AN EPISTLE TO Monsieur Boileau, Inviting his MUSE to forsake the FRENCH INTEREST, And celebrate the KING of ENGLAND.  
BY EDM. ARWAKER.  
LICENCED. Novemb. 9 1694. D. POPLAR.  
LONDON, Printed by Tho. Warren for Francis Saunders, at the Blue Anchor in the Lower Walk of the New Exchange, 1694.   

AN EPISTLE TO Monsieur Boileau.  
TOO long, Great Man, thy Muse has tried in vain,  
Thy Monarch's sinking Credit to sustain;  
And thou too long hast misemployed thy Pen,  
To make the worst appear the best of Men;  
A sullied Fame to brighten and refine,  
That never did with real Lustre shine.  
While, as one, flattered by too fair a Glass,  
Views but the wanted Beauties of his Face;  
So Lewis, in thy lofty Praise does see  
Not what he is, but what he wants to be.  
And he must all his boasted Glories own,  
Not from himself derived, but thee alone;  
Whose Muse so well does his mean Deeds rehearse.  
That he becomes Immortal in thy Verse;  
But to thy Verse no lasting Fame can give,  
In recompense for what he does receive.  
Leave, leave him then to raise his own Renown,  
And win the Laurels that his Temples crown:  
A better Cause, and nobler Subject choose,  
That may inspire, as it employs, thy Muse;  
May with thy elevated Sense agree,  
And copious as thy boundless Fancy be;  
A Hero, whose bright Fame may gild thy Bays,  
And more thy Name, than thou his Glory raise.  
See, see, his Conquering Sword great Nassaw draws;  
Not poorly bribes, but merits thy Applause:  
His brave Exploits afford thy Muse a Theme  
Equal to that, as that is worthy them.  
The Titles he, in Fame's Records does hold,  
Are purchased by his Valour, not his Gold.  
He owes his Glory to himself alone,  
And Acquisition makes it all his own.  
Whilst Lewis rarely does in Arms appear,  
Nor then to fight, but follow in the Rear:  
Our Monarch charging in the Front we see;  
None more exposed, none less concerned than he.  
Who lets his Soldiers on no Dangers go,  
But what, as he commands, he leads them to:  
Thus, taught by his Example to obey,  
They bravely follow, as he shows the Way.  
Not so your King; he still declines the Fight,  
Nor shuns the Danger only, but its Sight;  
Yet with unmerited Success grown vain,  
He boasts of Conquests he did never gain.  
His Breaches were from Golden Batteries made,  
And our lost Towns not taken, but betrayed.  
Thus when some Place by Purchase is made sure,  
His Person, and his Honour too, secure,  
Then the triumphant Monarch takes the Field,  
And gains the Town that waited so to yield.  
This makes him with affected Greatness swell,  
And boast his Arms as irresistible;  
His Arches are by such Achievements reared:  
Thus Lewis fights, and thus is to be feared.  
But since he finds the Scene is altered now,  
And that his Treasure, as his Courage, low,  
Will not the old prevailing Means afford,  
That more enlarged his Conquests, than his Sword,  
He forms no hopeless Siege, makes no Campaigne,  
From which he knows he shall no Honour gain:  
But to the Field has wisely sent his Son,  
To bear the blame of losing what he won;  
For all the Conquest he this Year can boast,  
Is that in Running his Success was most;  
While Huy's reduced to serve its Native Lord;  
Not as 'twas lost, but stormed with Fire and Sword;  
Which proves as irresistible a Power  
In English Courage, as French Gold ●●●●e;  
And that our KING all Conquest 〈◊〉 despise,  
Which any Price but glorious Danger ●●●ys.  
Now the French Army, whose Renown we knew  
More to its Numbers than its Bravery ●●ue;  
Equalled in Strength, in Valour is out●●ne,  
And while Hue falls, stands tamely looking on:  
So by Great William's conquering Arms dismayed,  
The Generals durst not venture to its Aid:  
Happy they could their own Intrenchments keep,  
Though dug, to suit their low-sunk Spirits, deep.  
Yet scarce they lost their Apprehension there,  
Nor as from Danger, were secured from Fear.  
Till they, for greater Safety, left the Place  
Not loaden now with Trophies, but Disgrace;  
Such Conquests Lewis this Campaigne has won,  
Such Triumphs Fate decreed his glorious Son.  
But since no Honours from the barren Field  
He reaps, what Laurels did the Ocean yield?  
That sure his ruin'd Credit will repair,  
And own his long-pretended Power there.  
But as if both the Elements agreed  
From his usurped Dominion to be freed,  
The Sea no longer Tribute does afford,  
But justly pays it to the ancient Lord.  
Whose conquering Fleets assert their native Right,  
While the French Navy shuns the dreaded Sight.  
And sees itself in its own Ports confined,  
By Fear more powerful than an adverse Wind.  
So when the scaly sovereign of the Seas,  
Himself within his liquid Realm does please,  
And with swift Finns ranges the briny Flood:  
To take his Pastime there; or seek his Food.  
His frighted Vassals hid their shining Heads,  
In the kind Covert of concealing Weeds.  
Our floating Squadrons now their Right regain,  
And unobstructed wanton through the Main,  
Insult the gallic Coasts, and their just Rage  
With Sacrifice of flaming Towns assuage:  
Whose sable Smoke ascending to the Sky,  
Mourns for the Structures that in Ashes lie.  
While strange Confusion spread along the Shore,  
Makes England's Power revered as heretofore.  
Nor does one Fleet alone her Fame advance,  
The Joys in Spain equal the Fears in France.  
And Barcelona all Attempts defies,  
While on our Monarch's Succour she relies,  
And sheltered by his Navy's spreading Wings,  
She triumphs in the sure Defence it brings.  
Thus Spain by our Elisa shook before,  
Is now supported by Great William's Power.  
Then in his Praises let famed Boileau join,  
And to his Side, like Victory, incline:  
Whose daring Soul, and ever-conqu'ring Sword  
Will endless Matter for thy Verse afford:  
But if thou wilt a servile Labour choose,  
Where Arbitrary Power enslaves thy Muse;  
And does thy Thoughts to narrow Bounds confine,  
Which Heaven for boundless Subjects did design:  
Know, our famed Prince can his own Trophies raise,  
And courts as little as he wants thy Praise.  
Nor, if such Means his Glory could advance,  
Would he have need to be obliged to France:  
Since his own Realms abound with Men of Sense,  
And famous for Poetic Excellence.  
Whose lofty Verse your humble Strain exceeds,  
As much as his your meaner Patron's Deeds.  
Witness the Muse that first in Songs Divine,  
Described his Fight and Conquest at the Boyne.  
That which most pleased, was difficult to tell,  
The Field so bravely won, or sung so well.  
Witness that happy Pen that did relate  
His glorious Voyage to the Belgic State;  
And gave the World a Proof with how much Fire  
Our Poets write when them our Kings inspire.  
But our Great Monarch's Praises should no more,  
Than his large Soul be bounded by our Shore;  
Far as his Victories, his spreading Fame should sound,  
And be in every Tongue, as every Land renowned;  
Then, Boileau, let thy Muse begin her lofty Flight,  
Tho' she must still despair to reach the wondrous Height.  
FINIS.   

AN Epistle to the Right Honourable Charles Earl of Dorset and Middlesex, Lord Chamberlain of His Majesty's Household: Occasioned by His Majesty's Victory in Ireland.  
An Epistle to Charles Montague Esq, on his Majesty's Voyage to Holland; by George Stepney.  
The Life of Alexander the Great, by Quintus Curtius: Translated into English by several Hands, and Dedicated to the Queen, by N. Tate, Servant to Their Majesties.