A POEM Humbly presented to His most Excellent MAJESTY King. William the Third, Upon His most Miraculous and Happy Preservation from that Barbarous Jacobitish Conspirary To Assassinate His Royal Person, February Anno 1695.  
By R. B.  
— Nec Ignes  
Nec potuit ferrum!  
LONDON; Printed by J. Dover, for Richard Baldwin near the Oxford-Arms in Warwick-lane, 1696.   

A POEM upon His Majesty's Miraculous and Happy Preservation from JACOBITE and FRENCH Assassins.  

WHilst Treacherous France in his Versail secures  
His Guilty mouldering Carcase, and immures  
In lewd Maintinion's Arms his Conscious Soul,  
Which in streams of Blood makes Gasping Europe roll,  
And Massacres whole Countries by Surprise,  
Boasting his breach of Faith for Victories:  
Whilst he t'Inglorious Poison resorts,  
And in Secret Murders makes his great Efforts;  
Sordid Attempts! despised by Men of Arms,  
Honour their Blood for Just Atcheiv'ments warms▪  
These Court the Glorious Field, and seek Renown  
Where toiling Hero's strive for victories Crown:  
But Mean, and Abject Souls, such as the base  
Case-hard'ned Priests, and Cain's pale Treacherous Race  
Of Hated Vagabonds, and Bigoted Fools,  
Bog-Trotting Ruffians, Mercenary Tools,  
(Fit Instruments t'advance the vast Design  
In which great Lewis, and just James conjoin)  
Barbarous Attempts these naturally Choose,  
Black as their Cause, such are the Means they use.   

The Brave are Heaven's Care, this Caesar taught  
When his frighted Pilot in a Tempest wrought,  
Proud swelling Surges crushed the Trembling Keel,  
And made the Captains blust'ring Courage reel,  
Mountains of Water combat on the Main,  
And into foaming Billows dash again;  
The Scaly Legion to the Bottom creep  
T' avoid the Fury of the angry Deep;  
The Watery Regions glows with Sparks of Fire,  
And all the Glories of the Day retire,  
Dark pitchy Clouds obscure the spangled Sky,  
And thunder down their Terrors from on High:  
The Crazy Vessel like a Cork was tossed,  
And th' half-dead Seamen yielded all was lost.  
Th' Undaunted Hero checques their gloomy Fear,  
And buoys their Spirits sinking in Dispair:  
Cheer up my Mates! the Gods of Us take Care,  
Caesar, and th' Empire's Fortune are lodged here:  
Not all the Raging Floods can swallows up;  
I see a Calm from yonder Mountain's Top:  
A bright Serenity shines in my Mind,  
And shows the Empire's Work is yet behind;  
This shattered Vessel, tho' by Tempests Tore,  
Shall Caesar whaft to the Appointed Shore,  
Nor will his better Stars see him Forlorn  
Who was for Glory, and an Empire Born.   

How oft hath England's greater Caesar found  
His Guardian Angel shield his Temples round?  
Your Sacred Head was covered from on High  
When Storms of Ball obscured the Echoing Sky;  
When Bombs, whose murdering Thunders rend the Air,  
Like the Last Tempest which the Globe shall Tear,  
Have set great Camps, and Cities all on Fire  
As if the World should in that Blaze expire;  
Your Heav'n-skreened Person hath unshaken stood  
In midst of Hurricanes of Fire and Blood.  
Great Cannon-Ball, disarmed of all their Force,  
Slide over Your Shoulders, baffled in their Course!  
Some touch Your Royal Garments, and pass by,  
's if Aw'd by Laws of Supreme Destiny.   

Not all the Battles Rome's great Generals fought,  
Not all the Trophies which to Rome they brought,  
With Your Immortal Triumphs e'er can shine,  
If we regard Your Glories at the Boyn;  
Or Namur's Walls, which like to Vulcan's Forge,  
Or Aetna's Top, Thunder, and Fire disgorge.  
This Castle France Impregnable did boast,  
Here he laid out his utmost Care, and Cost,  
In this he vaunted as of Babel's Tower,  
'twas the Result of all his Might, and Power:  
This Your Great Soul with Indignation filled,  
This Mighty Fortress to Your Sword must yield!  
Namur's the Word, and 'tis Resolved upon  
France shan't keep Towns, and England's King look on!  
What Conduct here, what Bravery was shown,  
What Rage, what Arts, in former Fights unknown?  
This Draggoon Buffleur with Amazement saw,  
And filled Chantillie's shaken Soul with Awe;  
They saw the English against Rocks aspire,  
Combat with Cannon, Grapple Storms of Fire!  
Courage like this our Stout Forefathers showed,  
They Came, they Saw, like Caesar, and Subdued.  
Astonished Villeroy the Siege Beheld,  
And th' English reap the Honour of the Field,  
His Hundred Thousand French durst not appear,  
But stood, like Statues, Petrified with Fear.   

Whilst, Royal SIR, with Honour You Chastise,  
Your Foes resort to Feeble Treacheries,  
In Camp they Basely seek Your Precious Life  
By Poison, or a Consecrated Knife;  
In Your Own Court their Treasons they pursue;  
What is 't their Guilty Fears won't hurry 'em to?  
A Set of Spurious Wretches, Vile, and Base,  
Spawned, like their Councils, of th' Infernal Race,  
The Scum, Reproach, and Pest o'th' Human Line,  
As the fallen Angels are of that Divine;  
Alike in Rancour, and alike in Spite,  
Both fight against Almighty Power, and Light:  
These are the Crew Chose by Most Christian France,  
His Long-Projected Empire to Advance;  
Now that his Priest-blest Arms, and Councils fail,  
He'll try if Hell-spawned Tories can't prevail.   

SIR, 'tis Your Noble Virtue makes them dread,  
And raise their baffled Plots against Your Head;  
Had You at first but Crushed the Viperous Brood,  
They had not Now been Hunting for Your Blood!  
But Your Mild Reign, Indulgent to a Fault,  
Cherished those Serpents which Your Life Assault;  
Those Home bred Foes, more dangerous by far  
Than all the Open Violence of War:  
Not Impious Lovis with his Fleet, and Host,  
Of which (till the Late Reigns) he ne'er could Boast,  
Could stop the Justice of Your Conquering Sword,  
But for the Aids Our Traitors Hence afford.   

Now, Sir, Your Thunder let the Miscreants share,  
Whom Heaven discovers, let not Favour spare:  
Root the Malignant Race that dare disown  
Your People's Right to Give a Forfeit Crown,  
Who from false Toppicks, false Conclusions draw,  
And give the Prince a Power to Null the Law;  
These, to foment Our Woes, Two Titles bring▪  
Make One de facto, One de jure King;  
Such Politiciaus would a Claim Reserve,  
The French Designs to Compliment, and serve▪  
To pamper their Insatiate Avarice,  
They'd Europe sell, and England sacrifice.  
When such as these are from Preferments Purged,  
And by Your Justice for their Treasons Scourged,  
Intrigu'ing France shall gain no more from hence,  
Supplies of Treasure, and Intelligence;  
But this will mortify the Monsieur more  
Than five Campaigns have ever done before;  
The Gallic Power would but weak appear,  
If not supported by his Engines Here.   

Great Sir, by Wonders Raised, England to save  
From b'ing a Spiritual, and a temporal Slave,  
Whom the Eternal Goodness hath Preserved,  
And for some Greater Work to Come Reserved;  
On whom all Europe fix their Suppliant Eyes  
To Save 'em from French Chains, and Cruelties;  
See with what Zeal Your People join in One  
To Guard Your Person, and Secure Your Throne▪  
Th' Associating Senate lead the Van,  
Your Lords and Commons as one Single Man;  
Your Loyal City, Opulent, and Great,  
'bove all the Glorious Sun e'er shined on yet;  
Taking Copy from Original so fair,  
Express their Love, their Duty, and their Care.  
No sooner was the Welcome Tidings hurled  
Of their Darling's Safety through Your English World,  
But in Rural Triumphs they their Joy proclaim;  
And vow to Die for Brave King WILLIAM.  
In Cheerful Throngs each County crowds to Sign,  
And with their Representatives Conjoin:  
This Bond of Union is approved by All,  
And Swells from Corporate to National.  
Nor will the General Pact determine here,  
But Foreign Princes in the League appear;  
The Potentates of Europe, One and All,  
State's, and Crowned Heads, Allies, and Neuteral:  
None can be Safe, all Government's destroyed,  
When Butchers are for Holy Ends Employed.  
How Execrable must this make the Names  
Of the Twin-Cut-Throats Lou ' le Grand, and James?   

Whilst these fresh Treasons wake your Friends at Land  
Your floating towers, their Force at Sea withstand;  
This to Your Royal Vigilance We owe,  
Soft they Approached, but found no Sleepy Foe:  
Soon when your Startling Squadron came in view,  
The Noisy French Armada strait withdrew,  
Th' affrighted Flota to the Sands do Creep,  
And durst not meet Your Adm'ral on the Deep▪  
Their Panic Army they Debarque again,  
And Heave their Cannon in the watery Main;  
And, tho' in Haste their Hero to Restore,  
They durst not venture on Your English Shoar.  
Your Royal Flagg made Ships, and Troops to Run,  
They mind the Setting of their Rising Sun.  
Great RUSSEL stops them in their Hot Carrier,  
Russel, whose Name the French with Trembling hear.  
That Illustrious Captain, Monsieur durst not meet,  
They felt his Courage, when He burnt their Fleet.   

Thus what false France designed for England's Woe,  
Kind providence turns to France's Overthrow,  
And, well Improved, will fix Your Interest more  
On Your People's Hearts than ever heretofore.   

But I must Crave your Majesty's Excuse  
For an Vnpollisht, Melancholy Muse,  
Who, Vninstructed in the Arts of Verse,  
Presumes Your Royal Story to Rehearse,  
This might become famed Mouse, or Dorset's Lyre,  
Whose Eloquence can charm, and Sense inspire:  
But, if Hearty Zeal may for the rest Atone,  
May Heav'n-saved William long wear England's Crown▪   
FINIS.