A POEM UPON THE CONCLUSION OF THE PEACE of EUROPE AND His MAJESTY's Happy Return.  
By HAESTRECT JAMES, Gent.  Nunquam sera est ad bonos more's 〈◊〉. 
LONDON: Printed by W. Onley, and are to be Sold by E. Whitlock, in Amen-corner, near Stationers-hall. MDCXCVIII.   

A POEM UPON THE CONCLUSION OF THE PEACE of EUROPE.  

WHEN Great Augustus the World's Empire swayed,  
Prompted by Duty, all Mankind obeyed;  
Happy! thrice Happy! They no Grumbler knew,  
But each paid Caesar what was Caesar's Due:  
Each dwelled contented under his own Vine,  
Free from the Danger of a base Design.  
No bold Assassins Monarchy to Curb,  
Poison, nor Dagger, did Mankind distrub;  
All kept the Laws, each to his City went,  
When noble Caesar for his Tribute sent:  
After each other cheerfully they pressed,  
And proved that they deserved to be at Rest.  
Peace was a Blessing which they rarely knew;  
Nor did they grudge the Paying for it too:  
Not a mean Soul would from their Taxing run,  
Or cried, That in their Wealth they were undone.  
Peace made Arts flourish; then young Ovid writ,  
And Charmed fair Julia with his sprightly Wit;  
The Mantuan Poet then was in Esteem,  
And Caesar's Bounty spoke a Worth in him;  
Then for Reward, was only to be Brave,  
And none contrived their Country to Enslave.   

Fresh Dawnings of those happy Days appear,  
And Janus closes up this peaceful Year;  
Nassaw the Brave proclaims it shall be Peace,  
And the Grand Lewis may his Boasting cease.   

Welcome Great WILLIAM from the Belgic Shore!  
Stay ever here, and trust the Seas no more;  
Trust not to Seas, nor to the faithless Wind,  
But trust to faithful Subjects that are kind:  
Assume that Power which you so justly Claim;  
Forgive your Foes, and let them blush for Shame:  
To have you Govern, now must be their Pride,  
And close such Breaches Folly once made wide:  
Now Hand in Hand, each will salute his Friend,  
And only in the Loyal Part contend:  
In the same Interest of one Monarch hold,  
Like the two Famous Tribes we read of old.   

Can I here sing those Wonders have been wrought,  
With the same Glory which our Hero fought:  
Can I describe those Dangers he has run,  
With that Applause in which the Deed was done;  
With all the Circumstance of Time and Place,  
Which did the Mighty Hero's Triumph Grace:  
Then would my Pen immortal be in Fame,  
Like His, who did the Trojan War proclaim.   

Those Grecian chiefs who got themselves Renown,  
In Ten Years storming of one single Town;  
Hybernia by thy Arms was quickly won.  
Scomberg fought well, but failed of that Success,  
Which did the Arms of Mighty Nassaw Bless:  
And whilst the rapid Boyne retains a Force,  
To Actions past, Historians have Recourse;  
Will to succeeding Ages tell thy Praise,  
And in Eternal Glory Triumphs raise.  
The Bullet at the Boyne with gentle Touch,  
Convinced the World your Danger could Approach:  
Made your Friends dread your Bravery and Skill;  
Forced Foes to vouch You Great against their Will.   

While  stands, her Walls will be  
An Instance of Religious Piety:  
Who in a brave Resistance still were True,  
And had the Mighty Nassaw's Soul in View;  
With that all Opposition was in vain;  
They reap the Profit of Your happy Reign.   

Athlone will in Fame's Annals find a Place,  
Whilst Time remains, or Valour is a Grace:  
Posterity which is as yet unborn,  
Will with a Noble Emulation scorn  
To be Outbraved by that which here was done:  
And when they talk of Storming of a Town,  
Will cry, The fiercest Storming was Athlone.  
Honoured by Him, who does your Title bear,  
Who of Hibernia's Fate took special Care.   

To stately Lymeric we next advance,  
With Ramparts which defied the Power of Chance:  
Led by His Arms, on whom Success doth wait,  
Lest by Delay they meet a Storming Fate,  
Gladly receive the Victor at her Gate:  
The  Power in Modesty retire,  
And with a secret Blush his Worth admire.   

A Theme so vast might to a Volume swell;  
Here I might sing of Cork where Grafton fell;  
That Noble Youth who made his Valour known,  
Who spoke the Royal Father in a Son;  
By a too early Fate here bravely died,  
The Seaman's Darling, and his Country's Pride.  
Born to relieve, and secure the Distressed,  
And in Fame's Volume placed among the Best.   

Of Galloway, and Towns of lesser Name,  
I cannot Treat, tho' they all merit Fame;  
But to new Matters must withdraw my Pen,  
To Treat of Countries on the distant Main.   

The Battle of Seneff so early Fought,  
So full of Glory, cannot be forgot:  
No, nor yet Mons whose lofty Turrets stand,  
To Justify the Prowess of your Hand;  
Aeth, Charleroy, the Monarchy of Spain,  
Are well secured, whilst here in Peace you Reign;  
Mean Profit was the least of all your Care,  
Yours was the Honour, They your Bounty share:  
'Tis this makes distant Countries sound your Fame,  
And court the Place from whence such Glory came:  
Were the Place doubtful, whence you first took Birth,  
Each Nation would contend for so much Earth:  
Not to seven Cities would themselves confine,  
In this each to Ambition would incline.   

Is the Place Happy then, where you was Born,  
More Happy Albion, you her Crown adorn:  
In Justice sway the Sceptre in your Hand,  
With Peace bring Plenty to this fruitful Land.  
Make Commerce free, our former Trade restore,  
Like the last Teudor who such Honour bore,  
And Ruled, no Monarch Ruled so well before;  
She made Aspiring Spain with Shame confess,  
Their Strength was more, but yet their Courage less;  
And whilst the Fort of Tilbury shall last,  
Succeeding Times will tell what here has past.  
She lived to see the Potent Spaniard Rage,  
And died the Glory of the latter Age.   

GREAT SIR!  
With Famed Eliza's Sceptre in your Hand,  
Your Foes you quell, and all your Friends command:  
A Sceptre made the 
* Sextus Quintus.  Roman Pontiff know,  
That She could consecrated Fleets o'erthrow.   

Now as the last revolving Year is spent,  
And Peace brought home, which gives Mankind Content;  
So in the Crowd of those that do Address,  
Pardon my Zeal, let Me my Joy express,  
Duty commands, nor Inclination less.  
But who can Trophies to such Honour Raise,  
Where Merit is above the Power to Praise!   

Who of Namure, in lofty Strains can sing,  
In Strains like Homer, with his Thoughts on Wing;  
Can ev'ry Action of his Soul employ,  
Like Him who sweetly sung the Siege of Troy.  
He, with Advantage to that glorious Deed,  
May in due Numbers write, and may succeed.  
Portray the Merit of that glorious Day,  
In which France gazed to see our Cannon Play.  
To See! And only See! Whilst looking on,  
The daring Villeroy with French Battoon,  
Retires in Rage, and quits the stately Town.  
Steenkirk would be a Subject fit to write,  
For him who draws his Pen as you can fight.   

Yet since Old Bards will silent be in spite,  
To have new Starters Shipwreck when they writ:  
May they pursue their Obstinacy still,  
And when they next would write, want Power, not Will:  
Whilst I, the Mighty Nassaw's Worth proclaim,  
With Zeal; (but yet in Words beneath his Fame.)   

Grumblers will own it adds unto your Pride,  
To gain the Power of France unto your side:  
That Darling Succourer of Kings Distressed;  
As Great, as Wise, he knew which Cause was best,  
And turned a certain Title to a Jest:  
Towns got by former Arts he will restore,  
And plights his Faith to do such things no more.  
He! He who made the trembling World to start,  
Takes the same Interest, is one Voice, one Heart:  
Justice requires that we should Reason do,  
Boast of Respect, which distant Monarches show.  
Monarches with Empires vast as is the Mind,  
Court his high Favour, tempt him to be Kind;  
Proffer their Country's Wealth, and Trade for Ours,  
These are the Blessings Peace upon Us showers:  
The sweet Effects of this we daily reap,  
Our Trade we follow, and our Flocks we keep;  
No Dread of Evening Wolves, or Midnight Cries,  
That Foes are near, and would our Folds surprise;  
Whilst we remain the Sovereign of the Seas,  
None sure will rudely covet to displease;  
For when our Safety on our Strength depends,  
Reason suggests that all of Course are Friends.   

On then, Great PRINCE, and with that Mildness Rule,  
As does best suit the Greatness of your Soul;  
Instead of Storming Towns, take Hearts by Storm,  
And in each Breast of Worth an Empire form:  
Teach us to value what the World admires,  
Teach Virtue such as noble Breasts inspires;  
Greatness and Goodness when they stand allied,  
In Justice will the Helm of Empire guide;  
All disagreeing Parties will unite,  
And for your Safety bravely Draw and Fight;  
For you have gained a Conquest on each Heart,  
Cowards will strive to act the Hero's Part;  
Will court Occasion to express their Zeal,  
In Aiding of a Prince they love so well,   

But if it Fate,  
That some his Generosity abuse,  
And his mild Conduct basely do misuse:  
Let them the Torture of Malignants bear,  
And let their Heads be filled with carping Care.  
The melancholy Night, tho' it be long,  
Ushers a Day, and Malice that is strong;  
May by kind Usage be to Friendship bend,  
Or come what will, yet it was bravely meant:  
Offers to Love do Satisfaction bring,  
And turn still to the Glory of a King;  
If ever Clemency was deemed a Crime,  
For want of other Faults lay that on him;  
But if to Fight where Tyrants do molest,  
And to Relieve whole Kingdoms (when Oppressed,)  
Does merit Fame; then here's a Man indeed,  
Others may imitate, but None exceed.   

May your Great Name increase still with your Years,  
As your high Merit dissipates our Fears;  
May all those Joys on happy Monarches wait,  
Attend to Crown the Glory of your State:  
Henceforth let none the Name of Party know,  
Let each forget he ever had a Foe:  
Once to mistakes an Error of the Mind,  
You meet a Prince that is as Just as Kind,  
One that delights Himself in doing Good,  
Grieves for your Sake he ever was withstood;  
So well he Merits what he did obtain,  
His Foes abroad confess Him fit to Reign:  
All Europe owns that amply we are Blest,  
And when they talk of Monarches, think Him Best.   

We who now reap the Benefit of Law,  
In a Great Prince (who does Protect, not Awe,)  
Ought to our Benefactor to be just,  
And (without Cause) not meanly to mistrust:  
And if that Rule does now for Standard hold,  
Which Solomon observed to be of old,  
That there was Time to Dance and Time to Sing,  
Sure the Time's proper now to Praise the King,  
T' Admire those Wonders which his Arms have wrought,  
Wonders indeed! Which are beyond our Thought.  
That he could make the  Force to bend,  
And the Grand Lewis sign himself his Friend.   

So Great a Prince might our old Laureate raise,  
To celebrate so Brave a Monarch's Praise;  
He who so long, (so well) the Stage supplied,  
Might with his fierce Almanzor change his side;  
For as himself observes, There's no Pretention, 
Pro. to Seb.   
To argue Loss of Wit, from Loss of Pension.  
Now with such great Advantage draw thy Pen,  
Retrieve that Honour which 've lost again:  
Why should a stubborn Harshness drown thy Voice,  
Break Silence when you find the World rejoice:  
Your Friends you'll please at this Conversion wrought,  
And own Delay in you had been a Fault:  
Writ in the lofty Strain of Absalon,  
And in those Numbers you make Virgil run:  
Then will his Actions blossom in the Dust,  
And to your Country's Honour prove you Just.   

From hence all Enmity will die and cease,  
And Amity succeed the Joys of Peace:  
Snarling Brown's satire will to Flames submit,  
And Railing pass no more for Standard-wit:  
No Guild-hall Faction to molest the State,  
All envious Fops will find no Cause to Hate,  
No Wagers laid to ruin half the State:  
All of one Mind, our Country's good Advance,  
And leave Succession unto TIME and CHANCE.   
FINIS.