A POEM UPON His Highness the Prince of Orange's Expedition into England.  By J. D. 
Nunc gratae siquando Mihi, nunc ludite Musae.  

I Never thought to see the well got Fame,  
Can my Plaindealing-Muse provoke to Praise;  
Or that a Man's Deserts should place His Name  
Above the reach of Flattery to raise:   

[2]  
And yet His Character most beauteous shows,  
Writ by the most severe Philosophers,  
And naked Truth by his Assistance grows  
Now first, a Subject high enough for Verse.   

[3]  
What the best Fawning Poets of the Age,  
Falsely ascribed to others, is his Due:  
Too soon they did their Flattery engage,  
Had it been kept till now, it had been true.   

[4]  
You that would Heroes write, and yet write Sense,  
Judiciously observe this Great Good Man:  
He'll teach you more and juster Excellence,  
Then past Examples, or Invention Can.   

[5]  
(Though Painters from Licentious Fancy take  
Monsters and Bulky Giants at command;  
Yet when a perfect Beauty they would make,  
They copy the best Works of Nature's Hand)   

[6]  
He'll show you mighty Power little used,  
Yet Vast Affairs by his Direction move;  
Holland with name of Liberty abused,  
While Ruled by Him with most Tyrannic Love.   

[7]  
Riches well spent in Great and Virtuous Deeds;  
A Life from Pride and Luxury more free  
Than Rigid Anchorets' Affected Weeds,  
Or all the Sons of Rome sworn Poverty.   

[8]  
Religious Wisdom's  diffusive Beams,  
That like the Sun shine most for others Good:  
Worth joined with such Humility, it seems  
The only thing by Him not understood.   

[9]  
Justice as sure and equal as the Grave,  
His Character, this side alone is blind:  
Men He so well discerns, one would believe  
He could their Thoughts by Intuition find.   

[10]  
Mercy so great, so much without a Cause,  
It almost looks like want of Memory;  
And did He not submit it to the Laws,  
By consequence would turn to Cruelty.   

[11]  
Grecian and Roman Grandeur in Him meet,  
He scorns Barbarian Asiatic State:  
Chooses to be so, rather than look Great,  
Virtue within, than Princes at His Gate.   

[12]  
Cool Courage never heard before 'tis seen,  
As his deep Councils first in Fact appear;  
So wondrous Swift has our deliverance been,  
We scarce had time to Hope, nor Rome to Fear.   

[13]  
With Curses as She came our Land to load,  
She saw the Riches and the Promised Pay;  
But not so soon as the dull Ass 
† The same that lent the Lion his Tail, to help him out of the pit. See the Fable.  She road  
The Mighty Guardian Angel in the way.   

[14]  
The sullen Beast stood still, nor valued 
* High Commission Court. turning out of Commission, Liberty of Conscience, Indictments, etc.  Blows,  
But Bravely he resolved to do no more:  
Both saw and spoke the Danger at his Nose,  
The Brute ne'er showed his Parts so much before.   

[15]  
What the lewd Counsels of State-spoiling Knaves,  
The Industry of self-destroying Fools,  
United Kings, Priests-Heads, and Hands of Slaves,  
With all inferior necessary Tools.   

[16]  
What Breach of Laws and Faith, a well-timed Plot,  
(That base Pretence for useful Cruelty,)  
Rebellion sent for, the wished 
* The D. of M.  Victim got,  
A Gown that taught, or Sword forced Slavery.   

[17]  
What all these (helped by self-betraying Fears,  
And grown resistless by our strong Despair,)  
Had scarcely formed in many tedious Years,  
How soon He broke and scattered into Air?   

[18]  
When noxious Infects covered all our Land,  
And the 〈◊〉 Palace lest of all was free,  
A g Wind arose at his Command,  
That wept them in, or else beyond the Sea.   

[19]  
Religion lists her long dejected Head,  
Killed Laws revive, and Love deposeth Fear:  
So when all Nature's in appearance dead,  
The Sun recalls the Beauties of the Year.   

[20]  
Minding no Ends, but God and Nature's Cause,  
Calm, and Resolved, He utmost hazard runs;  
But Triumph hates and Popular Applause,  
And more the Honour than the danger shuns.   

[21]  
Though Fortune Crown his Actions with Success,  
To Us, not him are all her Favours shown;  
In vain does she attempt the Man to bless;  
Who makes all other Wrongs so much his own.   

[22]  
His Altars all unjustly-wretched choose,  
To his vast Goodness as the Ocean Flow,  
Where Floods of Tears and Miseries they lose,  
Remember not the past, nor Future know.   

[23]  
He owns, and all his public Acts evince,  
Empire's true ends by him are understood,  
Not the Wild Lust and Pleasure of the Prince;  
But pure Religion and the People's good.   

[24]  
Spain his Old Enemy does now confess,  
To him she ill-deserved safety owes;  
Sings unfeigned Praises for his Arms Success,  
And Zealous for the Reformation grows.   

[25]  
Now France that Scourge of God has taught the Age,  
Our Hero it's true Interest to know,  
He checks the haughty Monsieurs swelling Rage;  
Just hither and no farther shalt thou go.   

[26]  
In vain did wisest Belgian Statesmen try,  
Without Him to support their tottering States;  
That Deed was Praelude to a Work more high,  
Now the same Artist's hand all Europe waits.   

[27]  
The two great Rival Navies by him joined,  
Their Canvas Wings the Globe shall spread around;  
Heap Wealth from every Tributary Wind,  
Awe the whole Earth, make widest Seas their SOUND.   

[28]  
Our British Lions, now they Him obey,  
Once more shall stalk through France with Furious state:  
While led with Hopes to share the noble Prey,  
Hungry Imperial Eagles on 'em wait.   

[29]  
Who don't confess him KING, although he hath  
Such Works, such Proofs of destined Empire seen;  
To strength of Education owes His Faith,  
Had He seen Christ, he'd not a Christian been.   

[30]  
What shall we do, or how shall we contrive,  
To Him but Common Gratitude to show?  
When, though we both ourselves and Kingdoms give,  
That and much more's our Interest to do.   

[31]  
His Virtue is its own and best Reward,  
So helps the weak Attempts of grateful Minds;  
As when Man's willing, but the Task's too hard,  
He supernatural Assistance finds.    

LONDON, Printed for G. C. and Published by R. Baldwin, near the Black Bull in the Old Bailie, 168●.