BRITAIN'S JUBILEE.  
A Congratulatory Poem on the Descent of His Highness the Prince of Orange into England; and Their Highness' Accession to the Crown; and Solemn Coronation April 11. 1689.  

(1)  
AM I awake, or in a dream?  
Are all Ideas real as they seem?  
If so; from whence the change? what mighty voice  
Could still the dreadful Hurricans loud noise,  
And calm the raging Billows of the Sea?  
Who could he be,  
Who with a look, who with a frown could tame  
Th'unruly Main,  
And with a smile bring back our Peace again,  
Making our shipwrackt State redound unto our gain?   

(2)  
'Twas but th'other day that all our Hopes were fled,  
By unruly Fear misled.  
Grief drew his aged Furrows on our Brow,  
And Joy almost we bid adieu:  
When lo a Divine Whisper comfort spoke,  
And bid us look above, the day was broke.  
Scarce did we hear it, when the illustrious Rays  
Of a bright Rising Sun  
Upon our long benighted Horizon,  
Broke open all our Eyes with great amaze.  
But still so dull and feeble is our sight,  
Used so long to the dark shades of Night,  
That we're not able to behold this bright  
And glorious Light.   

(3)  
But now the Sun is up, the Clouds are gone;  
The frightful Meteors fled, which lately shone;  
The cheerful Birds do chant upon the wing,  
And morning Larks salute the welcome Spring.  
Even Kites and Crows do smile to see  
Th'weather fair to be.  
All but the dismal Owls, do sing and play,  
And welcome in the Spring and Day.   

(4)  
Shall every one his Joys than rehearse  
In Prose or Verse?  
Shall every Poetaster try  
To write, and shall not I?  
Shall the Pindaric Swan be only found  
To give no grateful sound?  
Shall not our Hero be by her renowned?  
No, no, Great Prince, if none be found but I, to claim  
Th' honour of that Name,  
Your deeds shall ever live i'th'book of fairest Fame.  
And though, 'tis like, I seem obscure and low;  
Yet know,  
'Tis not th'deepest flood that with most noise doth flow.  
Howe'er, th' Ocean never doth upbraid  
Th'smallest Tribute that by Brooks is paid.  
What then, although obscure I be?  
Such different Notes, it is, makes all our harmony.   

(5)  
Long had our Isle put on  
The mourning Veil of Grief;  
And hopeless of Relief,  
Forgot almost her Name of Albion.  
Black midnight deeds each place did fill,  
And mischief did distil  
Down from the Throne on all that sat below,  
And Justice and Religion both did overthrow.  
Th' Atheist, Debauchee, and Sycophant,  
Then to themselves did all their wishes grant;  
Whilst sober virtuous Souls did groan  
Under most sad oppression,  
Whilst few so much as did their case bemoan.  
Th' Orphan's case, the Widows cries and tears  
Did pierce our hearts, our eyes and ears,  
Each Object helping to augment our fears.   

(6)  
The varnished pretence of Liberty,  
Though specious to the vulgar Eye,  
Proved but a veil, transparent, and too thin  
To hide the movement and the spring;  
We see the wheels and all their motions within.  
We see the hook through all the garnished bait:  
But here did seem to lie our fate;  
We knew not how to shun what did for us await.  
For lo, t' complete our Misery,  
And give the fatal blow to Law and Liberty,  
Religion and Property;  
A lusty Babe doth suddendly creep out;  
But whatsoever way he's Born,  
Though equally our Grief and Scorn,  
He is a Noble Prince of Wales no doubt.  
Thus Popery, being on the Throne, it's will the Law,  
All thinking Men the Consequences saw.   

(7)  
The generous Dutch did soon perceive our case,  
And did the Motion of the Prince embrace,  
With greatest Charge and greatest Care,  
Their Land and Naval Force they do prepare,  
And nothing needful spare.  
Unto Religion's success they postpone  
That of their own,  
Resolved either all to lose, or that to carry on.   

(8)  
Thus aided, does our Noble Prince Embark,  
With all his generous Train,  
But hark!  
The swelling and unstable Main,  
Proud of th' Glorious Load  
Which on its rough-hewed Surface r●●●  
Engaged them in a Fight with Wind and Wave before,  
And drove them back again unto the Belgic Shore.   

(9)  
This might have dampt, even gallant Souls, to be  
By Providence thus crossed,  
As a Presage of their being lost;  
But our brave thinking Hero further in it see  
He in it see and understood  
As a blessed Omen for his good,  
That this would but increase th' haughty Pride  
Of the opposing Side,  
As a sure Prelude of their fall;  
He in it see the Divine Jonathan's Call.  
Th' Enemy's Pride, Come o'er to us, did say;  
He see it was God's Call, and did obey   

(10)  
His floating Castle he again does enter;  
And who would fear with him to venture  
In whom th' Protestants Hopes and Prayers all do cen●er?  
Now, now, at length, the Sign is given  
Of Victory from Heaven.  
The Wind stands East, and whistling fills the Sail,  
The Fishes play, and Waves do smile to see them sail.  
In State they through the Channel thus do ride,  
Gladding th' one, frighting th' other side;  
Till in glad Tor-bay's bosom they do rest,  
Causing a dayspring in the long benighted West.  
And when the Sun doth in the West arise,  
No wonder, if we're seized with surprise.   

(11)  
Now Exeter doth joyful open her Gates;  
Each other City the same fate awaits.  
All strive to harbour him, who s labouring Breast  
Extensive is for all our hopes to rest.  
Hell only and its Darkness strive t' oppose  
Th' Light which now arose.  
Sarum's wide Plain is chosen for the Fight,  
Where all prepare for to behold the sight.  
But when th' heavens for one Side give assent,  
Who needs to fear th' event?   

(12)  
Come on, Brave Prince, dispel the cloudy Night,  
By the approach of Day, and Light  
Thy Sunlike virtue doth diffuse each where,  
And each Heart is its medium free as Air  
Thou need not fear that State can thee oppose,  
For whose help thou so seasonably rose.  
Thou need not fear that Church a Church can be,  
Who shall oppose their God and thee.  
Thou need not fear that Soldiers can pretend  
To bear that name, and not become thy friend.  
When hearts fly open, all things else do yield,  
Th' enclosures all are broke, and do become one field,  
What need we tell, who then unto the came?  
Since even all absent did the same.   

(13)  
Now into London thou directs thy Face  
That else unhappy place.  
London of blood the destined Stage;  
London of Rogues become th' Cage;  
London full of Villains, Tories,  
London filled with Lies and Stories.  
But lo, to it as thou approaches nigh,  
Hurries cease and Rogues do fly;  
Villains hence do run their race;  
Truth succeeds in Errors place;  
Griefs and Fears do fly away;  
And Joys and Comforts in their room do stay.   

(14)  
The Nobles now consult, and meet,  
How best they may our happiness complete.  
But what, alase! is left for them to do,  
Except more fully us to show,  
What God already does declare,  
That the Fair Virtuous Pair  
Are Britain's true undoubted heir?  
Old Saul already forfeited his place;  
But, blessed be God, we need not seek  
A David from amongst the Sheep,  
We have one still left of the Royal Race,   

(15)  
We have a David, whom loud Fame does Crown  
With highest Titles of Renown.  
In whom all Grace's centre, and do meet,  
And all the Virtues make complete.  
Who Virtues race hath equally begun  
With that of days and years to run.  
We have a comely Michal sweet and fair,  
In Beauty chief, in Virtue rare,  
Adorned with each lovely Grace  
And all as charming as her Face.  
Who though she might a snare by Saul be given,  
Yet is to David and to us a sacred gift from Heaven.   

(16)  
Lo now the longed for day is come,  
The fame whereof is loudly rung;  
Lo, lo, the Music sweet almost my Muse strikes dumb.  
See, the Nobles passing by,  
See, the glorious Company,  
See, what Crowds are looking on,  
See, what State attends th' throne,  
But what of all this glorious show  
Is th' centre of each eye,  
As of all hearts it was long, long ago,  
See 'tis th' glorious Pair draws nigh.   

(17)  
But why do we thus look and gaze,  
On Shadowy grandeur far below your praise?  
Could we but the Scales dispel,  
From the Eye and from the Ear,  
The Scales which hinder Spirits to be visible,  
Another sight would soon appear.  
Lo, lo, how the Angels come,  
Bright and flaming as the Sun.  
Lo, their Trains I do espy  
Hovering through th' smiling Sky.  
Their length from heaven to earth doth reach,  
And yet an Army each.  
Robes of purest light they wear;  
A Starry Crown their hands do bear.  
A Sceptre, not of Gold, but Golden righteousness,  
Made to grow and to increase.  
Instead of Oil, they heavenly Nectar shed  
Upon your Sacred Head.  
Lo how gently down it flows,  
Smelling sweeter than the Rose;  
Lo, it trickling doth distil,  
And every Soul with fragrant Odour fill.   

(18)  
Arise, young Hero, from thy Throne,  
Thy Robes lay by, thy Sword gird on,  
Wars Rumours call thee to be gone.  
But fearless go, for Angels guard thy way,  
And every Saint does for thy Success pray.  
The Footstep of thy great Ancestors Trace  
In their Illustrious Race.  
Illustrious all; but far too short they be  
Compared, Great Prince, with thee.  
For all the Virtues, wherein each excel,  
In thee alone concentre, and united dwell.   

(19)  
Thy Ancient Scotland doth prepare,  
With greatest love and greatest care,  
To fix thy Sceptre there.  
Religion's interest and that of Thine,  
Which are indeed the same,  
Do equally there now begin to shine.  
And who can else that Country claim?  
'Tis thou, that from oppressions rage,  
Whereof it was of late the dismal stage,  
Hast rescued all its Laws, Religion, Liberty,  
Which shackled were before, and ready to expire and die.   

(20)  
Poor mad-brained Ireland dreams it can withstand,  
Alone, that conquering hand;  
Which every where victorious doth prove  
By force, if not before by love.  
Arise, Great Prince, here is a second step  
Another victory to get;  
A victory not of Hearts, but cruel Foes,  
Who God and thee do equally oppose.  
That cursed Canaanitish Crew,  
Let's seriously but view,  
And sure we must confess,  
A fatal instinct doth their mind possess.  
God doth them for the slaughter-house prepare,  
That Israel may inhabit there.  
Long have they Pricks and Thorns to us been,  
As at all times we've seen.  
Wherefore let not a cruel mercy spare  
One Agag there,  
Which after may draw curses on us from our Heir.  
But if a Gibeonite we save,  
Forever let him be the Church and Country's Slave.   

(21)  
This is not all, a higher step remains,  
Which fully will reward the pains.  
France calls thee o'er, Great Prince, and groans to see  
Itself a Slave, and us at Liberty.  
That Foe to God and Man, doth by his actions call  
Aloud for vengeance for his fall.  
His cup grows full, and the Almighty God  
Doth seem to call thee forth to burn th' rod.  
Thy old Possession, Orange, basely snatched away:  
This seems to say;  
Thy new acquired Title points thee out the way,  
And all th' Oppressed and Martyrs for it pray;  
Turn thy just Claim into Possession,  
Justice, as well as Mercy, bids thee take thy own.   

(22)  
Go on, Brave Prince, thy after days are all serene,  
And Summer will succeed a Winter's Scene.  
To tottering Rome thy arms extend,  
And bring that Sodom to an end.  
It's end draws on apace, and we await,  
To see its long expected Fate.  
Already sure its ruin were begun,  
If Protestants should once as one become.  
And ne'er more hopeful this did seem to be,  
Since now we're all as one in thee.  
We'll march with thee, where e'er thou shalt command;  
To any place, to any Land,  
From utmost India, to th' American Sand.  
Let thy just Arms ever but pursue  
The Babylonish Crew,  
And sure God then will fight for you.  
With cursed Am'lek wage perpetual War,  
Until at length thou prove the Morning Star;  
To usher in the glorious promised Reign  
Of Christ, till he do come again.  
Then shall thy Name endure, and ever fragrant be,  
Till Time yields up That Trust to blessed Eternity.   
FINIS.   

London. Published by Randal Tailor near Stationers-Hall, 1689.