A Congratulatory POEM ON HIS MAJESTY's Happy Return FROM HOLLAND.  
Written by Mr. BROWNE.  
LONDON, Printed for Thomas Jones, at the White Horse without Temple-Bar. MDCXCI.   

To the Honourable Sir Thomas Alien. Kt. & B ar.  
RIght Honoured Sir, vouchsafe to cast your Eye  
On this Essay of Heroic Poesy,  
Which for unmerited Favours, as 'tis meet,  
I Humbly prostrate at your Worthy Feet;  
Beseeching that it may so happy be  
To share a Blessing in your Courtesy,  
And be protected by your Loyal Name  
From all the Blasts that may it else Defame:  
Pray entertain it, for (Dear Sir) it sings  
The very best of Warlike Valiant Kings;  
That Monarch, Sir, by you so greatly loved,  
Even HE, that Heaven kind for us approved:  
'Tis HE, I say, whom You so much adore,  
And long have Prayed to see Return once more  
Happy and Safe to England's Happy Shoar.  
Now, Sir, HE's come, my Muse his Welcome sings,  
And in your Ears his Matchless Praises rings:  
The which (Good Sir) when you vouchsafe to read,  
Charity's Mantle o'er my Failings spread;  
My Eyes oft dazzled with Excess of Light,  
My Muse but dull, and narrower my Sight:  
I might have left this weighty Task to them  
Whose nobler Thoughts direct a loftier Pen;  
But yet, I hope, I am to be excused,  
Because 'twas Love and Zeal acted my Muse.  
I write, but 'tis, alas, with trembling Hand,  
The Praise of him that Rules blest Albion's Land,  
And sing his Welcome to his wished for Strand:  
'Tis Wholesome Foot, though 'tis but homely dressed,  
Yet something here, I hope, may please each Guest.  
High are my Strains, my Buskined Mistress sings,  
The very best of Men, the best of Kings,  
In Verse Heroick tells his Heroic Deeds,  
Whose Worth all Commentary still exceeds.  
Nor can a Muse, Imped with the Noblest Wing,  
Sound half the Praise of William our Great King:  
So high is Virtue, in her Native Glory,  
Advanced in Him, above the Reach of Story;  
Bright as the brightest Star that ere did flame,  
A shining Monument to Caesar's Name,  
A Prince in Fame's great Catalogue more bright  
Than all the Sons of Honour ere could light,  
A Prince in Prudence, and in Arms more Great  
Than ever yet ruled in Albion's State;  
Who lesser Sparks of Honour does out-flame,  
And swallows all their Titles in his Name:  
HE far exceeds the Trophies of the Pen,  
A Prince above the Characters of Men,  
Wise as the wisest, as the boldest bold,  
In Dangers, only, and Success grown old:  
On whom no Barbarous Enemy can confer  
Less than an High Immortal Character.  
Sir, here I must abruptly take my Leave,  
Because the Printer tells me he shall have  
More than he can conveniently dispose  
Within his Page; he bids me therefore close.  
And so I will, Praying, Right Worthy Sir,  
That God may still his Blessings on you pour;  
Your Lady long preserve, you Heirs with Blessing crown,  
And give you lasting Joys, when you this Life lay down.  
This comes (Good Sir) from the unworthy Hand 
 Of him, who is, your very Humble Servant, at Command, 
 BROWNE.   

A Congratulatory Poem, etc.  
Rouse, rouse, my Muse, and drain the from the dregs  
Of Vulgar Thoughts, screw up thy highest Pegs,  
Contemn the World, soar, soar aloft, and let  
Thy Thoughts Despise to take a vulgar Flight;  
Imp, imp thy Wings with Zeal, thy Strains with Fire,  
Let nothing sway thee, but most pure Desire;  
Snatch thee a Quill from the spread Eagles' Wing,  
And like the towering Lark, mount up and sing,  
To welcome home WILLIAM our Sovereign King.  
Tune thy sublime Theorboe four Notes higher;  
And higher yet; so that the shril-mouthed Choir  
Of swift-winged Seraphims, come down and join,  
To make thy Consort more than half Divine;  
Strain higher still, what if I crack a String  
In venturing nobly higher for to Sing?  
Reach Heavens, Ela then, and undecline  
Till with a deepmouthed Gam-ut sound again  
From Pole to Pole, it will not reach his Worth;  
Nor find a Note to set his Praises forth.  
Hail, hail Great Monarch, of Renowned Fame,  
We'll wreathe the Laurels, celebrate thy Name,  
In Songs transcending we'll rehearse thy Story.  
Let Heavens also crown thy Brows with everlasting Glory.  
Shall Dutchmen, when of thy Approach they hear,  
Triumphal Arches for thy Welcome rear?  
Shall their loud Cannon's echo forth thy Fame?  
And shall their Fireworks likewise the same?  
Shall they with Voices, Hearts and all agree  
To spread thy Praise; and eke to honour thee?  
And shall not Englishmen for Shame arise?  
Come, Countrymen, let's echo through the Skies  
The lasting Worth of William, our great King:  
And make his Glorious Acts through Europe ring:  
A Pyramid of Gold then let us rear,  
And on it ' grave, in Characters most fair,  
The worthy Deeds of our Third William 's Name,  
That after time it lively may remain  
To his Eternal, Matchless, worthy Fame,  
So following Ages, and Generations all  
Shall justly Thee poor England's Saviour call;  
When they shall read, (Great Sir) how that you gave  
Your Worthy Self three Nations for to save,  
Thought nought too dear, so that you might obtain  
For us, our Dear-bought Liberties again;  
And free us from the Yoke of Slavery;  
And likewise from Cursed Popish Tyranny.  
When this is told, O who'll not love a King!  
So Great, so Good, so Just in every thing?  
By many Wonders YOU were hither brought;  
Which strangely too by their Concurrence wrought  
Our whole Redemption in so short a Space,  
As did the Sloth of Human Aids Disgrace:  
Those who do hold Success the Cast of Chance,  
And Providence the Dream of Ignorance,  
Might in those Miracles Design discern,  
And from wild Fortune's Looks Religion learn.  
Tell us no more of Julius Caesar's Fame,  
Who, when he only looked, he overcame:  
Nor yet of Alexander's great Renown;  
Nor Hector's Glory, blazed from Town to Town;  
Pompey avaunt, thy trifling Glories glance;  
To our Great William's, they're but Ignorance:  
And Scanderbag, that Great Renowned Man,  
Who from so many Wars Victorious came,  
Must Phoebus like, when Sol does show his Face,  
Resign his Glory, 'tis William's Place:  
No, 'tis not these can bear away the Bell,  
For still our Conquering William doth excel;  
Victorious still he grows, prevail he shall,  
Until his Foes become Poor Quakers all.  
Hail, once again, (Great Sir) and let the Hail  
Through England, Scotland, Ireland prevail.  
I can't forbear, nor can I hold my Hand,  
My Pen will still pursue my Wills Command;  
Then blame me not (Great Sir) I must Repeat,  
The Loyalty I bear to you the Great,  
Victorious William, my Dear Sovereign Lord,  
Nought can I think enough to spread abroad,  
Your Worth and Virtue, which so much excel,  
All which Rehearsed would many Volumes fill.  
The Time alas would Fail if I should speak,  
Of all thy Virtues and thy Glories great,  
But some (Illustrious Sir) I must Repeat.  
Clap Hands, rejoice O happy British Clime,  
Thrice happy if thou didst but know thy Time,  
Wherein thou'rt blest with Blessings from above,  
A God of War a Queen made up of Love;  
A King so Virtuous, Wise, so Good and Just,  
A King so Pious, Great and Valorous.  
And eke a Queen, composed of Grace and Love,  
Wise as a Serpent, harmless as a Dove;  
So Loving Louly, of a Soul so Great,  
That whoso Loves her not, deserves the greatest Hate.  
thou'rt Blest, indeed thou'rt Blest, hadst thou a Heart  
But to improve these Blessings ' yond Desert.  
Religious Freedom now we all enjoy,  
We live secure, and nought does us annoy;  
Under our Vines most safely sit we may,  
And no Distractions more shall us dismay;  
No more shall Frantic Zeal our Peace disturb,  
Nor Popish Thraldom more, our Conscience curb;  
Within our Temples, Hymns and Anthems Ring  
Of thanks to God, and praises to our King:  
Our happy Roses, and our Thistles blow,  
Our Fields with Milk and Honey overflow.  
As yet we hear no Drums and Trumpets sound,  
Nor Carcases of Dead or'espread the Ground;  
From which God save our happy English Land,  
And strengthen much the Man of his Right Hand:  
And Lord preserve in perfect Union still,  
The little World of this our Albion Isle.  
Enlarge his Life who doth enlarge our Peace,  
And let his Glory with his Life increase;  
That being mounted on the Wings of Fame,  
This Age may see his Worth, the next admire his Name.  
And whilst we thus our weighty Work pursue,  
Let's once more pay our Hails, Great Sir, to You.  
Hail mighty Monarch of the Warlike Race,  
Whose nimble Conquests Time wants Speed to Trace.  
Behold our Angel comes, by whose bright Ray  
Darkness is fled, and Light salutes the Day;  
Welcome, Thrice Welcome, to the old Whitehall;  
Thy Gracious Presence make us happy all.  
As the Sun's heat replenisheth the Earth,  
Purges the Blood, and gives to Seasons Birth:  
So your Blessed Ray diffused within our Sphere,  
Gives vital Warmth to every Creature there,  
To Providence and Thee we still shall raise  
Altars for Thanks, and Pyramids for Praise.  
The Church shall Triumph, and the State Rejoice,  
And sing Te Deums with united Voice.  
So shall you be Beloved by Wholes, not Parts,  
And ever live the Regent King of Hearts.  
O that my Low-bred Strains were yet raised Higher,  
That I might still bright William's Worth admire.  
Reach then a soaring Quill that I might write,  
As with a Jacob's Staff to take the height.  
Now come aloft, come, come, and breathe a Vein,  
And give some vent unto thy daring Strain;  
Come Mars, Minerva, ay and Juno too,  
Mount, Mount, Parnassus, William's Praise pursue.  
The chiefest Gods in their best Royal State,  
Thy matchless Praises now do celebrate;  
Jove that shakes Heaven with his angry Brows,  
Presents thee Harmony, to be thy Spouse;  
Whose Father famed, is Mars the God of War,  
Whose Mother bright, is Venus' Morning Star:  
Minerva too presents her Golden Chain,  
And lovely Ceres will make thee Rich in Grain▪  
Jove's mighty Daughters with their Beardless King,  
From famous Helicon their Music bring;  
Each one with Flowers and Laurels rarely Crowned,  
Whilst Aroa's pleasant Harp doth sweetly sound.  
Thus, Thus, the Gods in all their best Array,  
With Songs and Dances Crown this happy Day:  
'Tis William's Praise, 'tis William's Praise alone,  
That's thus by all that's Good and Great made known:  
Metals may Blazen Common Beauties, he  
Makes Pearl and Planets humble Heraldry:  
But whether am I fled? a Poet's Song,  
When Love directs, his Praise, is ever long.  
Awake, 'tis shame, our Lions Dormant lie,  
And all our Spirits in a Lethargy.  
Rouse Countrymen, take hold of Shield and Spear,  
Make William's Foes Tremble and Quake for fear.  
Let's make those Monsters that Invade our Land,  
Throw down their Arms, and turn their trembling Hand,  
Against those that Disobey our King's Command.  
we'll ransack Europe, find out England's Foes,  
And such as dare our Sovereign Lord Oppose:  
Let's find those Hellhounds that so much annoy,  
And seek our Native Land for to destroy:  
And eke those Vultures, that corrode the heart  
Of their own Mother, make her sorely smart;  
That watch a Season, for to give her up  
For to be Butchered, by a Damned Pope;  
Or else to humble her to Lewis fell,  
That Cursed Monster who rose up from Hell,  
To be a Plague, and Scourge to Christendom:  
To this most Christian Turk, they'd fain become  
Vassals; and likewise Slaves to Hell and Rome.  
Let's find, let's find, I say those Traitors out,  
And let them to Condign Shame be brought:  
That thus the King defy, and do adore,  
The Filthy Carcase of a Rotten Whore.  
Look up, you Sons of mighty Ancestors!  
Who never bounded were by their own Shores:  
Your Fight Fathers were abroad renowned,  
Their Kings in France, and distant Jewry Crowned.  
Now give me Vine! and let my Fury rise,  
That what my ravished Soul's Immortal Eyes  
With Joy and Wonder saw, I may Rehearse,  
To curious Ears in high Immortal Verse.  
Forgive (Great Sir) that this Aspiring Flame,  
(First kindled as a Light to show thy Fame)  
Consumes so fast, and is misspent too long,  
ere my Chief Vision is become my Song.  
Thyself I saw quite tired with Victory,  
As weary grown to Kill, as they to Die:  
Whilst some at last, thy Mercy did enjoy,  
'Cause 'twas less pains to Pardon, than destroy;  
And thy Compassion did thy Army please,  
In mere Belief, it gave thy Valour ease.  
Lo! in a Calm began thy Regal Sway,  
Which with most Cheerful Hearts all do obey;  
As if no Law were Juster than thy Word,  
Thy Sceptre still were safe, without a Sword.  
And let Chronologers pronounce thy Style,  
The first True Monarch of the Golden Isle:  
An Isle so seated for Predominance  
And Naval Strength, it's Power can so advance,  
That it may Tribute take, of what the East,  
Shall ever send in Traffic to the West.  
Advance Great Sir, still let your Fame be spread,  
As for as where the Morning Clouds look red:  
Go on, go on, let lofty Lewis feel,  
The mighty Force of thy revenging Steel,  
Make, make, his Flowers fade and Courage reel;  
Nay reel he must at last, and tumble down,  
France is thy Right, he shall resign his Crown  
To you (Illustrious Sir) you shall enjoy your own.  
'Tis not the Tide of many reeling Years,  
Can wash the Fields of Gossey and Poitiers;  
A conscious Horror strikes their Bosoms still,  
When they survey that famous fatal Hill,  
Where our third Edward's Host Spectators stood,  
Wading to Honour 'bove the Knees in Blood,  
And left the Prince to make the Conquest good.  
Where will they sculk when they the Banners view  
Of a Third Edward, and a William too?  
O what can't England do if she awake!  
Give Laws to Europe, and make Empires shake;  
Keep Mistress of the undisputed Main,  
And hold the Balance just 'twixt France and Spain;  
And once more make her useless Cannons roar,  
Through both the Indies, and bring back their Oar;  
Search out new Worlds, and conquer old ones too,  
Bomb Mexico and subjugate Peru.  
Beard the Proud Sophy and the Grand Mogul,  
These are the Rays would make thy Glories full.  
What tho' the Spaniards have surrendered Mons,  
And left it unto the Tyrant of France,  
'Twas 'cause they wanted Thee for their Defence.  
For doubtless had you but near them advanced,  
You'd made them all tothth' Tune of Teague to dance,  
And back again in haste return to France.  
But this will no ways slain thy Matchless Glory,  
Thy Name shall still be Crowned in English Story;  
For we're Resolved (Great Sir) to reunite,  
And with our Lives and Fortunes pay their spite.  
Come, come, you Foolish jacobitish Crew,  
Lay by your Malice, lest there worse ensue:  
Oh! never Plot against your Prince and State,  
Lest Vengeance fell repay it on your Pate;  
No never think that God will suffer such,  
His Dear ANOINTED ever for to touch:  
Leave off, leave off, your Dagon cannot stand,  
Whilst the Blessed ARK remains within our Land;  
Join, join with us, for God is on our side,  
Even so shall Blessings still to you betid;  
Yet know proud Foes, if you do this disdain,  
We will e'er long your Pride and Glory slain,  
For we're Resolved advancc Great Williams Fame.  
Sure Heaven has thee designed to wound the Whore,  
To tear her Flesh, and lay her in her Gore;  
To ruin Rome, the Pope to undermine,  
And work his fatal Downfall in due time.  
Jehovah Spirit Thee for thy Great Work,  
Make Thee a Terror unto Pope and Turk:  
So by you then shall Tyrants be undone,  
And all the force of Hell and Rome or'thrown.  
When God appointed Kings with his own Voice,  
And joyful People blest him for the Choice;  
Then Kingly Virtues set the Monarch forth,  
And not Succession Crowned him, but his Worth.  
Such is thy fate blessed Isle, and may'st thou be,  
A Blessing to thy King as He's to Thee:  
Thou never were't so happy yet till now,  
Blest with a King, before whose Feet shall bow  
All those that hate Thee, and the Truths of God,  
If they'll not kiss the Son, shall feel the Rod.  
Too boldly (Awful Monarch) am I gone,  
Through all your Guards, to gaze about your Throne;  
Yet 'tis the use of Greatness to excufe,  
The daring Progress of the Sacred Muse:  
She taught the Lover, Love; the Warrior, War;  
And is the Guide when Honour would go far.  
Heroic Prince, may still thy Acts and Name,  
Become the Wonder, and Discourse of Fame;  
May every Laurel, every Myrtle Bough  
Be stripped, for Wreaths t'adorn, and load thy Brow;  
Triumphant Wreaths, which 'cause they never fade,  
Wise elder times, for Kings and Poets made;  
Let me deserve a little sprig of Bay,  
To wear Great Sir, on your blessed Holiday.  
Stay, speak (O Fame!) what Triumph thou wouldst sound;  
In all thy boasted Flights, thou scarce hast found  
One Theme like mine. Ascend and straight disperse,  
(As far as ever thou wert led by Verse,  
Or Light e'er flew) my Sov'reigns full Renown,  
Then rest thy Wings, and lay thy Trumpet down.  
Now Thanks to Heaven, that did our King Protect,  
And him in all his Councils did Direct;  
Gave Laws to Winds, and made the Seas obey,  
And safely home our Sovereign Lord Convey:  
Thanks to those Barks, that brought his Person o'er,  
From the fair Belgic, to the British Shoar,  
Let Heavens Prosper them with Blessing's store.  
May Heavens still Protect your Majesty,  
And Crown you with Success, by Land and Sea;  
And after Death with Immortality.  
FINIS.   

A Catalogue of Books, Printed for, and sold by T. Jones, at the White Horse, without Temple-Bar.  
A Dialogue between two Oxon Scholars, 4 to.  
A Dialogue between the Confederate Princes, etc. Concerning the Present Affairs of Europe.  
In the Press, and will be Published this Easter Term, A Choice Collection of AIRS, for two and three Treble Flutes, Composed by the best Masters of Music, and all Engraved upon Copper Plates, price, 2 s. 6. d.