A Congratulatory POEM upon the Noble FEAST Made by the Ancient and Renowned FAMILIES of the SMITHS.  

Captain JOHN SMITH sometime GOVERNOR of VIRGINIA  

Great Hero▪ whose brave Sword in Martiaall field  
Could Reap fresh Glories to Adorn his Shield  
Whose Courage made the Turkish Crescents wane  
Three of their Champions by him singly slain  
For which Exploits K: Sigismond (who knew  
Honour a Tribute to his Valour due▪  
Three Pagan's Heads in's Arms gave him to bear  
Just Trophies of his Conguering sword and spear    

YE happy Muses, who like Banckers sit  
Distributing that precious Sterling, Wit,  
Credit your Poet now with such a Store,  
That his plumed thoughts to that vast height may soar  
Which all his Brethren ne'er could reach before.  
A more than common Stock ought to Proclaim  
The Honour's due to Smith's Immortal Name,  
A Name whose early glories were so hurled  
About even in the Nonage of the World,  
That other Families were hardly known  
When this had waded far in bright Renown,  
And by a Chain of Noble Actions bought  
That envied Fame which others vainly sought.  
Virtue and Valour, which at first alone  
Could draw from dark Obscurity Renown,  
In Ancient Smiths so pregnant did appear,  
As if not Art but Nature placed it there;  
As if she'd ta'en a care to mould them so,  
They must be famous if they would or no.   

In Germany their Grandeur did appear  
Long before William, Britain's Conqueror,  
And when that glorious Norman's Lucky Sword  
Had given him all our Nation could afford,  
A noble Gratitude his Soul did press  
To thank one Smith for part of his Success,  
Whom that great Duke was often heard to own  
Mongst all his Captains, worthy great'st renown,  
●nd in his private counsels held more dear  
Than any other Martial Officer.   

From thence if we proceed to that great Fight  
Caused by the Invasion made in Eighty Eight,  
Of none we read, excepting Mighty Drake,  
Than Famous Smith that made more fierce attaque;  
He made the haughty Spaniards feel his power,  
Giving them ruin on their Native Shore.   

But why on Worthies past dost thou proceed?  
●ond Muse, thou liv'st too long amongst the dead,  
Since, shouldst thou name them half, the sum would swell  
My Pigmy sheet into a Chronicle;  
And make the wondering stranger, when he came  
To see so many Pages thatched with Fame,  
Conclude, I write of Nations, not a Name:  
'Twould be for thee more fit, for them more just,  
To let them slumber in their Sacred Dust,  
And (with a reverend leave) thy Theme pursue  
To give the Living, well as Dead, their due.   

Lift up thy long dejected head a while,  
And thou shalt see within this narrow Isle  
Thousands of their Successors who lay claim  
To their Forefathers Virtues, well as Name:  
Some thou wilt find whom their deserving Fate  
Has justly raised to sit at Helm of State:  
Others whose Loyalty did bright appear  
At Hogans Coast in the late Holland War:  
Some there are likewise whose presaging worth,  
Wanting occasion to be called forth,  
Does yet in silent Characters Proclaim  
What Seas of blood they'd make to wade for Fame,  
Could they but face an Army which withstood  
Their Monarch's welfare, or their Country's good;  
And by Heroic Actions fain would tie  
To their more Ancient, Modern Heraldry.   

For 'tis not the least Trumpet does proclaim  
immortal honour to this deathless name,  
That they like other lazy Families  
Scorn on their Father's Stocks alone to rise,   

Each branch of Smith's great Stem looks sharp about  
As soon as Sprung, to find new honours out,  
Which like the Eagle viewing of his Prey  
They fly full swoop at, and sweep clear away.   

Hundreds of ancient Arms at this day Crown  
This mighty Name for acts of high Renown,  
Which at the first from Foreign Toils did rise,  
Blazoned with ruin of their enemies.   

But hold hot Muse, let's hear no more of War,  
Since all the signs of joy and peace are here,  
The Sermons just now done, the Brethren would  
Not feast themselves, before they served their God,  
When Heaven with so much Plenty men does bless,  
They ought to have a Sermon for their grace.   

See how in friendly pairs the Steward's Men  
To the grave Stewards give their due esteem:  
See how the Stewards grandeurs do dispense,  
Bearing white Rods, the signs of Innocence,  
Which do not only their white thoughts imply,  
But have respect to all the Company.   

Bless me! whose he comes here? A Mighty Lord;  
Can he from all his pleasures time afford  
To waste his minutes at a City Feast?  
But he's a Smith, and so the wonder's ceased.   

See how in goodly order next do come  
Whole ranks of Knights, the Champions of the Town,  
Such heretofore in Rome's warm Senate sat,  
When Carthaginians thundered at her Gate.   

A glittering train of Esquires next arise,  
Like Sunbeams, and set bounds unto my eyes,  
Such who have often ploughed the Liquid Main,  
And ranged through Lands unknown for honest gain;  
But these being past, the next my sight invades  
Are worthy persons of Domestic Trades,  
Hundreds of Wealthy Citizens, who buy  
Their modest grandeur with their Industry;  
Men who in their narrow Shops can stand  
And call for all the good things in the Land,  
And have 'em brought them; they can Till and Sow,  
And Reap, without the help of Land or Blow,  
Receive their Quarter, nay their daily Rents,  
Although they own no Farms or Tenements,  
And yet behold how glorious they appear  
In modest Garments bringing up the Rear.   

HAving in short commented on them all  
My Fancy too shall dine at Drapers-Hall,  
Where it would feast a King methinks to see  
Splendour itself begilt with Decency.  
seven several sorts of Music first advance,  
And put my trembling Muse into a trance.  
She well might fear that so much Artful skill  
Would drown the softer Cantos of my Quill:  
But when she throws her lavish eye abroad,  
And sees that plenty almost Cracks each Board,  
Sees flaming Goblets by each Trencher set  
As convoy unto every bit they eat,  
Ready, if any dainty chance to stray,  
To run down after and direct its way,  
She recollects herself and fears no more  
But sings much louder than she did before.   

Feast on, Renowned Smiths, methinks I spy  
Contentment dancing in each members eye,  
Nature and Appetite have now their due,  
They are contented both, and so are you;  
There's not a man but does this truth assure  
By his so free donation to the Poor.   

The Widow's thanks, and Orphans prayers descry  
In quaintest Rhetoric your Charity,  
Your needy names-sakes you do so prefer,  
They become richer than their fathers were:  
And when Maturity with age shall crown  
Their greener heads, and they to Tradesmen grown,  
Why may not they gain Riches and Esteem,  
And do for others as you did for them:  
Thus by successive Charity you'll bless  
Each other with a lasting happiness;  
Ah! that this graceful Amity may prove  
The little Emblem of great England's love.   

And you, grave Stewards who this day fulfil  
A Mighty Emperor's Edict and Will,  
Bearing in glittering Flags those Turkish heads  
Purchased by Smith of Crudwells famous deeds,  
When 'twixt two Potent Armies he made fall  
The strong Turbashaw, Turkys General,  
And in the self same day, to crush the Pride  
Of all his followers, vanquished two beside,  
And brought their gasping heads besmeared with gore  
To mighty Sigismond the Emperor,  
Who thinking nought enough for that brave man  
Who fought so stoutly for the Christian fame,  
To make his royal gratitude appear,  
Ordered three hundred ducats every year  
To be allowed this noble Captain, and  
Charged him by all the power of his Command  
Never again to enter Martial Field  
Without three Turks-heads graven in his shield,  
And signed a patten that the same should be  
A Coat of Arms to his Posterity.   

But I have been too tedious,— yet permit  
Me to declare my wishes well as wit,  
May every action of each member here  
To your successors bright as his appear,  
May this great feast continue still, and may  
Each year increase your Number, Wealth, and Joy,  
Long may you live, and when insatiate Death  
Shall call your bodies to perfume the Earth,  
May your Examples your young Children move  
To Rival you in Charity and Love.    

LONDON, Printed for Francis Smith at the Elephant and Castle near the Royal Exchange in Cornhill.