PAX REDUX: A PINDARIC ODE ON THE Return of His MAJESTY, AND THE Happy Conclusion OF THE PEACE.  
BY SAMUEL COBB.  
Clauduntur Belli portae. Furor impius intus  
Saeva sedens super arma, & centum vinctus ahenis  
Post tergum nodis, fremet horridus ore cruento.  Virg. Aeneid. Lib. I. 
LONDON, Printed for E. Whitlock near Stationers-Hall, 1697.   

PAX REDUX: A PINDARIC ODE ON THE Return of His MAJESTY, and the happy Conclusion of the PEACE.  

I.  
NOW may the gentle Muse securely come  
From long Exile, and her known Bard inspire:  
'Tis just to tune the Peaceful Lyre,  
When Warlike Harmony is dumb.  
Cease, Sacred Goddess, to deplore  
Th' injurious Malice of a tedious War:  
No more its noisy Thunder dread:  
It's impious Lightning shall no more  
Blast the chaste Laurel on thy Head.  
No Mother now shall beat her Breast, and tear  
Her hoary injured Hair;  
Nor shall the Maid with Female cries,  
For her lost Lover, wound the suffering Air,  
Or thicken it with Sighs.   

II.  
WAR, cursed by Parents, leaves the Tented Field,  
Unbuckles his bright Helmet, and, to rest  
His weary Limbs, sits on his idle Shield,  
With Scars of Honour ploughed upon his Breast:  
Sternly he looks behind, and in amaze  
Starts, when he views the Shining Bands  
Of PEACE with Olive in their hands;  
He scours along the Plain to shun their kill Blaze,  
That Angel, whose great Charge it is to keep  
Poor, Thinking Matter from the Cruelties of Hell,  
Darts the cursed Fiend down to his Native Deep;  
Down the dark Hills he falls, unfathomably steep,  
A long Eternity to dwell.  
There gashed with Wounds of Glory to retire:  
For though the Fury takes delight  
In Anger, Thunder, and in Fire,  
PEACE Stabs him with a Smile, and Smothers him with Light.   

III.  
Wondrous! what something more than Great  
Is this, that seems to animate  
The very Soul, and spread  
Its gathering Offspring o'er Man's curious World, the Head?  
Deep Mystery! Lo, from its seeds arise  
Gigantic sense, whose Language flies  
High as the Top of Heaven, and shines above the Skies.  
When Thou, whate'er Thou art, such Notions didst infuse,  
Sure the wise Heathens did thy Name abuse,  
To put Thee off with that mean Title of a MUSE.  
'Tis true, that when they saw thy Powers Divine  
So variously dispersed, so prodigally Shine,  
They thought Thee more than One, and split Thee into Nine.  
Each individual Part of thy vast Influence,  
May warm an incapacious Soul to Sense,  
Enough to list his Shining Name  
In the second Roll of Fame:  
But here must all thy Army throng,  
Here thy Collected Self must meet to frame  
The brave Pindaric Song.   

IV.  
Come then, with all thy Trappings, all thy Train  
Of Raptures, and of Ecstasies,  
Of Figures, and of Mysteries  
Concealed from vulgar Eyes:  
Come, and thy Priest ordain  
To touch thy fires, and talk in thy Majestic Strain  
Say whom of all th' Heroic Race  
Wilt Thou with Pelides place?  
Whose established Victories rehearse?  
To whose immortal Fame  
Wilt Thou erect a Temple, and engrave his NAME  
On massy Monuments of Verse?  
Of all the famed NASSOVIAN Line  
(That is, of all the Godlike and Divine)  
None equal to Great WILLIAM shine.  
God's chief Vicegerent, who by Secret Springs would show  
How he should scourge the boldest Foe,  
Commission'd, like a Moses, to release  
Thee, England, from thy tedious Nine Years Miseries,  
And soothe the Rebel World with the sweet charms of Peace.  
How he persuades the moody People to prevent  
Their future and tremendous Punishment,  
E'er the Last Plague, to slay their First born Male, be sent!  
For though He's gentle as the softest Muse,  
And more unharmful than a galless Dove;  
Yet none but sturdy Tyrants he subdues,  
And wins the Suppliant with Love.  
So Heavenly Lightning does its force conceal,  
It's Virtue, hardest Matters feel,  
It spares the Scabbard while it melts the Steel.   

V.  
'Tis sweet, past labours to renew,  
And in the Memory repeat  
What to the Eye was formidably Great,  
To think how WILLIAM, like an Eagle, flew,  
And in his Talons grasped whate'er did lie  
Within the Compass of his Eye.  
How would he sometimes like a Whirlwind, play,  
And sweep whole Groves of Men away!  
Sometimes, like Hannibal, o'er rugged Hills he passed,  
His glorious way o'er Alps of slain he led,  
O'er Mountains, which himself had cast,  
And clomb the Pyreneans of the Dead.  
Sometimes he flowed like the luxuriant Main  
That with impetuous Tide,  
Immeasurably deep and wide,  
Stretches his liquid Volumes o'er the deluged Plain.  
Yet though this wondrous Ocean can display  
His Conquests to the Cradle of the Day;  
Though when he pleases to be great,  
He shoulders Kingdoms from their Seat:  
Though other Nations he deface,  
He clasps fair Albion with a kind embrace,  
And with encircling arms defends her Generous Race.   

VI  
The Venerable Thunderer of old  
Left his Olympian Seat,  
(When he intended to behold  
Important Battles, or dispose  
The balanced Fate of Kings,) and chose  
Thee, Springy Ida, for his blessed Retreat.  
Though the capacious Worlds above  
Were all too narrow for extended Jove,  
Cooped in this inch of Land  
The crowded Immortality would stand,  
Here, on the Grand Concerns of Fate,  
The stinted Godhead to debate  
Himself a Consistory sat.   

VII.  
Nor can the straits of the commanded Main,  
Nor can this Handful of a World contain  
WILLIAM's immortal Soul,  
That moves this Lump, like Jove, and mingles with the Whole;  
Yet Britain is his Dwelling: Here his Chariot's placed,  
Here are his Altars, and his Temples raised.  
Fair Brittany! the beauteous Eye  
That does the Globe with Light supply:  
The Head, where William takes delight  
To teach the Belgic Hands to fight,  
And gallic Feet to fly.   

VIII.  
O Glory! how he rears his lofty Head  
Above the fabled Monarches of the Sky,  
The Counterfeit of an ill fashioned Deity:  
The gilded Titles of the Flattered Dead,  
Whom Poets, when they lacked a God, would frame,  
Besaint some Emperor's anointed Name,  
Embalm his worth, and canonize his fame.  
But Britain's King laughs at the gaudy show;  
The glorious Offspring of the Famed NASSAWS  
Scorns all the Voices and Applause,  
But that which Gods and Heaven bestow.  
Whence from Thrones of solid Gold  
His Smiling Ancestors behold  
His glorious Toils below.  
Thus they Triumphant grew,  
Thus they did equal steps pursue,  
Till up to lofty Honour's Airy Top they flew.  
Unchristian Kings with whom they did engage,  
And Turkish Captains wept their rage.  
While the soft Feathers of the downy Snow  
Served for a Bed and Pillow too.  
In cold, in fields, in frost they often lay,  
And long to Heaven beat out their stubborn way,  
And long they drudged, and laboured for the Glorious Day.   

IX.  
William alone was left behind  
To bless the rest of Human kind:  
His budding Years with ripened Valour shone,  
He had his Father's Virtues, and his Own.  
When in his Cradle the blessed Infant lay,  
And sacred Smiles omened th' Auspicious Day,  
Which to th' astonished World should a Nassaw convey.  
Nature, and Michael noblest of th' Angelic Kind,  
Did their united Forces join  
In composition of his Mind  
To make it almost perfect, and almost divine.   

X.  
As when some Pilot would new Worlds explore,  
He searches every Land and Shore,  
And to his Chard would add some Port unknown before.  
He strikes his untired Bark o'er Indian Waves,  
Where with rich Sand th' exundant Rivers flow,  
Where Pearls from ripened Dew-drops grow,  
And yellow Metal Suns the hollow Caves:  
Or else his Keel the wintry foam does sweep,  
Where Cold benumbs the Horrid Deep.  
Fain would he cross the Frozen Sea,  
Touch the last Minute of the last Degree:  
So Nature, when she framed him, was at vast expense  
To find out a new World of Sense.  
Her purest Notions in his Head she blew,  
Her best Ingredients on his Heart she threw:  
But when at last she could no farther go,  
When she had gave him Reason, Sense and Thought,  
And was to her last Thule brought,  
She pined, because her Map could no fresh Notions show.   

XI.  
Michael, (for Angels often come on Earth,  
Are often buisy at a Heroe's Birth)  
Took the Fine Piece, by heavens Command,  
Which Nature with imperfect Art had dressed,  
And with a well-directed Hand  
He pencilled out the rest.  
Strong his expression, and his style divine,  
Eternal Sense was couched in every Line:  
No rough, ill shaded stroke did sully the Design.  
Religion in the Centre of his Heart he drew,  
(His Heart was tempered with Celestial Dew)  
Whilst Valour, Bravery around her placed,  
Like Guards, the lovely Virgin graced.  
Then all the Virtues in just order ran,  
Then all the parts began  
To fashion out the finished Man.   

XII.  
Wise Nature did astonished look,  
Such steps and strides his thriving Courage took,  
And all her lazy Rules forsaken.  
Maturely Valiant in his Infancy,  
He left behind the common span,  
Out-leaped the vulgar bounds of Man,  
Broke from the crackling shell, and straight began to fly.  
So Unaccountable Eternity above  
With no respect to time does in a constant Circle move.  
E'er Age had breathed upon his Wings, he flew,  
And vastly, very vastly grew.  
Strange, and to all the Calendars of Time unknown!  
For e'er the circling and laborious Sun  
Had measured twice five years, he run  
The Race of Alexander, and began his Own.   

XIII.  
His Own was wonderful and great,  
At Mons he ran upon the mouth of Fate,  
And from War's Deluge saved a sinking State.  
In Him, as in the Heaven commanded Ark,  
The Families of Holland did embark.  
How did They meet Him with exalted praise?  
What Eulogies they sung? What Statues did they raise?  
But yet they could not think Him fit  
At the grave Council-board to sit,  
Imputing Courage to a Youthful heat.  
But when they read the Volumes of his Mind,  
(Vast Tomes!) and Searched the Closets of his Brain,  
What endless Sums of Wisdom did they find?  
What untouched Heaps of Prudence did his Head contain?  
The bearded Seniors wondered to behold  
A Prince, who had few Summers told,  
Young without rashness, without dotage Old.   

XIV.  
To wait on his green fame, with a becoming Pride,  
Holland's foreseeing Doctors did aspire,  
(Who with much toil and sweat acquire,  
What niggard Nature has denied.)  
These the misjudging World his Master's thought,  
But they knew better, and with justice styled  
Themselves the Scholars to the Royal Child,  
Ambitious not to teach, but to be taught.  
For though no Venerable strokes were seen  
To Silver his white Temples, or adorn his Chin,  
His Tokens of Experience lay within.  
Whether his pre-existing Soul  
By his blessed Ancestors above was taught,  
From whence his Sacred Schemes were brought  
To model Kingdoms, and the World control.  
Or whether he, like Adam, at a view  
The Universe and Nature knew.  
His Learning was more perfect and divine,  
How faithfully, how strongly was it knit!  
The Tempter viewed and envied it,  
He saw the Sceptred Knowledge with the Mitred join.   

XV.  
So, blessed Religion, teach us to adore,  
Like Him, thy Venerable Power;  
Direct our erring Feet, and we shall ask no more:  
In vain we tempt Thee with a daring Flight,  
Thy Streams overflow our violated sight,  
And drown our watering Eyes with floods of glaring Light.  
The Plummet and the Line of Reason are too weak  
To fathom the deep bottom of thy Rays:  
The Plummet will dissolve away,  
And the scorched Line will break  
At thy mysterious blaze,  
In such a burning Sea of Day.   

XVI.  
IO, Triumphant William, come,  
Supported on the downy wings of PEACE,  
Bid the loud Thunder of the Drum  
And the shrill Trumpet cease.  
O War, be still, and ye rough People sleep,  
Lay your stripped Arms upon the Floor,  
Thee, Mars, a hundred Chains shall keep,  
William shall lock the Brazen Door,  
And let the rattling hinges creak no more  
To fright the Sailor on the Deep,  
Or echo on the Shore.  
O'er silent Armour shall yoked Fury sit,  
Steel Fetters on her hands, and Shackles on her Feet:  
No more let loose through the tamed World to roam;  
How will the cruel Goddess spit,  
And from her Bloody Nostrils snort the scattered foam.   

XVII.  
War, like a Rain, has only laid the Pride  
Of mortal Dust, until the Sun appear,  
And bring his cheerful Army on our side,  
PEACE Marching in the Front, and PLENTY in the Rear▪  
Plenty, which like a slighted Mistress lay  
Forsaken long, and shut from every Door,  
Returns at last more beautiful and gay,  
Like Jove, descending in a Golden Shower.  
Absence alone enhanceth much the Price  
Of Things, which present we despise.  
Hence, Evil Fate, with all thy hated Train,  
No more to curse our Sacred Isle again.  
To distant barren Climes let Want repair,  
Nor longer hover in the British Air,  
But in some Desert soil  
Build her cursed Nest, and damn th'unthriving Ploughman's toil.  
Safe shall the Merchant travel on the Deep,  
All the wide Ocean shall one Harbour be,  
Each Ship, a Warehouse, it's own wealth shall keep,  
Safe as the first brave Man's who tried the Sea,  
When God himself engaged for his Security.  
But though our swelling Flood is past,  
Another, yet a milder, Deluge grows,  
While Heaven is doubly kind at last,  
And only now in Goodness overflows.   

XVIII.  
Breath, ye soft Zephyrs, on the sailing Fleet,  
And waft it gently to the gainful shore,  
Whose Cannon, hostile now no more,  
In harmless Thunder shall its welcome greet.  
And, while their Keels the foamy wave shall plow,  
The Voices of the Multitude combined  
Shall form a favourable Wind,  
And smooth the surly Ocean's Brow.  
The bridled North no more shall scour the Main,  
No more shall battle in th' afflicted Air,  
While British Trees move on the Liquid Plain,  
And in their bellies the World's Treasure bear.  
They come; I see the sails of hollowed Oaks  
Wave their Red Crosses o'er the furrowed Seas,  
A gentle Gale their swelling wings provokes,  
And curls the surface of the watery Wilderness.  
Lo! on the back of subject Thames they ride,  
Some clotted Gold in yellow Vomits pour,  
Some disembogue the Silver o'er,  
Some born upon a prosperous Tide  
With Ceilon spices load the wealthy shore,  
And Persian Silks t' adorn the beauteous Lady's Pride.   

XIX.  
But where, O where, shall our desiring Eye  
Behold the noble animating Fleet?  
Hence, inauspicious Clouds, and clear the smiling Sky  
To let it pass securely by  
'Tis stored with Man's chief blessing Wine and Wit,  
Let no unthinking Tempest toss or justle it.  
Fair God of Light shine on the way, and be  
A Taper to direct it o'er the Sea:  
On the Fair Pomp Thou art obliged to wait;  
For though Thou didst the Grape create,  
The Grape inspired the Bard, and he created Thee;  
To build a Poet, Noble and Divine,  
Nature and Love at first did join:  
Nature the Basis laid, and Love  
The stately Fabric did improve;  
But none could raise the Spire without the help of Wine.   

XX.  
And now be happy, Everlasting Isle,  
When other Kingdoms round thee shall expire,  
Devoured by the last Universal Fire.  
Rise thou above the Top, and Crown the Funeral Pile;  
Or else (for 'tis a pity Thou shouldst fall)  
Be changed, as than our Bodies shall.  
May Jove translate Thee to some happy Walk,  
Strew sweet unfading Roses on the Ground,  
The best that can in Heaven be found:  
Worthy where Gods may tread, where tuneful Saints may Talk:  
Thee, Chemic Angels shall refine  
To the pure Sterling of fair Eden's Coin;  
Lop Thee, and prune Thee so,  
Till Canonised Thou shalt a Garden grow,  
And with Immortal harmless Apples shine.  
There shall brave William and Achilles sit  
Under thy Golden Shade,  
For none but Warlike Heroes made,  
Their Bloody Labours to repeat:  
There shall he tastful Manna eat;  
There shall He reap the Harvest of Eternity:  
Eternity! his just reward,  
Not owing to the dreaming Bard,  
But gained by works of Arms and solid Piety.   
FINIS.