A POEM TO HIS MAJESTY. Presented to the LORD KEEPER.  
By Mr. ADDISON, of Mag. Coll. Oxon.  
LONDON: Printed for Jacob Tonson, at the Judge's-Head near the Inner-Temple-Gate in Fleetstreet, M DC XCV.   

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE Sir John Summer, Lord Keeper of the Great Seal.  

IF yet Your Thoughts are loose from State Affairs,  
Nor feel the Burden of a Kingdom's Cares;  
If yet Your Time and Actions are Your own:  
Receive the Present of a Muse unknown.  
A Muse that, in Adventurous Numbers, Sings  
The Rout of Armies, and the Fall of Kings,  
Britain Advanced, and Europe's Peace Restored,  
By Sommer's Counsels, and by NASSAU's Sword.   

To You, my Lord, these daring Thoughts belong,  
Who helped to Raise the Subject of my Song;  
To You the Hero of my Verse Reveals  
His Great Designs, to You in Council tells  
His Inmost Thoughts, determining the Doom  
Of Towns Unstormed, and Battles yet to come.  
And well could You, in Your Immortal Strains,  
Describe his Conduct, and Reward his Pains:  
But since the State has all Your Cares engrossed,  
And Poetry in Higher Thoughts is lost,  
Attend to what a lesser Muse Indites,  
Pardon her Faults, and Countenance her Flights.   

On You, my Lord, with anxious Fear I wait,  
And from Your Judgement must expect my Fate,  
Who, free from Vulgar Passions, are above  
Degrading Envy, or Misguided Love;  
If You, well-pleased, shall Smile upon my Lays,  
Secure of Fame, my Voice I'll boldly Raise,  
For next to what You Write, is what You Praise.    

To the King.  

WHen now the Business of the Field is o'er,  
The Trumpets sleep, and Cannons cease to Roar,  
When every dismal Echo is decayed,  
And all the Thunder of the Battle laid;  
Attend, Auspicious Prince, and let the Muse,  
In humble Accents, milder Thoughts infuse.   

Others, in bold Prophetic Numbers skilled,  
Set Thee in Arms, and led Thee to the Field,  
My Muse expecting on the British Strand,  
Waits Thy Return, and welcomes Thee to Land:  
She oft has seen Thee Pressing on the Foe,  
When Europe was concerned in every Blow;  
But durst not in Heroick Strains rejoice;  
The Trumpets, Drums, and Cannons drowned her Voice:  
She saw the Boyn run thick with Humane Gore,  
And floating Corpse lie beating on the Shore;  
She saw Thee climb the Banks, but tried in vain  
To Trace her Hero through the dusty Plain,  
When through the thick Embattled Lines He broke,  
Now plunged amidst the Foes, now lost in Clouds of Smoke.   

O that some Muse, Renowned sor lofty Verse,  
In daring Numbers would Thy Toils rehearse!  
Draw Thee Beloved in Peace, and Feared in Wars,  
Inur'd to Noonday Sweats, and Midnight Cares!  
But still the Godlike Man by some hard Fate,  
Receives the Glory of his Toils too late;  
Too late the Verse the Mighty Act succeeds,  
One Age the Hero, one the Poet breeds.   

A Thousand Years in full Succession ran,  
ere Virgil raised his Voice, and sung the Man  
Who, driven by stress of Fate, such Dangers bore  
On stormy Seas, and a disastrous Shore,  
Before he settled in the Promised Earth,  
And gave the Empire of the World its Birth.   

Troy long had found the Grecians bold and fierce,  
ere Homer Mustered up their Troops in Verse;  
Long had Achilles quelled the Trojans Lust,  
And laid the Labour of the Gods in Dust,  
Before the Towering Muse began her Flight,  
And drew the Hero Raging in the Fight;  
Engaged in tented Fields, and rolling Floods,  
Or Slaught'ring Mortals, or a Match for Gods.   

And here, perhaps, by Fate's unerring Doom,  
Some Mighty Bard lies hid in Years to come,  
That shall in WILLIAM's Godlike Acts engage,  
And, with his Battles, warm a Future Age:  
Hibernian Fields shall here thy Conquests show,  
And Boyn be Sung, when it has ceased to flow;  
Here gallic Labours shall advance Thy Fame,  
And here Seneff shall wear another Name.  
Our late Posterity, with secret dread,  
Shall view thy Battles, and with Pleasure read  
How, in the bloody Field, too near advanced,  
The guiltless Bullet on Thy Shoulder glanced.   

The Race of NASS AUS was by Heaven designed,  
To curb the proud Oppressors of Mankind,  
To bind the Tyrants of the Earth with Laws,  
And Fight in every Injured Nation's 'Cause;  
The World's Great Patriots; they for Justice call,  
And as They Favour, Kingdoms Rise or Fall.  
Our British Youth, unused to Rough Alarms,  
Careless of Fame, and negligent of Arms,  
Had long forgot to Meditate the Foe,  
And heard unwarmed the Martial Trumpet blow;  
But now, inspired by Thee, with fresh delight,  
Their Swords they brandish, and require the Fight,  
Renew their Ancient Conquests on the Main,  
And Act their Father's Triumphs o'er again;  
Fireed, when they hear how Agincourt was strowed  
With Gallic Corpse, and Cressy swum in Blood.  
With eager warmth they Fight, Ambitious all  
Who first shall storm the Breach, or mount the Wall;  
In vain the thronging Enemy by force  
Would clear the Ramparts, and repel their course;  
They break through all, for WILLIAM leads the way,  
Where Fires rage's most, and loudest Engines play.  
Namure's late Terrors and Destruction show,  
What WILLIAM, warmed with just Revenge, can do:  
Where once a thousand Turrets raised on high  
Their gilded Spires, and glittered in the Sky,  
An undistinguished heap of Dust is found,  
And all the Pile lies smoking on the ground.   

His Toils for no Ignoble Ends designed,  
Promote the common Welfare of Mankind;  
No wild Ambition moves, but Europe's Fears,  
The Cries of Orphans, and the Widows Tears;  
Oppressed Religion gives the first Alarms,  
And Injured Justice sets him in his Arms;  
His Conquests Freedom to the World afford,  
And Nations Bless the Labours of His Sword.   

Thus when the forming Muse would Copy forth  
A perfect Pattern of Heroic Worth,  
She sets a Man Triumphant in the Field,  
O'er Giants cloven down, and Monsters killed,  
Reeking in Blood, and smeered with dust and sweat,  
Whilst Angry Gods conspire to make him Great.   

Thy Navy Rides on Seas before unpressed,  
And strikes a Terror through the Haughty East;  
Algiers and Tunis from their sultry shore  
With horror heat the British Engines Roar,  
Fain from the neighbouring dangers would they run,  
And wish themselves still nearer to the Sun.  
The gallic Ships are in their Ports confined,  
Denied the common use of Sea and Wind,  
Nor dare again the British Strength Engage;  
Still they remember that destructive Rage  
Which lately made their trembling Host retire,  
Stunned with the Noise, and wrapped in Smoak and Fire;  
The Waves with wide unnumbered Wrecks were strowed,  
And Planks, and Arms, and Men, promiscuous flowed.   

Spain's numerous Fleet that perished on our Coast,  
Could scarce a longer Line of Battle boast,  
The Winds could hardly drive 'em to their Fate,  
And all the Ocean laboured with the weight.   

Where'er the Waves in restless Errors roll,  
The Sea lies open now to either Pole:  
Now may we safely use the Northern Gales,  
And in the Polar Circle spread our Sails;  
Or deep in Southern Climes, secure from Wars,  
New Lands explore, and sail by other Stars;  
Fetch uncontrolled each Labour of the Sun,  
And make the Product of the World our own.   

At length, Proud Prince, Ambitious Lewis, cease  
To plague Mankind, and trouble Europe's Peace;  
Think on the Structures which thy Pride has raseed,  
On Towns unpeopled, and on Fields laid waste;  
Think on the heaps of Corpse, and streams of Blood,  
On every guilty Plain, and purple Flood  
Thy Arms have made, and cease an impious War,  
Nor waste the Lives entrusted to thy Care:  
Or if no milder Thought can calm thy Mind,  
Behold the great Avenger of Mankind,  
See mighty NASSAU through the Battle ride,  
And see thy Subjects gasping by his side:  
Fain would the pious Prince refuse th' Alarm,  
Feign would he check the Fury of his Arm;  
But when thy Cruelties his Thoughts engage,  
The Hero kindles with becoming Rage,  
Then Countries stolen, and Captives unrestored,  
Give strength to every Blow, and edge his Sword;  
Behold with what resistless Force he falls  
On Towns besieged, and thunders at thy Walls!  
Ask Villeroy, for Villeroy beheld  
The Town surrendered, and the Treaty sealed;  
With what amazing strength the Forts were won,  
Whilst the whole Power of France stood looking on.   

But stop not here, behold where Berkley stands,  
And executes his injured King's Commands;  
Around thy Coast his bursting Bombs he pours  
On flaming Citadels, and falling towers;  
With hizzing streams of Fire the Air they streak,  
And hurl Destruction round 'em where they break;  
The Skies with long ascending Flames are bright,  
And all the Sea reflects a quivering Light.   

Thus Aetna, when in fierce Eruptions broke,  
Fills Heaven with Ashes, and the Earth with Smoke;  
Here Crags of broken Rocks are twirled on high,  
Here molten Stones and scattered Cinders fly,  
Its Fury reaches the remotest Coast,  
And strews the Asiatic Shore with Dust.   

Now does the Sailor from the neighbouring Main  
Look after gallic Towns and Forts in vain,  
No more his wont Marks he can descry,  
But sees a long unmeasured Ruin lie;  
Whilst, pointing to the naked Coast, he shows  
His wondering Mates where Towns and Steeples rose,  
Where crowded Citizens he lately viewed,  
And singles out the place where once St. Maloes' stood.   

Here Russel's Actions should my Muse require;  
And would my strength but second my desire,  
I'd all his boundless Bravery rehearse,  
And draw his Cannons thundering in my Verse:  
High on the Deck should the Great Leader stand,  
Wrath in his Look, and Lightning in his Hand;  
Like Homer's Hector when he flung his Fire  
Amidst a thousand Ships, and made all Greece retire.   

But who can run the British Triumphs o'er,  
And count the Flames dispersed on every Shore?  
Who can describe the scattered Victory,  
And draw the Reader on from Sea to Sea?  
Else who could Ormond's Godlike Acts refuse,  
Ormond the Theme of every Oxford Muse?  
Fain would I here his Mighty Worth Proclaim;  
Attend him in the Noble Chase of Fame,  
Through all the Noise and Hurry of the Fight;  
Observe each blow, and keep him still in sight.  
Oh, did our British Peers thus Court Renown,  
And Grace the Coats, their Great Forefathers won!  
Our Arms would then Triumphantly advance,  
Nor Henry be the Last that Conquered France.  
What might not England hope if such abroad,  
Purchased their Country's Honour with their Blood:  
When such, detained at home, support our State  
In WILLIAM's stead, and bear a Kingdom's Weight,  
The Schemes of gallic Policy overthrow,  
And blast the Councils of the common Foe;  
Direct our Armies, and distribute Right,  
And render our MARIA's loss more light.   

But stop, my Muse, th' ungrateful Sound forbear,  
MARIA's Name still wounds each British Ear:  
Each British Heart MARIA still does Wound,  
And Tears burst out unbidden at the Sound;  
MARIA still our rising Mirth destroys,  
Darkens our Triumphs, and forbids our Joys.   

But see, at length, the British Ships appear!  
Our NASSAU comes! And as his Fleet draws near,  
The rising Masts advance, the Sails grow white,  
And all the Pompous Navy floats in sight.  
Come, mighty Prince, desired of Britain, come!  
May heavens Propitious Gales attend Thee home!  
Come, and let longing Crowds behold that look,  
Which such Confusion and Amazement struck  
Through gallic Hosts: But, Oh! let us descry  
Mirth in thy Brow, and Pleasure in thy Eye;  
Let nothing dreadful in thy Face be found,  
But for a while forget the Trumpet's Sound;  
Well-pleased, thy People's Loyalty approve,  
Accept their Duty, and Enjoy their Love.  
For as when lately moved with fierce delight,  
You plunged amidst the Tumult of the Fight,  
Whole heaps of Death encompassed you around,  
And Steeds o'erturned lay Foaming on the Ground:  
So Crowned with Laurels now, where'er you go,  
Around you Blooming Joys, and peaceful Blessings flow.   
FINIS.