Musa Praefica.  
THE LONDON POEM, OR An Humble Oblation On the Sacred Tomb Of our late Gracious Monarch King Charles the II. Of ever Blessed and Eternal Memory.  
By a Loyal Apprentice of the Honourable City of London.  
— Quo Numine laeso,  
Quidve dolens Rector Coeli Tot volvere Casus,  
Insignem pietate Virum, tot adire Labores  
Impulerit, Tantane animis Coelestibus Ira?  
LONDON, Printed for T. M. and John Holford, and are to be sold by the Booksellers of London. 1685.   

A FUNERAL-POEM ON THE DEATH OF King Charles II. OF Blessed Memory.  

I''s done, what Heaven for many Years designed,  
Unknown to the great Race of Human kind;  
In Fates mysterious Chronicle enroled;  
And so absconded from the lower World.  
The Gods, the utmost of their Power have shown;  
Their dark Decree has shaken the trembling Throne,  
CHARLES the Illustrious, Great, is snatched away,  
And to the gaping Grave become the Conquered Prey.   

Forgive Thou awful Shade my Boldened Muse,  
Presuming this Transcendent Theme to choose;  
Forgive the Accents of my humbler Strain,  
Which in Unhallowed Distiches dares profane  
That Name, which all posterity shall know:  
Great Spirit thou'rt Gracious, or thou once wert so.   

Gifts and Oblations Heavenborn thou'lt have none,  
Nor must Divine Rites to Thee now be shown;  
We'll not erect new Altars to thy Shrine,  
Nor dare Install Thee with the Powers Divine;  
That too Officious Duty would blaspheme,  
And blemish with our Piety, thy Name;  
But still our Zealous Love shall be the more,  
And we will bless thy worth, though not adore.   

Which of the mighty Penmen shall I choose  
To aid the Genius of my Labouring Muse;  
Which of the happy Bards shall fan the Fire,  
And my ambitious Glowing Breast inspire;  
Whilst I with ruder Hands my Offering bring  
To the Immortal Memory of my King;  
And of his Deathless Name, & Godlike Virtues sing?  
Ye softer Female Being's, if there be  
Concernment in your Fancied Deities,  
On my bold Province now divinely shine,  
And manifest the power of your renowned Nine.   

But ah! why do I vainly thus require  
The faint assistance of that easy Choir;  
Too weak the Inspiration, and the Flame,  
For the Ennobled Merit of the Theme,  
For the vast Eulogies of CHARLES his name.   

But thou far more Heroic shade return  
From the dull darksome Mansion of thy Urn,  
Thou once who in Divinest Numbers taught,  
And sang as bravely as thy Heroes fought;  
Let CHARLES our now departed worthy dwell  
In thy Prodigious, Noble, Chronicle,  
(If any faith in Transmigration be,)  
Or now transmit thy sacred Spirit to me;   

Aid me the Royal wonders to rehearse  
In lasting, and unbounded verse,  
Sum the repeated Marvels of his Reign,  
Whom Heaven, kind Heaven espousing did Maintain:  
Tell me the worth of that Illustrious man,  
Who through a long continued series ran  
Of troubles, yet appeared so great, so brave  
From the first blooming to the final Grave.   

Tears are not all the due we'll pay to thee,  
Thou sacred Image of the Deity:  
Nor will we only the vast loss bemoan,  
With a retired melancholy groan;  
But to our late posterity we'll show,  
And they shall all the wondrous Circle know:  
The Theme, and the delight, of future days,  
Which with united joys shall Echo forth thy praise.   

Ye Gods! why did ye Summons to begun,  
The constant Guardian of the peaceful Throne?  
Why was your thoughtful vengeance so severe  
Unto his Royal person here?  
What hidden grudge usurped your minds above,  
Your Great Vicegerent to remove?  
Why was he snatched so soon away?  
As if but fraimed of Common Clay?  
Monarch's undoubted Charters should possess,  
To limit their own boundless happiness.  
Or should some sacred Title have,  
To Triumph o'er the fury of the Grave;  
But since Immortal Births you do deny,  
Even Kings are only born to reign and die.   

Oh! could he not have stretched the narrow Span  
And lived the double age of Man?  
Who would not have sustained the willing Doom,  
And filled the Empty spaces of his Room,  
And undergone the scandal of a Tomb?  
Why were ye not appeased with a Plebeian Prey,  
But snatched the Sovereign of the Isle away?  
I could of the severity complain,  
And urge my passion to so high a strain,  
Even at your sacred beings to let fly,  
Blaspheme your Arbitrary Deities,  
Since with the Royal Victim you begin,  
And yet my zeal would expiate the sin.   

Were Kings ordained but for such vulgar ends,  
And do they on so slender Lines depend,  
To finish all the drudgery of State,  
And then submit to common Fate;  
To manage the Great business of the World,  
And from the regal Theatre be hurled,  
T' appear and act upon the noisy Stage,  
Then make their sudden exit from the age,  
And all but for a speculative fame  
For the inglorious nothing of a name.   

So the victorious Caesar lived and died,  
With Nations sheltered from his awful side,  
When he the glorious Race had nobly run,  
And finished all the triumphs he begun.   

What real Essence is there in a Crown,  
When Monarches thus are tumbled down?  
Nor can their shining grandeur save,  
Them rolling to the dismal grave.   

Ye Gods! ah! why! could ye exempt not some,  
From th' universal deluge of the Doom,  
Ah why! could not your providence prefer  
Some to a lasting death less Calendar;  
Why such injunctions do you lay  
On Kings that bear Imperial sway?   

Must CHARLES the joy of all the universe,  
Be fettered in a solitary Hearse?  
And after all the mighty Circles ran,  
Appear at length to be but man?   

All he possessed that's good, and great,  
If that could claim supremacy of fate,  
All virtues in his royal Breast,  
Like Gems within a Quarry rest,  
No borrowed Beams adorned his Soul  
As where the lesser Luminaries Roll,  
But in him they were perfect all,  
Glorious, and Bright, and Natural,  
Like days Bright Lord which does dispense,  
O'er all an universal Influence.  
What Heaven hath sparingly allowed mankind,  
Was doll'd-in great to his great mind,  
And with embellished lustre in him shined,  
The Gods by one consent could do no more,  
But lavished a vast Largess of their store,  
And made th' Impoverished heavens poor:   

Yet after all, this mighty Prince  
Is snatched and rifled from us hence,  
Left void his great forefather's Throne below,  
And to an endless wide Eternity does go.   

Look down unbodyed Hero, see  
How naked and exposed we lie,  
To Chaos even a ready prey,  
Now thy Great Guardian Soul is took away.   

We'll not forget how once thou godlike sat,  
And didst the noble work of Fate,  
Whilst we secure and thoughtless wanton laid  
Basking beneath the Tutelary shade:  
No danger could approach the Mansion there  
Cursed Envy snarld, but came not near.  
Thy awe a Terror on thy Foes Impressed,  
But to thy Land serenity and rest.  
Majestic sweetness darted from thy Eyes,  
And all around was Eden and a Paradise.  
We'll not forget how thy victorious Hand  
Did guide us to the promised Land,  
And thy stupendious conduct set us free  
From Anarchy and slavery.  
Thou liftedst up thy mighty arm,  
And didst sound forth the loud Alarm,  
Thou calm'dst th' unruly Boisterous Seas,  
And prophesied us Halsion days,  
And showed us all behind Tranquillity and Ease.   

Great Monarch no, we'll ne'er forget the day,  
When thou our Moses lead'st the happy way;  
Thou lead'st a moody murmuring Crew,  
The Crime in them was great but not in you:  
Thou like the mighty Patriarch viewed  
With pity the Impestuous multitude,  
As mild as that great man, as meek, as good,  
As easy to remit, averse from blood,  
And in the Breach to stem their ruin stood.  
What did they want in all thy peaceful Reign?  
Who sued for Justice to thy Throne in vain?  
Thus to repine thy sway, and treacherously complain?  
How ready thou to ease their clamorous griefs,  
Thou only able to afford relief?  
And as of old—  
When angry Heaven vowed a revenge to take,  
For the Rebellious People's sake;  
Commisioned Numerous Deaths were scattered there,  
Envenomed Fates flew hissing throw the air,  
Their Blasting Breathes throw every member hast,  
The suffering crowed sink down, and groan their last;  
Some to their pitying Captain fly,  
He points, and then the sacred pile they Eye,  
They saw, and soon a Miracle was shown,  
Great as the Judgement ushered in before,  
Their pangs and Dying Agonies were gone,  
And coming ease, renewing health restores.   

So to thy Throne thy injured Subjects crowed;  
Thy willing Ear to their complaint is bowed;  
They find an easy and a quick redress,  
Thee every Tongue in every age will bless.  
And all succeeding Times shall tell  
Of each repeated Miracle  
In thy Illustrious Chronicle.  
David ne'er struggled more to Conquer Fate,  
Nor suffered more from murmuring Rebels Hate,  
Weighty as his was thy too rigid doom,  
And thou as bravely didst them overcome,  
Indulgent Heaven did either Cause espouse,  
And scattered all the fury of your Foes,  
Throw arms, and noisy wars, conducted on,  
From Exile to ascend a peaceful Throne.   

We saw Great Sovereign at thy happy Birth  
A Taper, shining to the wondering Earth,  
The Omen kindled on that glorious day,  
Shone with a bright Meridian Ray,  
Thy Great begetter saw the same,  
He saw and blest the Rival flame;  
Whilst the surprised admiring crowed  
To thee and to thy Genius bowed;  
With Acclamations shouting by,  
And clapping with prophetic Joy:  
Ah! why could not the partial Star dispense  
A more benign, Calmer Influence;  
Why did it dart so little pleasure down  
Dashed with a sad 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉;   

So when the Great Messiah came,  
He's ushered with a Radiant flame;  
But ah! the glittering Omen could relate  
No happier tidings of a future fate,  
It proved the mournful prodigy  
Of that Created Deity,  
The Prelude to his coming Misery.  
We saw in thy first blooming Age,  
What e'er could all our hopes engage,  
All that could suit the Glory of thy name,  
The basis for a nobler frame,  
Seeds in thy princely bosom strove,  
Composed of Virtue, and of softer Love.   

So e'er succeeding times began,  
Or this vast structure for the Creature man,  
The richer beings in Oblivion lay,  
Till the Eternal gave the word  
They with united force accord,  
And show their mighty power, & show a glorious day.   

Still as thy riper Years go on,  
Thy Soul seems fit for a Throne,  
Those Beams which were but shadowed there,  
Now in completed Luster do appear.  
In thee each virtue had its room,  
And every grace was to perfection come;  
Now fit the mighty state to sway;  
Born to Command, and others pleased to obey.   

Thy darling Country saw thee in thy princely prime,  
They saw and blest the happy time,  
And with a joyful bodeing smile,  
Own'd thee the great Palladium of the Isle.  
Mankind's Delight and heavens care.  
Both in thy Royal Person share.  
Ye powers, why did ye not remove  
Impending sorrow from the man ye Love?  
Why did ye crowed so many perils on,  
To check his passage to the Crown?  
Throw arms and blood ye pointed out the Day,  
And at the dreadful Goal the Empire lay.  
We saw with what a bravery of Soul,  
Thou threatening danger didst control,  
Resolved, and how unmoved thou didst appear,  
Untaught the little vulgar vice to fear.  
The Dread of Death could never make thee yield,  
Nor all the Terrors of an armed field.   

Bold in extremes was thy great courage shown,  
Where fortune called, still rushing on,  
Yet with pathetic grief thou viewed  
The madness of the ungoverned multitude;  
Fierce to their woeful ruin bend,  
To shake and batter down the Government:  
Thy Country bleeding by thy pitying side,  
Oft did thy Sympathetick breast divide;  
For every conquest which your arms did gain  
Still added to the general pain;  
Still tinged with native gore the purpled Cross;  
The Victor Triumphed in the Kingdom's Loss.  
But now the Tragic Scene gins,  
The woeful Trial is disclosed within;  
With what regret did thy unwilling Eyes,  
View thy great Father's Sacrifice?  
That Spirit, that fate could never bow,  
Bowed at that bold presumptuous blow,  
Thou sighed at the unnatural doom,  
And with excess of Sorrow was struck dumb,  
But here we'll let the Curtain down,  
And scan thy vast proportioned misery by our own.  
Thus Heaven permitted this Good King to fall  
An Expiation to atone for all;  
He fell the sacred Martyr of his Reign,  
And acted his great Saviour's Passion o'er again.  
Go dying Prince to higher Empires go,  
But yet Respect thy Royal Pledge below;  
Thy Guardian Angel send him down  
T' attend his Progress to the Crown,  
Oh! Let a double portion on him fall,  
And he exceed his great Original.   

It's done, and every God looked down from thence,  
They pitying saw, and loved the suffering Prince,  
Yea every petty Deity's concerned,  
And for th' afflicted Sovereign yern'd.   

They saw how the confused Kingdom lay,  
To the devouring Sword a wounded prey;  
With monstrous Crimes polluted o'er,  
Stained with a Royal Martyr's Gore,  
And Godlike CHARLES must the relapse restore.  
It's he the Sovereign Balsam must apply,  
With the return of Banished Majesty.  
They lead the Royal Offspring on,  
To fill his great Forefathers Throne:  
(In spite of all that Hell could do,  
And the Religious Rebels too,)  
And show their mighty power on things below.  
See where the drooping Monarch lies,  
Even drowned with deluges of Sighs,  
Not for the great Miscarriage of his own,  
But that his Father's Fortune's gone.  
That his Majestic Soul was took away,  
To Sacrilegious Hands a prey;  
When lo! an awful shade appears,  
And whispered in his listening Ear;  
‛ Arise dejected Prince arise,  
‛ See where thy beckening Fortune flies,  
‛ Scorn all their little rage and hate,  
‛ And triumph o'er opposing Fate;  
‛ Where Fame and Glory call, begone  
‛ Revenge, revenge, and mount the Throne.  
The signal straight, the Sighing Prince received,  
He heard and with an Ominous Joy believed,  
He saw in what extremes his Fortune lay,  
His Valour must direct and cut the way.  
Dull easy sloth could ne'er retrieve his Fate,  
He must o'ercome or sink beneath the State.   

Alas! what could his pitying Tears avail;  
To flying Fate there's no repeal.  
His helpless Eyes could do no more,  
Nor his revolted Cause restore.   

Tears but a weak Redemption can afford  
Where Interest sways the dreadful Sword.  
But Heaven does now the Royal Cause espouse  
Against the pointed fury of his Foes,  
Against the furies that Besiege the Throne,  
And all the pious Cheats to pull it down.  
Successive Miracles each day appear,  
Each Month produceth wondrous Calendar.  
So once when all the numerous Tribes were free,  
From the Egyptians Yoke and Slavery.  
Kind Heaven its high puissant power did show  
To all their crowding Legions below,  
Preserved by the Almighty's Hand,  
Conducted strangely to the Promised Land:   

We'll think great Sovereign on that glorious day,  
Where Heaven did first its early care display,  
When its immediate Hand secured thy Fate  
From threatening Spears, and dangerous Rebels hate,  
Ah! Let the happy 
* Worcester Fight.  place receive a Name  
Ith' Annals of Eternal Fame.  
With what a bold resolve thy Foes appeared.  
How far against your Royal self they dared,  
How fierce how eager to devour,  
And wanton in thy sacred Gore.  
Whilst thou in Person sallied to the Field,  
Learned bravely to Command, untaught to yield,  
But ah! thy Arms successless Fortunes found,  
Nor was thy rightful Cause with Conquest Crowned  
Heaven still delayed the Joyful end to show  
What farther its Almighty Hand could do.   

After that blessed escape befell,  
Each step produced a Miracle,  
we'll ne'er forget the next succeeding deed,  
When thy Majestic Royalty lay hid;   

Lurking securely now  
Within the narrow confines of a Bough,  
Three Kingdoms Monarch there sat perching on,  
And for a Blooming Oak exchanged his Throne.  
So at our sacred Saviour's Birth,  
When he Descended to the Earth,  
His Entertainment's poor and strange,  
A Stable, and a Manger, and a Grange,  
Methinks I see Celestial Quires appear  
To Guard thy Royal Person there,  
From all their Blessed abodes they flock to thee,  
And hover round the pious Tree,  
A Troop full able to oppose  
The power of thy Rebellious Foes;  
A Troop resolved, and bravely bold  
Not to be bribed with Mercenary Gold.   

And next we'll cast an Eye  
On th' Agents of thy great delivery,  
Whom Heaven the wondrous Instruments did make  
To manage this Important Stake,  
And for thy high security engage  
Mechanic servile Millers of the Age,  
Men whom we'd think would glittering heaps adore  
For pence and food was all their store.  

1000 l. Price.  Yet thy neglected Price lay by  
They saw it with an eagle's Eye,  
And scorned their Sovereign to betray  
For bribing Sums of gilded Clay.  
The great Messiah thus was known  
To drowsy Swains alone  
Supinely they in slumbers lay,  
Their browzing  round 'em play,  
When the Celestial Message's given  
By all the tuneful Choir of Heaven. 
M. Jane Love.   
A softer Female next thy Guardian's made  
A tender but a trusty Aid:  
The power she had, her pious care did show  
A Loyal Subject, and thy Buckler too.  
She o'er your Sovereignty did Sway  
Her's wisely to command, and yours t' obey  
The little Arts your Gentle Handmaid tried,  
Secured your interest on the safer side,  
Conducting still her charge discreetly on  
From lonely rustic. Shades to fill a Throne.  
So Michael's Noble Stratagem defeats  
Her Father's direful rage and froward hates,  
David by her, escapes untimely end,  
She acted as a Guardian and a Friend.  
But what returns can we repay to thee,  
Thou Patroness of Majesty,  
Thou happy Pillar of the tottering Land  
Preserved by a Woman's Hand?  
We'll now transmit to future days thy Fame,  
And lisping Babes shall stammer forth thy Name.  
We'll not forget your hazards and your toil  
Throw all the Progress of your Native Isle.   

Great King, we'll ne'er forget th' alarms and cares  
Thy nightly Watches, and thy hourly fears,  
Each cautious step, each blushing quick surprise  
Thy humble Office, and thy poor disguise,  
Which thou the Pageants of thy Fortune bore  
Till thy Arrival at the  Shore,  
A Providence in all, and God all o'er.   

Unhappy Prince, thy Banished Person's gone  
In exile, and forsaken, and alone.  
All that thy pious Loyal Friends could do,  
Was unavailing grief to show.  
Their Prayers and pitying sighs they'd send  
To help thy sorrows to an end.  
They could no more but calmly wait  
The blessed return of smiling Fate.   

No sooner hadst thou left the noifie Shore,  
As if the Genius of the Isle had gone;  
Thy Foes seem more confused than before,  
And by their Fears contrive thy blessed return.  
Dread of thy rightful Claim excited awe,  
Their different Interests to one Union brought,  
But now remote divided Ends they draw,  
And each to triumph o'er the other sought.  
So when the giddy Labouring World began  
Their high proportioned Frame to rear,  
To rival Heaven, and threat the Air,  
They're mustered o'er the listed Plain;  
Confusion strait, the mighty Project stayed;  
In vain the sweeting Fools assayed  
To make a period of their Fabric there.  
The happy time is now at hand  
To bring thee to thy Promised Land,  
Thy toilsome Race is well nigh run,  
Thy sorrows to a Centre come;  
Thou'st finished all thy suffering Doom;  
And wonders now must end what Miracles begun.  
We'll think with Joy on that auspicious Hour  
When pardoned Rebels crowd to see thee Land,  
And thicken on the Neighbouring Strand;  
Thy Restauration overthrew their Power  
Their Hydra's at the bright appearance die;  
All their Romantic Idols tumbled down  
At thy approach to mount the Throne,  
Like Dagon when the Sacred Ark came nigh.  
Thy dawning lustre did appear  
Like Phoebus when he mounts the Sphere,  
Dispensing glories as we rise;  
And with new Vigour kindling all the Skies;  
Thou now ascends the Throne,  
Not like a Nero or Domitian,  
But like Augustus Great and Wise,  
Forgiving and forgetting Injuries.  
Thy pious Subjects bless the day,  
And for thy long continuance pray.  
The Isles with Acclamations Ring,  
Long Live, Long Live the King.  
Oh! Happy if their happiness they prise,  
Or knew but where their Interest lies.  
No Seas of Natives-gore thy steps oppose;  
Nor stalks thou o'er thy slaughtered Foes:  
Without one stroke thou mounts the Seat,  
The mighty, mighty work of Fate.   

What hardened Rebel dares deny  
The presence of a Deity  
Through all thy weighty trouble's on  
This last Miracle, thy Restauration!  
The Precedents before had been but Chance,  
Where Hazard and thy Fortune strove;  
This does all prejudice remove,  
And their confirmed Faiths advance,  
Like the great business of the Resurrection.  
But should I mention on  
Each yearly wonder done  
In the long series of thy Peaceful Reign,  
My Lines would swell  
To an expansive Chronicle;  
My Muse too feeble to rehearse  
Such mighty things in humble verse:  
Too weak my numbers, and too low my strain.  
But future ages shall record the same.  
Thou It be their Wonder, and their Theme  
The Subject of succeeding days,  
With admiration heard, and told with praise.  
Go happy Prince to Courting Crowns above;  
The God's delight, and Peoples Love.  
Oh! Could we add unto thy greatness there,  
Since there's no hopes of a retrieve,  
We'd in thy sacred self believe,  
And change our blessings to a form of Prayer;  
But it's not worship thou demands,  
No such returns from our Officious Hands,  
Love to thy second self below  
Is all thou'd wish thy Subjects do.  
That easy Tribute will we pay,  
That pious subsidy  
Much for his own deserving sake, and much for thee,  
That, for the Wonders of thy peaceful Reign,  
And all the blessings that we reap thereby,  
Our Freedom and our Property,  
Which thou our Sovereign didst maintain,  
That, for th' Intolerable dying pain  
Thy suffering Person did sustain  
By the severe Physicians Hands applied,  
To stop the Torrent of thy Fate, and yet thou died:  
What's more prevailing still to move  
Thy goodness and thy grace,  
Thy Clemency and Love?  
We'll love him for the glory of his race:  
In him thy Copied Virtues shine.  
He must be merciful and good,  
He's stamped with the High Stuarts Blood,  
And all the Inborn greatness of that Line.  
An Exile with Thyself he mourned  
With Thee afflicted, and with Thee returned,  
Born on the same High Tide of Fate,  
And bore as much from Factions Hate;  
He's loaded with Indignity,  
Already Martyred in 
* His Picture in Guild-Hall, cut from the Legs downward undiscovered.  Effigy.  
Oh! Blast the Arm that dared that Impious Blow,  
Let Heaven reward him with a Vengeance meet,  
Who God's Anointed dared t'overthrow;  
His Head had suffered where they pierced his Feet.  
A Series of Wonders has been shown,  
Adequate to thy mighty own,  
To fix the Royal James on England's Throne.  
Heaven has secured him to this Hour  
By its Almighty Power;  
The Sceptre given Him to sway,  
And will compose Us to obey.  
Else why did He not sink beneath the Weight  
Of all the ponderous Fate  
That on Him from His Infancy did wait,  
And all the Ills His Sacred Person bore?  
Can we forget that Memorable Time,  
That great Escape, that glorious Day?  
Not to Record it, would be judged a Crime.  
What Wonders Heaven did then perform  
In that prodigious 
* Shipwrackt in his Voyage to Scotland.  Storm,  
And safely brought three Kingdoms Hopes away.  
On distant Strands the pitying People saw  
The terror of the thing their vety Souls did awe,  
The Billows round the Pious Hero roar,  
Rebound and dash from off the Neighbouring Shore,  
And every noisy Rolling Wave  
Appeared an approaching Grave.  
When Heaven did appear,  
It must be Heaven, for God was there,  
And our Anointed future King did save.  
Thy Enemies saw, and cursed the timely Fate,  
This Prelude to thy future State;  
This as a Pledge did every God engage,  
To make Thee Hero of an Age;  
Thy Foes now to thy Genius yield,  
For Caesar's Fortune's writ upon thy Shield.  
Ascend thy Great Fore-father's Throne,  
And make us happy by thy Sway;  
What Joyful Ages shall we see  
Entailed upon Posterity!  
What Actions by thy Royal Conduct done!  
Prophetic Hopes appear on every brow,  
Where e'er thou points, they'll go,  
Their Arms shall distant Countries know;  
New Laurels shall their Conquests bring;  
It's writ in heavens Mysterious Book,  
Its Fate, for every Deity has spoke,  
That Triumphs shall attend the King.  
The Belgic Slaves no more shall boast  
Of England's Navy fired and lost;  
That Stratagem pulls down  
Revenge from thy unshaken Throne.  
By thy Command once more we'll meet,  
And dissipate their Treacherous Fleet;  
Inspired by Thee, before our Arms they'll fall.  
Nor dare the Rival o'er the Main,  
Affronting their Great Sovereign,  
We'll emulate our Conquering Admiral.  
Let France and Spain unto Thy Genius stoop,  
That Cause must Conquer which thou dost espouse;  
Thy Friendship must support and boy 'em up,  
And Leagues secure them from proclaimed Foes.  
Thy Arms and Fame to higher Aims shall run,  
And there New Garlands must be won.  
Thy Annals with thy Acts shall swell,  
When drooping Austria does entreat thy Sword,  
A speedy Aid t'afford.  
‛ Against th' encroaching Infidel.  
Thy Subjects Heats Thy Mildness will o'erthrow,  
They may be happy, if they will be so.  
Let not the Factions Arms aspire,  
Nor the Unthinking Lured Crowd,  
To raise a Rival's Fortune higher  
Than his mere Birth allowed.  
Let but their Restiff Bosoms pay  
Submission to thy Regal Sway;  
For sure they need but square the Line  
Of Faith and Everlasting Loyalty by Thine.   
FINIS.