A POEM ON THE PEACE Happily Concluded between England, Spain, Holland and France, At Reswick, 1697.  
By Edmund Killingworth, B. A. and Fellow of New College in Oxford.  
LONDON, Printed for E. Whitlock, near Stationer's Hall, 1697.   

TO THE Right Honourable THE EARL of SUNDERLAND: One of the Lords Justices of England, AND Lord Chamberlain to his majesty's Household.  
SIR,  

Whilst each King, the Wars dread Randing done,  
His Neighbour troubles not, but minds his Throne;  
Whilst taught to grow by Trade, and govern Peace,  
Spencer, and Spencer's Arts their States redress;  
Pardon the Joy which Muse and Fury brings,  
The Man of Nations, and the Love of Kings.   

Hush all ye Thrones!— Hush every Hallowed Power!—  
Whilst Godlike Nassau speaks— Be War no more.  
'tis said!— And straight to distant Nations round,  
An Angel clipped, and sat upon the Sound.  
In the Third Heaven, on a fair Crystal-fold,  
Is Peace, Joy, Love— and all that's Peace, enroled.   

Hail! Peace, Old Age's Beauty, Ploughman's Rain,  
The Pagan's Gospel, and the Miser's Gain!  
Wizards Presage, Atheists Prayer, Envy's Love,  
Below, the Song of Men, and Hymn of Gods above!   

The Times that hear Blest Reswick's Leaguer slight  
Or Namur's hardy Siege, or Mons' Fight.  
Here the proud Lovure views, 'twixt Joy and Shame,  
The Heavenly Mortgage made to William's Name;  
With so much Ease such Costly Wonders done,  
In one hard Day, the Toil of Ages won;  
And him the Forts, earned with French Smart afore,  
His Britons slumbering, to the World restore.   

Old Latium kept hard Conquests like their Word;  
Nor let the bandied Cities shift their Lord:  
Now the fierce Child, (as Reverend Homer chants)  
His nobler, warlike, leafy Ramparts plants.  
Old Rome, Sir, for such Acts so much is due,  
Nassau their Oath, had held a Day for you.  
Doubtless Towns got so soon, are governed long,  
Fenced with your Mystic Arms, made Heavenly strong;  
They by your Conduct taught, rank Ease abhor,  
And in mid-Peace abide the Smart of War:  
With Care like yours, Jove's Bird his Dues assumes,  
And carries Thunder on his Downy Plumes;  
Enough to show, when they'll provoke their Doom,  
You'll drive the French-men's puny Conquests home.   

When the Fiend War you by your Valour's Spell,  
England the Circle, chained up fast in Hell;  
You glorified the Towns through which you road,  
The Briton's Angel, and the Belgian's God.  
The gracious Pomp of Peace adorned your March,  
Half Heavens bright Concave, your Triumphal Arch.   

●ull Ten Years Wars assaulted Dryden's Troy,  
Twice Ten Years Wars Great William's Tale employ▪  
No more our Children Hector shall bewail,  
Tell us, tell us, they cry, dear William's Tale.   

How the Batavians, while her Arms advance,  
Our Nation errand, freed from Spain and France.  
Now having passed the Straight, your Thunder soon  
Makes their Oak-Gyants tremble in Thoulon;  
Whence forced at last, they cowering from afar,  
Like mean-got Traffic, run their Ships of War.  
e'er long set sail again, and we pursue;  
Hattered in th' old World, dog 'em to the New.  
Where they like Thiefs pant in their Watery Den,  
Heedless of Rocks, yet skulking from our Men:  
And whilst their beating Hearts for Terror ache,  
The World's vast Island for Great Britain take.   

How Distant Nations worship his Renown,  
And where scarce God himself, is William known.  
The Russia North his decent Courage greets,  
The Savage North quakes at our Southern Heats,  
Fair Moscow learns the Passage of the Rhine,  
And Moscow's Torrent gives it for the Boyne.   

Our Western Jove, how Turkish Squadrons fear,  
Will o'er the Hellespont Europa bear;  
But now— The World, unknown in Courts before,  
Shall find our Husband King, Love's Throne adore.  
As once their Sides th' Immortal Sticklers chose,  
These for Aeneas, and for Turnus those;  
So you, Sir, with your lovely, lovely Dame,  
Shall see the Polish Stage fight out your Nuptial Game:  
Clipped in her Arms, O! Listen to her Prayer,  
Nay, do not, do not mind these ugly ways of War.  
Whilst Peace with her rich Urn at Thresholds stands,  
And holds to Hunger's Mouth, her blessing Hands;  
Since Crowds at Ease th' anointed Cares devour;  
As all was Rage behind, let all be Love before.  
Men rough in War, in Peace are soft again;  
War the Brutes Plague, the Charter, Peace, of Men.   

A while to view the great World joined with this,  
Milton would quit his own loved Paradise;  
Himself a Cherub now:—  
And Gabriel's Spade, th' enchanted Bridge should lay,  
And with bright Topaz Uriel pave the Way.   

O! may your Kingdom's feel, without Alloy,  
Like you, Sir, an unwearyed Line of Joy.  
Nor Seamen quarrel, nor our Merchants find  
The lean War leave its Tiger's Claws behind;  
Whilst you thank those that reigned for you before,  
Much Cavendish, Summer much, but Spencer more.   
FINIS.