TO THE KING, ON HIS Peaceable Return, AND MAGNIFICENT ENTRY into LONDON.  
By E. N. P.  — Quod Divum promittere nemo Auderet, volvenda Dies en attulit ultro. Virg. 
LONDON, Printed for Elizabeth Whitlock, near Stationers-Hall, MDCXCVII.   

TO THE KING, UPON HIS Peaceable Return, AND MAGNIFICENT ENTRY into LONDON▪  
BEGIN my Muse! Begin a lofty strain,  
Let WILLIAM in immortal Verses reign!  
Sing as He fights— And all the chiming Crew,  
With such disdainful sprightly Flame pursue;  
As that with which his blooming Martial heat,  
Made Luxemburgh from battered Mons retreat:  
Till the poor Scoundrels quit the sacred Fields,  
And hoary Choerilus his Laurel yields.  
'Twas but in Alexander's thoughtless times,  
When standard Gold was paid for Tinsel Rhimes,  
Homer was dead, nor could the Conqueror's tears  
Revive his Muse, or wondrous Characters;  
And when Fops write, and Manly sense decays,  
D— n or B— e may usurp the Bays.  
Scorn all the thoughts of such, and spurn the Ground,  
From sordid Earth above the Stars rebound.  
Think how the mighty WILLIAM, fierce in Arms,  
With Godlike Courage stood the Gauls Alarms.  
How his vast Genius with inferior Force,  
Opposed the rising storms impetuous Course.  
Think how he drew his heartless Troops from far,  
And with his callow Legions faced the War.  
Warmed 'em to strength beneath his youthful wing,  
And made their Courage in an Instant spring.  
Dared rugged Veterans by hardships bold,  
And the dark Powers of unresisted Gold.  
Think how He stood by Villian Arts delayed,  
His gallant Thoughts, and vast Designs betrayed,  
While dark Cabals to Treachery's inur'd,  
Were by their meannes from Revenge secured.  
And sullen Fate with furrowed Brows looked down,  
And Europe sunk beneath the dreadful frown.  
Hell's Monarch near the Gaulish Ensign fought,  
And to the Field his Rebel Armies brought  
Moloch, Abaddon, Mammon, Asmodai,  
Led up the Squadrons, and enhanced the Fray.  
'Twas now the Time to take their Arms again,  
Their King might now the Northern Throne obtain,  
Drawn out, they rallied up their Ancient Pride,  
And angry Heavens superior Arms defied.  
They scorned the mighty Wounds they felt before,  
Those pointed Bolts their impious Leader bore:  
Dark Malice, black Revenge, and boundless Hate,  
Gave their infernal Arms, and gloomy Counsels weight.  
But could Eternal Woes no more prevail?  
Could Wisdom, taught by dire Experience, fail?  
Could Rebels fight inmerst in endless Pains?  
Or raise their Arms beneath their burning Chains?  
What! could Oblivion Seize the Gaulish State?  
Or they forget their haughty Charles' Fate?  
Charles would the gallant Courser's back bestride,  
And through Parthenope triumphant ride.  
But when the foaming Bit he roughly drew  
He fell, and out the fiery Courser flew.  
Could Gaul forget the fatal Pavian field?  
Could gallant Francis no Reflections yield?  
The Hero sunk, crushed by a stronger hand:  
Nor can poor Mortals angry Fate Command.  
Could they forget that modern monstrous Tide,  
Which all the Belgian Dykes and Walls defied,  
Which foaming o'er the level Country raged,  
And in the Deluge mighty Towns engaged,  
Such may forget: But He, who turns the Poles;  
He, who the swelling Ocean's waves controls,  
Laughs at inferior Force, and bars the Way,  
And bids Extravagance itself obey:  
Else, tho' his ruddy Bolts were all excused,  
Yet, why was mighty WILLIAM's Soul infused▪  
Could You so kindly soothe imperious Rage?  
Could You encourage a degenerate Age?  
Could You, an unconcerned Spectator, view  
The Ravisher Europa's Charms pursue?  
No; but as brave Achilles, dipped of old,  
Rose from the Stygian Waves obdured and bold▪  
Safe in himself, yet, when he took the Field,  
Could manage the Celestial Sword and Shield:  
So into Deathless streams fair Virtue threw  
Your Infant Soul, while all the Graces flew  
Around you Royal Head, the sacred Wave  
To the soft Spirit so deep a Tincture gave,  
That Gild in vain its Art and Malice tries,  
Your Adamantine Breast their utmost Force defies.  
Still as your Years advanced your mighty Mind▪  
To Noble Thoughts, and Gallant Acts inclined.  
You careless sloth, and mean Diversions scorned,  
And brave Ambition your vast Soul adorned.  
To match those wondrous Patterns named of Old,  
Hero's in Fame's Eternal sheets enroled.  
Arms were your sport; but your supreme Delight;  
Impartial Justice, and unquestioned Right:  
Valour and Prudence, your defensive Charms,  
Your pointed Shafts, and your Vulcanian Arms;  
This, in your Youth dispersed the Factious Crew,  
From that, surprised, the Gaulish Conquerors flew.  
Seneff and Mons diffused your dreadful Name,  
Steenkirk and Landen showed your Martial Flame,  
Where You, tho' by superior Force oppressed,  
To partial Fates exposed your sacred Breast.  
As some fierce Lion whom the noisy Swains,  
Pursue with rustic Arms along the Plains,  
Softly retreats, and with his flaming Eyes,  
Arrests their Furies, and out-braves their Cries:  
Now sallies out, and makes the Crowds recoil,  
Now backward stalks, and scorns to take the foil;  
Lashes his sides, and with a dreadful roar,  
Makes Woods and Hills the awful sound restore.  
Till safe i'th' covert of the neighbouring Wood,  
He licks his Jaws besmeared with Foam and Blood.  
So You with inward conscious Virtue fired,  
Slowly before the Gaulish Troops retired.  
And tho' fair Conquest towards the Clouds were flown,  
You terrible in Blood, and fiercer grown.  
Could Death among a thousand Death's command,  
And grasp the Fate of Empire in your Hand:  
You broke Batallions with a daring Word,  
Your Eyes shot Death before your thundering Sword.  
Through smoke and Flames you forced your glorious way,  
And at your Feet their faded Laurels lay;  
Weltering in Blood whole gasping Armies roul'd,  
And the wild rage of rallied Force controlled,  
While you untouched drew back; so when great Jove,  
Complied with Semele's imprudent Love;  
The Earthly Dame, by gaudy Hopes beguiled,  
Sunk in the Flames, but the Celestial Child,  
With Lightnings sported, and at Thunders smiled.  
But th' Hero when by Fortune's slight o'er laid,  
Bounds from the Foil undaunted, undismayed,  
A noble fire glows in his angry Breast,  
Nor can He bend his boiling Thoughts to rest;  
Till to his Courage yielding Fortune bows,  
And Virtue's strength above her sullen Frowns allows.  
Again, Great Sir, You quickly took the Field,  
Judgement was your impenetrable shield.  
Deep Forecasts gloomy Casque your Head secured,  
Resentments dark your tempered Sword obdured.  
You marched invisible to mortal Eyes,  
No stratagem could your vast Thoughts surprise,  
Till You explained 'em first by thundering Balls,  
Against Namure's pale Works, and trembling Walls.  
Namure, where gallant Boufflers fixed his Rest,  
And like the Falcon hovered o'er his Nest.  
Secured his Young, and bade them range the sky,  
And on rough Men their Beaks and Pounces try:  
Where great Vauban had shown his utmost Art,  
And famed Megrigni bore a fatal part.  
The Gaulish Troops with glowing Envy viewed,  
What Bravery your impetuous Armies showed,  
They saw them storm vast Works which reached the skies,  
Dare more than Men, but ever win the Prize:  
They saw the battered Town by piece-meal yield,  
And how true Valour's last Retrenchment reeled;  
The Cloud of Witnesses at distance stood,  
Louring, and threatening hideous storms of Blood▪  
But with brute Thunders grumbling roul'd away,  
Herd her expiring Groans, and cursed the Day,  
From the Black scene, like baffled Rivals, flew,  
And left impregnable Namure for You.  
The Gaulish Prince that ominous Rupture saw,  
And at a distance felt the dismal Flaw:  
He saw the little Clouds ascending Hand,  
Would soon with horrid Gloom the Skies Command.  
He saw You through those Gates could force your way,  
Where loaded Gold might, unaccepted stay:  
He knew what Weakness in his Empire reigned,  
How hardly wasted Fields the Camp maintained.  
What deep Consumption on his Vitals preyed,  
With what reluctance ruin'd Slaves obeyed:  
That strongest Cordials could no Lives renew,  
Nor battered Arms Eternal Wars pursue.  
He found he ne'er could break those golden Chains,  
Which your prodigious Influence maintains.  
But Europe now could to herself be true,  
And keep the Field when managed, SIR, by You.  
Such Thoughts the mighty Monarch's Counsels swayed,  
And all his old aspiring Heats allayed;  
he'd not a Ruin on his Crowns entail,  
Nor cross that Genius which would still prevail.  
Peace Europe, Peace declining Gaul might crave,  
But YOU, not HE, the sacred Largesse gave  
Europe, which YOU her glorious Umpire chose,  
Could on your Arms for War and Peace repose.  
To YOU great LEOPOLD his Cares resigned,  
On YOU weak SPAIN her wearied Head reclined.  
Nay, mighty LOVIS, whose inglorious Arms,  
With haughty Superstitions rude Alarms,  
Had shocked the World, could now in YOU confide,  
Whose happy Skill first checked his soaring Pride.  
He knew Heroic Souls would constant prove,  
In Wars rough storms, and in the Calms of Love.  
He knew in War you'd Honour's road pursue,  
And feared no Treacheries in Peace from YOU.  
Time with the Sun thus Western Tempests keep,  
Sink as He falls, and hush themselves to sleep.  
Thus two huge Billows on the Ocean meet,  
Swell upwards, and with curling Furies greet,  
Rush at others Heads, and foam, and roar,  
And at a distance shock the sounding shore;  
Yet when their Rage to th' utmost height is blown,  
Twine in each others Arms, and slide in One.  
For You his Flag the mighty Monarch veiled,  
While cross the Seas your happy Squadron sailed.  
WILLIAM, and his auspicious Fortune's more,  
Than that of Julius, or of Rome before,  
For YOU the Sun contracts his scorching Beams,  
And sober Sein confines his silver Streams.  
For You the Vulture moults his stretching Wings,  
And from his Gorge th' uneasy Burden flings.  
Gaul died within, but your victorious Hand,  
Could both your Passions, and your Sword command.  
You throughly knew the Gauls declining State,  
Yet nobly scorned to add the fatal weight.  
You bade them Live; be still, refresh their wounds,  
Thrive, and be Great, within their ancient Bounds.  
Bade Lovis reign secure; his hoary Head,  
Lay down in Peace among the mighty Dead.  
Bade Europe smile, and all her tuneful Swains,  
Sing their soft Lays along their peaceful Plains;  
But all the neighbouring Lands with Envy view,  
What our Britannic World enjoys in You.  
Thus, when the Royal Eagle snatched the Prey,  
And to his Eiery bore the Babe away.  
The Babe all fearless innocently smiled,  
And the fierce Eaglet's hungry rage beguiled,  
(Kings can't be harsh, where Innocence obtains,  
In Royal Breasts Eternal pity Reigns)  
The Babe lived by the Parent-Eagle's care,  
In every Quarry had his constant share,  
A noble Family's Foundations laid,  
And Peace, and Grandeur, to his Heirs conveyed.  
Welcome, Great Monarch, to the longing shore,  
Your British skies can want their Sun no more.  
Welcome to Your Imperial Chamber, where  
Joys great as your prodigious Acts appear.  
Welcome, as to the Spring, soft April showers!  
Or Mornings pearly Dews to drooping Flowers!  
Welcome, as Breezes to the Western Isles!  
Or harmless Infants to their Parents smiles!  
Welcome, as Cordials to the fainting Soul!  
Or Day, or Warmth, to those about the Pole!  
Sweet Slumbers which the Summer's shades invite,  
Or the soft Kisses of the Bridal Night!  
Welcome as that dear Glorious Peace You bring,  
As solemn Triumphs to a Conquering King.  
As to the floating Ark the wand'ring Dove,  
Or endless Bliss to happy Souls above!  
See how your cheerful Subjects spread their Arms,  
How every Breast a Loyal fervour warms.  
Not Winter's freezing Air can cool their Flame,  
Love's all their Business, Service all their Claim.  
You, the resistless Monarch of the Soul,  
With ease the Vulgars' rugged Thoughts control,  
That PEACE you brought, like some swift Spirit, flies,  
Glows in their Hearts, and lightens in their Eyes.  
No headstrong Furies hurry on the Crowd,  
Their Motion's soft, their Acclamations loud.  
You bend, and turn their Tempers where You please,  
As Songs the Passions, or as Storms the Seas:  
Where e'er You move, Your Presence clears the way,  
And All your awful Eyes lest Glance obey.  
The City's Bands stretch out their Lines afar,  
Handle their Arms, but never fear the War;  
The thriving Plants of your Imperial Care,  
Whose jolly Looks their easy state declare;  
Through all the nipping Blasts with pleasure wait,  
And a loud Welcome to their Patron prate:  
The jocund Children hush their tender Cries,  
Reach out their Hands, and wipe their watery Eyes.  
ne'er knew War's terrors, yet with Joy can view,  
Peace in her glittering Robes attend on You:  
And oft their Parents, oft their Heirs shall know,  
How great your Entry, and how gay the Show.  
The Trading-Bodies show their Gowns in Peace,  
Their Prince's safety, and their Trades increase.  
The scarlet Senators their Powers resign,  
Value their Own, but think their King's Divine.  
A lambent Flame through all their Dwellings winds,  
Bright as their Loves, and harmless as their Minds.  
The softer Sex their lovely Charms display,  
And add new Beams to your Illustrious Day.  
The Country feels your influential Heat,  
Kind, without weakness, without scorching, Great,  
And send whole Crowds their loyal Hearts Envoys,  
True Representatives of Rustic Joys.  
Grave Judges, and the Churches glorious Crown,  
Blessings, and Right, enhance your just Renown:  
While the Nobless, streams from that Crystal spring,  
Secure their Honours, as they guard their King.  
Such Joys of Old Egyptian Crowds expressed,  
When the rich streams of flowing Nile increased;  
Such shouts they used, when the glad Sacrist showed  
The fatal Bullock, and retrieved the God:  
So the blessed Ark the sacred Mountain gained,  
With Universal Gladness entertained.  
So Wisdom's Heir with Prayers his Temple crowned,  
While Israel sung their Hallelvjahs round.  
So God's Incarnate Son his great Intrade  
Thro Salem's Gates to Salem's Temple made:  
Great, Meek and Humble, while the joyful Throng,  
Made loud Hosannas their Eternal Song.  
O! may your Royal Hands with Godlike Zeal,  
Our gloomy Dens of Holy Thiefs reveal;  
Cast out the Mony-changing Brutes who make  
Their milky Robes a deadly Tincture take,  
While the Lay-Broker with the Priest can join,  
In villainy, and barter Souls for Coin.  
A spurious Crew of Simon's ancient Race,  
Who all their Merit in their Purses place,  
And truth with Mercenary Hands disgrace.  
The very WITS, the scum of all Mankind,  
Above the strength of standard Sense refined,  
Now all the Posse of their Fancies raise,  
To squeeze one Sonnet to advance your Praise.  
The Tool, who scribles to the fulsome Stage,  
Whose nauseous Morals taint the senseless Age:  
Lewd as his Mistress, as his Flatterers dull,  
His shallow Head with monstrous Vapours full,  
Scrues up his Brains, and bites his Nails for Odes,  
To praise his Sovereign, and Blaspheme his Gods.  
Only grey Chaerilus in silence grouls,  
And on his Prince's peaceful Glory scouls.  
Looks as great Rubens draws the surly pair,  
When Meleager courts the valiant Fair;  
And to her Hands presents the tusked Spoils,  
The gallant Trophies of his daring Toils;  
Meanly content to shame the cheated Age,  
With ●lat Burlesque for Maro's lofty page,  
Dwindles his Thoughts down to a fustain Ode,  
Which once with Madam Hinds Encomiums flowed;  
His first Republic Principles renews,  
And to a State devotee's his double Childish Muse:  
With him the grumbling few perhaps repine,  
Like Bats they see your Mid-day's Glory shine,  
Dazzled with Honours, and quite sick with Light,  
They long for Darkness, and Eternal Night.  
King's are All Tyrants, and they'd sacrifice  
Their Heads to Dreams which in their Fancies rise:  
And would Great William lay the Sceptre down,  
And to Republic Humours veil the Crown,  
Britain would soon in wild Confusion mourn,  
And every Villain might expect his Turn.  
If Traitorous Heads by your blessed Peace undone,  
Would with a bloody Cloud eclipse the Sun;  
Not moved by loyal Thoughts, but dark Despair,  
Their Hopes as shattered, as their Fortunes are:  
To Hell they'd for Revenge their Souls resign,  
(Such Souls alone to Hellish Arts decline.)  
And let 'em Plot! While Heaven's superior Care,  
Quarters his winged battalions round the Air,  
Bids the bright Troops their constant rounds to keep,  
Gently to hush your Royal Cares a-sleep,  
And hurl the Traitor's Souls down to the burning Deep.  
But see, fair Cham and Ouse their Guardians send,  
And at your Feet the Sons of Learning bend:  
See where their Lyres the cheerful Muses bring,  
And Io's to their great Protector sing.  
Touched by your Hands the sacred Waters flow,  
And pure the Springs, the Rivers wholesome grow;  
Humbly with them your faithful Rhymer lies,  
With them to your serene Protection flies,  
With them he joins his Prayers— Great Sir, may YOU,  
The Fruits with pleasure of your Labours view:  
Look on your British Orb, as Heaven of old,  
When dark Confusion off the Mass was could.  
Looked on the figured World! May his great Hand,  
Who bade your Cares our stubborn Isle Command,  
Smile on your sacred Head, and make you prove,  
The second Object of the Nations Love!  
Long may You reign with growing Lustre bright,  
Your Envyer's terror, and the World's delight!  
Be Heaven your Care! on You his Blessings flow,  
Till Heaven exhausted can no more bestow:  
In all your Acts may Godlike Virtue shne,  
And all Acknowledge what's in You Divine.  
Reign still in PEACE, till your good Sword Curtaned,  
Almost forgets your warlike Arms Command.  
But if it must be drawn, let pointed Flame,  
From the Confederate Skies your Wars proclaim;  
Scorch off the Scabbard, and refine the steel,  
Till's its sharp Edge your fierce Opposers feel:  
Till Home-born plotting Rebels quit the field,  
And foreign Arms to your great Genius yield.  
May your blessed Hand the Royal Infant mould,  
Our Second Hope, till when yourself grown old,  
Sink, pressed with Age, and Honours gently down,  
And leave your splendid, but your weighty Crown,  
Till when his happy Mother's Age expires,  
And she tothth' Closet of the skies retires,  
Reading Your Deeds in Fame's large Calendar,  
How Just in Peace, how terrible in War;  
He like to Morrow's Sun may gaily rise,  
And strongly drive around the Northern Skies,  
As bright, as warmly, and strongly shine,  
His Face unspotted, and his Beams Divine.  
While Britain's future Race your Acts declare,  
View You again in your Illustrious Heir,  
And praise your present Love, and bless your parting Care.  
FINIS.