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, heavens double Champion, Thou,  
Who Preachest Truth's great Cause, and Fightest it too:  
Whose Thunder loud as Mark's bold Lion roars,  
And whose Renown high as John's Eagle soars.  
Heroick, gospeler, whose Fame thus Crowned  
At once the Organ, and the Trumpet sound:  
Anthems and Echoes both thy Trophies raise,  
The Church's sost and Soldier's rougher Praise.  
So keen the Swift-winged Vengeance of thy Arm,  
Thy Foes in Limbo penned thou plyedst so warm,  
That poor Teague swears the Walls of London-Derry  
Are hotter than St. Patrick's Purgatory.  
Nor dost Thou only stand the Irish Rage,  
With a whole Kingdom one poor Town engage:  
Thy bold Defiance does at once pursue  
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 forced to stoop,  
That even the languid Flour-de-Lisses droop.  
Their glorious Exorcist so well thou'hast played,  
The Romish Devils ne'er were better laid;  
Whilst bragging Talbot at a distance raves,  
And for his Brother Wolves howls o'er their Graves;  
Hearing how thy repeated Triumph sounds,  
Lies sickening, 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 Armour 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 wield the Thunder!   

Let our Church muster all her Champion Sons,  
Her Ushers, 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 battered Gates, and all her shattered Columns  
Petarred with Arguments, and Bombed with Volumes.  
Thy Glories those brisk Combatants outshine,  
Whose Triumphs, Mighty Seer, must yield to thine.  
Thy Pen of Steel the Church's best Disputer;  
And thou the boldest Bellarmine Confuter.   

Thou leading Levite, Crowned in Honour's Field,  
Great Judah's Lion Impress of thy Shield;  
Go on, and raise thy single Name even higher,  
Than ere Rome's haughty Vicar durst aspire;  
To what new Vanity would that Vaunter swell,  
Could 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 even a Bolt of Heaven.  
To the same Notes should thy just Praise be strung,  
Which Israel's Worthy, the great David sung;  
David the Prophet, and the Hero too,  
Whose conquering Arm his Famed Ten Thousand slew;  
Whilst 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.  
Licenced, June 3d. 1689.   

LONDON, Printed for Langley Curtiss at Sir Edmondbury Godfrey's Head near Fleet-bridge. 1689.