NEWS FROM WINDSOR: BEING, THE Duke of MONMOUTH's Welcome: OR, A CONGRATULATORY On His return from SCOTLAND.  
IT is enough brave Prince! Thy Glory now  
Sits full and fresh on thy Heroic Brow.  
Our Thanks were deeply in Arrear before  
Unto thy Prowess; Now th' hast raised the Score  
So high, that such another Obligation  
Will make a Bankrupt of the English Nation.  
Put off thy Armour then, that thou may'st here  
Meet England's Love as great as Scotland's Fear;  
And after all the great Fatigues o' th' Field,  
Enjoy those Pleasures which the Court doth yield;  
That we, assured of thy safety, may  
Cry Io, Triumph, and keep Holiday.  
See how the Englishmen already crowed—  
To pay their Thankfulness in Volleys loud,  
More of their Conqueror than Conquest proud.  
Here some begin a repititious glance  
On thy Heroic Actions in France,  
While some reply, that thy Mastrick half Moon  
Shines brighter far than does the Sun at Noon.  
There others cry, The Lord have Mercy on's,  
He acted more than Miracles at Mons:  
And all, at length, in loving Chorus join,  
Saying, 'tis Scotland, Scotland, makes him shine.  
Now, base Rebellion, shrink and disappear;  
Retreat to Hell while MONMOUTH liveth here.  
Oh happy ENGLAND, which in One canst find  
Such Loyalty with so much Courage joined  
Borne on those Wings; How swift did MONMOUTH fly  
To Scotland, there to crush Disloyalty.  
His Loyal Heart did scorn to seek excuse;  
His Courage offered Him to's country's use.  
So expeditious was His Enterprise,  
That He, unthought on, faced His Enemies;  
Who seeing Him were quickly vanquished,  
His Name's enough to strike a Rebel dead.  
Avaunt then all you Covenanting Crew;  
For where His bright Example cannot do●  
His Sword will find the way to make you true.  
But that's already done, why say I more,  
At Bothwell Bridge he threw Rebellion o'er.  
Where after gaining Friends, and His Foes slain,  
He (Thanks to Fate) is safe returned again.  
Thrice welcome (English Darling) dost Thou come,  
Thy Presence is now requisite at home.  
Now when a Foe, more dangerous than Scot,  
Does 'gainst our King and our Religion plot.  
Now when the Nation scarce knows who is Who,  
And all suspect each other as untrue;  
When Jesuit disguised, Rome's Emissary,  
Makes all our Counsels and our Trade miscarry;  
When all, beset with Jealousies and Fears,  
Are like to go together by the Ears;  
Whilst those who active are for Common good,  
In danger are for that to lose their Blood;  
When nothing but great Mists and Clouds appears,  
And every thing the face of darkness wears,  
Than you (Great Sir) like Morning Sun arise  
Dispersing all our Fears and Jealousies;  
And having gotten you at home again,  
We can with Confidence our Fears disdain.  
Now Pope and Devil, we defy you all,  
Now do your worst our Monmovths within call.  
He dare do good, and stem your damned Designs,  
Your Gold won't poison him, though you bring Mines;  
He loves you not, and dares to tell you so,  
He's Protestant, and that you'll quickly know.  
He has as many hearts enchained to His,  
As any Duke can have who e'er he is.  
Thus do we hope and hug ourselves in thee,  
Great Prince, our Champion for Loyalty;  
Thy presenee makes us Sing, Rejoice and Smile;  
And Plotting Catholics do grin the while;  
We know 've one, that a true Subject is,  
We know His Carriage never struck amiss:  
In him we dare confide, and dare oppose,  
The most imperious of our Church's Foes:  
Then Courage Countrymen, near fear a fall,  
We need no Bulwark, but our General:  
Our safety can't be lost but with His blood,  
He's the Epitome of all our good;  
As us his Arms, let Him our Prayers defend,  
From all the perils which the brave attend:  
Heaven Guard His Life, may his Victorious Arms,  
Be ne'er outdone, but by his Duchess Charms;  
May He descend by's numerous Progeny,  
A lasting Blessing to Posterity;  
May happiness his highest Wish prevent,  
And nothing prosper that's against Him bend;  
Let Riches crowd and Pleasures flow about him,  
And inward Virtue raise the good without Him:  
And after all may His deserts receive  
The Public Acclamation, Long Live.  
FINIS.