On the Occasion of the DESCENT OF HIS HIGHNESS THE Prince of Orange INTO ENGLAND, AND THEIR Highness' Accession to the CROWN. A Pindaric ODE.  

I.  
Virtue, how weak is thy Defence!  
How weak thy Guards of Innocence!  
When giddy Power has but a weak pretence;  
A weak pretence too strong will prove  
For all thy mighty, humble Bonds of Love;  
The Poison of a weak pretence  
Will slain thy bright Obedience;  
Tho' Passive 'tis, and 'tis refined,  
Beyond the common kind;  
Tho'free,  
From the blind Bigot, and Hypocrisy.   

II.  
In the warm close  
Of sacred Charles' easy Reign,  
The truth too lucidly arose  
To be suspected vain;  
Dissolved in ease, and weakened with delight,  
The trust of power was in the Jesuit;  
The Jesuit profoundly knew  
The Arts to huddle up old Plots, by forging new,  
From out the Noose his neck he swiftly drew;  
For aversion some, and some for gain,  
Would the old truth maintain;  
Too eagerly they hurried on  
The aftergame,  
And wrought their heedless Zeal into a Flame,  
That served to shape their own;  
Some justly for their folly fell:  
Yet why should pious Russel bear a part?  
Who ne'er knew Art,  
But to oblige his Country's King and God:  
Why noble Essex bear the double Load,  
Of Active, and of passive ill?  
A martyred Saint, though meant a Sacrifice to Hell.   

III.  
Yet, glorious Soul, from thee  
Far be the specious Villainy:  
Thy Errors only were too kind,  
For plenty, and for ease designed;  
Thy thoughts employed in Love, and Peace;  
And all thy genuine Acts were Acts of grace;  
Thy Justice did to all afford  
The Balance, very few the Sword:  
But thus misled  
Thy Judas in the Kiss betrayed,  
And in our Temples rended veils we needs must read,  
How their great Saviour Died.   

iv  
'Tis done, and 'tis a Roman Deed,  
The day now openly they claim;  
Numerous unerring Tragedies succeed,  
The sanction of a Roman Aim;  
And Virtue languishes at best,  
Or only for design,  
Or by oppression is confessed:  
The sacred Fence of Law goes down,  
And nothing's left us but the Gown:  
The Gospel should the Turn pursue,  
If Wolves disguised amongst the Sheep could do:  
All Faith by Precedents denied,  
To Heaven 'tis scarce allied;  
And hope can on her Anchor hardly stem the Tide:  
Unmasked the Jesuit appears,  
Unmasked the Reverend Villainy he bears;  
For Hell the Tool to nothing else intends.  
But ruin to his Friends:  
Ah! Royal James, thou mightst have known  
Thy pleasant Eden yet thy own;  
Thy power next Heaven, thy Actions free,  
And all thy Creatures fond of thee;  
Had not thy Woman's vicious Appetite  
Been cheated by the Devil the Jesuit.   

V  
But purging Remedies must ease  
The Heats of a Disease:  
And though the Devil, and Woman fixed the Vice  
On vain,  
Deluded Man,  
'Twas Heaven expelled him Paradise;  
Heaven saw the Clog his People drew  
From Woman, and the Bigot too;  
He saw the Conscientious Arts begun,  
And lavishly he saw them carried on;  
He saw the Flesh pots dressed, t'incite  
His Israel to drudge with Appetite;  
But when once bound to slavery, he knew,  
That Leeks and Onions would profufely do;  
He saw, and heard at length the Cries  
They offered for their Miseries;  
And Orange, Moses-like ordained,  
T' expunge the faithless King, and purge th' infected land.   

VI  
He comes, He comes, th' Almighty's choice!  
The Winds, and Seas obey his Voice!  
'Twas Heaven the mighty work begun,  
For every Act of thine,  
Almighty Hero, is divine;  
For Heaven are all the conquests thou hast won:  
To thy Commission who would not submit!  
Whose Victories are in the gaining sweet;  
And in fruition sure must be divinely great.  
Those noble Searching Souls, who early knew  
The Miseries that would ensue;  
And early were oppressed,  
For turning evils to the best,  
heavens gracious care at thy approach confessed;  
On thee their Faith, and Hope securely placed:  
Nor flattering Honour, vicious Gain,  
Nor Influence, the rest could chain,  
On thee to trust 'tis safe, on them 'tis vain:  
But Churchill let me ever name;  
Churchill, the Muse's happy claim!  
Churchill, the Precedent of fame!  
His Virtue, no prevailing ease,  
No weakening Honours e'er could lessen to Degrees;  
Nor Court, nor Camp, but by deserts could please.  
Betimes he to his God intends,  
His Cause (he knew) deserved before his Friends;  
Betimes the Glorious Course pursued,  
He knew, that to be great was to be good,  
And scorned the specious Murmurs of the Crowd;  
He truly knew,  
That Heaven was won by loss, and scandal too.   

VII.  
Io Triumph! be your Song,  
That to the House of God belong;  
Such holy ecstasies are due,  
O Albion, from all thy Laymen too:  
For where does heavens prevailing mercies shine,  
With greater Lustre, than on Thine?  
Would you conquer Heaven, prevent  
The wretched ills your sins have meant?  
This conquest is your Precedent:  
Would you all the beauties know,  
That peace and lovesome ease can show?  
Obey and Love the mighty two.  
Love and Obedience, are the sweetest Fruit  
Of Heaven, the pleasing Attribute.  
Hail! sacred Hero, blest the Crown!  
That Heaven and Merit makes thy own:  
May all thy genial Kingdoms prove,  
As easy as thy Royal Love;  
And may thy Sceptre still possess the Dove.  
Ave Maria! full of Grace,  
And all as charming as thy Face;  
For thus religiously to thee  
We bow from superstition free:  
May all thy Hours be crowned with bliss,  
Sweet as thy thoughts, and great as his;  
May constant Love, and useful War,  
Attend your service every where;  
And still may your Auspicious Rule  
Extend o'er all, enlarge in every Soul.   
FINIS.