Civitas militaris, or, A poem on the city royal regiment of horse by John Tutchin. Tutchin, John, 1661?-1707. 1689 Approx. 8 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 4 1-bit group-IV TIFF page images. Text Creation Partnership, Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) : 2005-12 (EEBO-TCP Phase 1). A63957 Wing T3371 ESTC R23758 07892653 ocm 07892653 40309 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. 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Keying and markup guidelines are available at the Text Creation Partnership web site . eng Great Britain -- History -- Revolution of 1688 -- Poetry. 2005-01 TCP Assigned for keying and markup 2005-03 SPi Global Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2005-04 Mona Logarbo Sampled and proofread 2005-04 Mona Logarbo Text and markup reviewed and edited 2005-10 pfs Batch review (QC) and XML conversion Civitas Militaris . OR , A POEM ON THE City Royal Regiment OF HORSE . By JOHN TVTCHIN , Gent. Non exercitus , neque Thesauri praesidia regni sunt , Verum amici . Salust . in Bell. Jugurth . LONDON : Printed for Langly Curtis , at Sir Edmund-Bury-Godfry's-Head , near Fleet-Bridge . 1689. 30. Octob. Civitas Militaris . OR , A POEM ON THE City Royal Regiment OF HORSE . THE Roman Gallantry long since retir'd , Its City Valour in its Flames expir'd ; But London's Fame Immortal Glory bears , Preservd from wasting Age , and Flames , and Wars ; Yet though we can a new built City show , We had our Neroes , and damn'd Praetors too , Who with the Tyrant Flement Conspir'd , And with resistless Rage our City Fir'd : But as the Deluge did o'reflow the Earth , Only to give a better World a Birth , So from devouring Flames , once caus'd our fear , New Houses , and bright Pyramids appear ; And Warlike Youths , for mighty Deeds arise , Their Cities Glory , and their Nations Prize . Such , such are you , you Mighty Sons of Mars , The Happy Omens of succeeding Wars ! In Bloody Fields , the surest Conquest falls , Where Heroes March , and Kings are Generals . No greater Patriot Mankind could Espouse ; Great is your Leader , and as good your Cause : Tyrants have oft whole Provinces Subdu'd , And in their Subjects Blood their Hands Imbru'd . Our King does Regal Clemency impart ; A King that 's after God's and 's Peoples Heart . Methinks I see him Landing on the Strand , Lord of the Ocean first , and then of Land ; Fame runs before him like the Morning-Star , And tells his Skill , and Mighty Feats in War : The Mighty Nassaw shews his Goodness forth ; The Mighty Nations all Applaud his Worth : The Nobler Citizens themselves present , To Guard his Person , and his Government . No Hireling Souldiers for their Countries good , But freely spend their Treasure as their Blood ; Unlike the Gloomy Days we lately saw , When Soveraign Will devourd the Peoples Law ; When Irish Teagues were by its Bounty fed , Hir'd to Cut Throats , and Murder for their Bread. Now a Serener Ray of Bliss appears , After a Series of sad rowling years : Our Prince shall be in Story much Renown'd , And 's City Combatants with Lawrels Crown'd , Whilst Youthful Blood and Vigour swell our Veins , And Chivalry's the Theam of Nobler Pens ; Whilst in the Field the Martial Heroe walks , Of Wars fierce God , and Blood and Slaughter talks ; Whilst Warlike Steeds beat with their Hoofs the Ground , And Neigh and Prance , to the Shrill Trumpets sound ; In every Clime , where Heat and Cold do waste , Our Mighty Warriours and their Fame shall last . Our little London , on the Irish Coast , Can Mighty Wonders , and Brave Actions boast ? There Warlike Baker a firm Bulwark stood , Gainst French and Irish , an Augean Brood . The Mighty Baker is in War Renown'd , With deathless Wreaths , and lasting Lawrels Crown'd . The Mighty Baker is the Muses Theam , My daily Subject , and my nightly Dream ; Skilld in the Arts , that do to War belong , Soft were his Passions , as his Hand was strong : But cursed Fate ! we paying Tribute , come To his Immortal Worth , and to his Tomb ! Ah! Partial Destiny ! Thou took'st the best ; Thou Lop'st the Heroe , and thou sav'st the Priest ! Baker obtain'd an Everlasting Name , Walker was only Heir to his Fame . If little London such great Trophies gains , For greater London , what just praise remains ? In this good Soil , how many Warriours grow ? How many Glorious Bakers can we show ? Though loss of Charters might deject the mind , Yet ev'n when Slaves , we could true Courage find ; And when a Papist had forsook the Throne , We gave a Juster Monarch the lost Crown . With Generous Rage , and Manly Virtue Arm'd , With Kingly Goodness , and the Souldier Charm'd , We sit securely underneath his Shade , And prop the Righteous King our Hand have made . Hail Happy Monarch ! Leader in our Tears , And Partner of our Joys , and of our Fears ! Lead on , we 'll follow to the utmost bound , Where Danger 's seen , and Grizly Death is found ; Through Winters Frost , through driven Snow and Dirt , Where Marching's tedious , and the days but short : Where no Provision's found to chear our Swords , But what the Hedges and the Brook affords . Let Tories Snarle , and view the envied Crown , You may dissolve their Malice in a frown ; And if the Gangrene should too far o'respread , Bring down the Royal Thunder on their Head. Our Trusty Swords are keen , prepared all To Guard your Life , or to Revenge your fall , On Rome's black Agents , the Egyptian Sots , Their Poisnous Draughts , and Brandy-Bottle Plots . He 's Belzebubs own Child , who not content , Does hate his King , and curse his Government : In times large Chronicles , we cannot find Men hated Kings for being good and kind , But these disown the very Act they 've done ; And who misled the Father , would the Son. Unhappy James ! Undone by Knaves and Beasts ; He never thriv'd was Influenc'd by Priests : When thou with Foreign Troops so much wast scar'd , How well their boasted Loyalty appear'd ? Tho by thy breach of Statute-Law they thriv'd , And on the Ruine of their Country liv'd , In times of Danger , left thee to the Rage Of Injur'd Subjects , nothing could asswage ; From Ease , from Pleasure , and from Empire torn , By all Deserted , and alone forlorn : Unpitied by his Friends , does groveling lye , The poor Remains of Tyrant Monarchy . Thus have I known a well-fed Race of Mice , Within some Regal Dome keep Paradice , Feed on the daintiest Cates , the Wheat and Pease , Westphalia-Bacon , and fat Cheshire-Cheese , But when they find the House begin to fall , And spye the flaws , and view the tottering Wall , By Natural Instinct , caution'd of their stay , Forewarn'd in time , they wisely run away , Mourning the Bread and Cheese they now must loose , But more the Fate of the declining House . Our Prince a better Fate must sure attend , Whom willing Subjects at their charge Defend ; Tyrants can't force a Regiment for the Wars , Our King Commands large Troops of Voluntiers . Such once our former Monarchs did attend , And from Invading Foes the Land Defend : Hail , Mighty Warriours ! Heaven direct your Course , Each Man a Knight , a Pegasus each Horse ; Sworn to Destroy the Holds of Hell and Rome , For better Ages , and brave Times to come ; When Peace and Plenty shall surround our Shore , And Defunct Tyrants shall be seen no more : When Hells devouring Womb shall be quite fill'd , With the fat Sacrifice your Swords have kill'd : Then you returning from the Scenes of Wars , Adorn'd with VVounds , and Beautify'd with Scars , Shall by the numerous Crowd receive Applause , And tender Virgins bless you as you pass : The Ransom'd Nations shall Exalt your Praise , Structures of Marble to your Fame shall raise . FINIS .