Slumbers which the Summers shades invite , Or the soft Kisses of the Bridal Night ! Welcome as that dear Glorious Peace You bring , As solemn Triumphs to a Conquering King. As to the floating Ark the wandring Dove , Or endless Bliss to happy Souls above ! See how your cheerful Subjects spread their Arms , How every Breast a Loyal fervour warms . Not Winter's freezing Air can cool their Flame , Love 's all their Business , Service all their Claim . You , the resistless Monarch of the Soul , With ease the Vulgars rugged Thoughts controul , That PEACE you brought , like some swift Spirit , flies , Glows in their Hearts , and lightens in their Eyes . No head-strong Furies hurry on the Croud , Their Motion 's soft , their Acclamations loud . You bend , and turn their Tempers where You please , As Songs the Passions , or as Storms the Seas : Where e're You move , Your Presence clears the way , And All your awful Eyes least Glance obey . The City's Bands stretch out their Lines afar , Handle their Arms , but never fear the War ; The thriving Plants of your Imperial Care , Whose jolly Looks their easy state declare ; Thro' all the nipping Blasts with pleasure wait , And a loud Welcome to their Patron prate : The jocund Children hush their tender Cries , Reach out their Hands , and wipe their watry Eyes . Ne're knew War's terrors , yet with Joy can view , Peace in her glittering Robes attend on You : And oft their Parents , oft their Heirs shall know , How great your Entry , and how gay the Show . The Trading-Bodies show their Gowns in Peace , Their Prince's safety , and their Trades encrease . The scarlet Senators their Powers resign , Value their Own , but think their King 's Divine . A lambent Flame thro' all their Dwellings winds , Bright as their Loves , and harmless as their Minds . The softer Sex their lovely Charms display , And add new Beams to your Illustrious Day . The Country feels your influential Heat , Kind , without weakness , without scorching , Great , And send whole Crouds their loyal Hearts Envoys , True Representatives of Rustic Joys . Grave Judges , and the Churches glorious Crown , Blessings , and Right , enhaunce your just Renown : While the Nobless , streams from that Chrystal spring , Secure their Honours , as they guard their King. Such Joys of Old Egyptian Crouds express'd , When the rich streams of flowing Nile encreas'd ; Such shouts they us'd , when the glad Sacrist show'd The fatal Bullock , and retriev'd the God : So the bless'd Ark the sacred Mountain gain'd , With Universal Gladness entertain'd . So Wisdom's Heir with Prayers his Temple crown'd , While Israel sung their Hallelvjah's round . So God's Incarnate Son his great Intrade Thro Salem's Gates to Salem's Temple made : Great , Meek and Humble , while the joyful Throng , Made loud Hosanna's their Eternal Song . O! may your Royal Hands with Godlike Zeal , Our gloomy Dens of Holy Thieves reveal ; Cast out the Mony-changing Brutes who make Their milky Robes a deadly Tincture take , While the Lay-Broker with the Priest can join , In villany , and barter Souls for Coin. A spurious Crew of Simon 's ancient Race , Who all their Merit in their Purses place , And truth with Mercenary Hands disgrace . The very WITS , the scum of all Mankind , Above the strength of standard Sense refin'd , Now all the Posse of their Fancies raise , To squeeze one Sonnet to advance your Praise . The Tool , who scribles to the fulsom Stage , Whose nauseous Morals taint the senseless Age : Leud as his Mistress , as his Flatterers dull , His shallow Head with monstrous Vapours full , Scrues up his Brains , and bites his Nails for Odes , To praise his Sovereign , and Blaspheme his Gods. Only grey Chaerilus in silence grouls , And on his Prince's peaceful Glory scouls . Looks as great Rubens draws the surly pair , When Meleager courts the valiant Fair ; And to her Hands presents the tusked Spoils , The gallant Trophies of his daring Toils ; Meanly content to sham the cheated Age , With ●lat Burlesque for Maro's lofty page , Dwindles his Thoughts down to a fustain Ode , Which once with Madam Hinds Encomiums flow'd ; His first Republick Principles renews , And to a State deuotes his double Childish Muse : With him the grumbling few perhaps repine , Like Bats they see your Mid-day's Glory shine , Dazled with Honours , and quite sick with Light , They long for Darkness , and Eternal Night . Kings are All Tyrants , and they 'd sacrifice Their Heads to Dreams which in their Fancies rise : And would Great William lay the Scepter down , And to Republick Humours veil the Crown , Britain would soon in wild Confusion mourn , And every Villain might expect his Turn . If Traiterous Heads by your bless'd Peace undone , Would with a bloody Cloud eclipse the Sun ; Not mov'd by loyal Thoughts , but dark Despair , Their Hopes as shatter'd , as their Fortunes are : To Hell they 'd for Revenge their Souls resign , ( Such Souls alone to Hellish Arts decline . ) And let 'um Plot ! While Heaven's superior Care , Quarters his wing'd Battallions round the Air , Bids the bright Troops their constant rounds to keep , Gently to hush your Royal Cares a-sleep , And hurl the Traitor's Souls down to the burning Deep . But see , fair Cham and Ouse their Guardians send , And at your Feet the Sons of Learning bend : See where their Lyres the cheerful Muses bring , And Io's to their great Protector sing . Touch'd by your Hands the sacred Waters flow , And pure the Springs , the Rivers wholesome grow ; Humbly with them your faithful Rhymer lies , With them to your serene Protection flies , With them he joins his Prayers — Great Sir , may YOU , The Fruits with pleasure of your Labours view : Look on your Brittish Orb , as Heaven of old , When dark Confusion off the Mass was could . Look'd on the figur'd World ! May his great Hand , Who bade your Cares our stubborn Isle Command , Smile on your sacred Head , and make you prove , The second Object of the Nations Love ! Long may You reign with growing Lustre bright , Your Envyer's terror , and the Worlds delight ! Be Heaven your Care ! on You his Blessings flow , Till Heaven exhausted can no more bestow : In all your Acts may Godlike Virtue shne , And all Acknowledge what 's in You Divine . Reign still in PEACE , till your good Sword Curtan'd , Almost forgets your warlike Arms Command . But if it must be drawn , let pointed Flame , From the Confederate Skies your Wars proclaim ; Scorch off the Scabbard , and refine the steel , Till's its sharp Edge your fierce Opposers feel : 'Till Home-born plotting Rebels quit the field , And foreign Arms to your great Genius yield . May your bless'd Hand the Royal Infant mould , Our Second Hope , till when your self grown old , Sink , prest with Age , and Honours gently down , And leave your splendid , but your weighty Crown , Till when his happy Mother's Age expires , And she toth ' Closet of the skies retires , Reading Your Deeds in Fame's large Calender , How Just in Peace , how terrible in War ; He like to Morrow's Sun may gaily rise , And strongly drive around the Northern Skies , As bright , as warmly , and strongly shine , His Face unspotted , and his Beams Divine . While Britain's future Race your Acts declare , View You again in your Illustrious Heir , And praise your present Love , and bless your parting Care. FINIS .