LUX OCCIDENTALIS: OR Providence Displayed, IN THE CORONATION OF King WILLIAM and Queen MARY; AND Their Happy Accession to the Crown of England: With other REMARKS.  
By T. R. A.M. Oxon.  
Jam redit & Virgo, redeunt Saturnia regna:  
Jam nova progenies coelo demittitur alto.  Virg. Eclog. 4. — 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. Hom. Il. 1. 
LICENCED, April 9 1689.  
LONDON, Printed, and are to be Sold by Randal Taylor, near Stationer's-Hall, MDCLXXXIX.   

THE PREFACE.  
SInce the unanimous Wisdom of a whole Nation has determined, and thought fit to offer up their most solemn Thanks to Almighty God for our late Deliverance from Popery and Slavery, I hope it will be thought no rash or indecent sally of my Pen, if I presume at some distance to Commemorate the same, (together with some other providential Occurrences) which we must certainly conclude to be the wise Product of an overruling Deity; unless, with Epicurus, we would place him without the World, and suppose him to be an indifferent Spectator of all humane Affairs.  
Indeed the History of the Britain Church will appear to any, that will take the pains but seriously to peruse it, a continued Series of providential Revolutions: How wonderfully obliging has Providence been unto us, in ordering that the British Church should be the firstborn of all Christian Churches in the World? For though Christianity was privately preached to other Nations before the Days of Lucius, yet ours was the first that received the Faith under the Seal of Authority, and public Approbation: Nor had it only the Honour of Primogeniture, but the Blessing too; it grew up, and flourished under the Influence of Peace, without being wàtered with the Blood of Martyrs; for when Persecution raged throughout the Synagogues of the East, our Church continued unmolested, and free from such tyrannical Invasions, and suffered no signal and inhuman Violence, till the great and general Eclipse of Christendom, about the latter end of the Reign of Dioclesian: Nay, when Persecution was in its highest Ferment in Italy and France, and other adjacent Regions round about us, there were many poor and distressed Fugitives fled hither, as they have done since, for Sanctuary and Protection. And when in aftertimes our Land was polluted with the thick darkness of Romish Superstition, there appeared many great and venerable Worthies, who opposed the Doctrines and Usurpations of Rome, with their Votes and Writings, with their Fortunes and with their Blood; which laudable Endeavours of our renowned Ancestors were preparatory steps to the Reformation that ensued, and looked like so many important Skirmishes, before they came to the main Battle. Again, if we consider our Church in its reformed State, and trace its Beginning, Preservation, and Progress to this day, we shall find it has been an illustrious Instance of God's presidential Care, and blest in a short time with a glorious Compendium of astonishing Mercies: For though God for wise Ends, did suffer it for sometime to lie as it were dead, in the hot interval of the Marian Persecution, yet how did he illustrate his Almighty Power in granting to it a speedy Resurrection? What a long Catalogue of Wonders run through the Reigns of Edward the Sixth, and Queen Elizabeth of ever blessed Memory, when God was pleased to magnify his own Strength in the Weakness of a Child, and of a Woman? How many Attempts afterwards, Plots and Conspiracies have been form against our Church, and yet how miraculously defeated? And how, above all Examples of former Ages, did he make his arm bare in our late preservation, when Ruin stared us in the very Face, and was laid in open view? and all this designed and deliberately carried on under the specious mask of Apostolical Meekness, of Tenderness and Moderation: But such Moderation as this is the very Rack of Extremity, such Kindness is fatal, and such Courtesies cruel. The modest Pretensions of these sort of Men are the unpassable Pillars of triumphant Impudence; their very Tenderness is neither better nor worse than the unexampled Horrors of an Inquisition; and Fire and Faggot is the last result of their Politics. What christian Zeal, and yet what hellish Cruelties has the Church of Rome produced in these latter Ages? What pretended Love, and yet real Inhumanities'? Inhumanities' that would make us extol the Clemency of a Dioclesian, and would almost stagger the Charity and Faith of an Origen.  
Of all Creatures in the World, the Wolf, in Sheep's Clothing, is the most dangerous Adversary: And those undaunted Heroes, who could look with Scorn in the grim Face of naked Danger, have always dreaded those acquaint Murderers, and staunch Assassins, that stab while they kiss, and embrace only to gain an opportunity to destroy; as 'tis said of Caesar, That he did not so much fear the magnanimous Anthony, as the pale and meager Cassius; who could dissemble his Passion with a treacherous smile, and take a kind of malicious delight in contriving the secret methods of Revenge.  
And here, to be just, I shall observe, that Kings, and Magistrates and Rulers of the Earth, have been generally inclinable to moderation and tenderness towards those that have differed from them in Religion; that as they bear God's character; and are Christ's Vicegerents upon Earth, so have they for the most part been adorned with the attributes of mercy and compassion, till they have been incited and provoked to rigorous courses by the instigation and lurry of malicious Men about 'em. If we take a survey of the ancient Records of the Christian Church, we shall find that most of the Primitive Persecutions did owe their original to this root of bitterness: Severus, Valerianus, and other Persecuting Emperors were mild and gentle for a time, and their Courts were open to the professors of Christianity; and as they could not but have an inward reverence for the Gospel, in that it provided so well for the establishment of civil Righteousness and Morality; so did they also extend some kind of benevolence to the Professors of it, and vouchsafed 'em the honour to let 'em serve in their Armies; but being abused at length by the false suggestions of some designing Favourites about 'em, they turned their former clemency into fury, and raised most dreadful and inhuman Persecutions. 'Twas the false information and accursed malice of the Heathen Magicians, that stirred up Sapores King of Persia against his Christian Subjects, about the time of Constantine the Great: 'Twas through the juggling insinuations of an Arrian Priest that lurked in the Court and bosom of Constantius, that the good Bishop Athanasius was Deposed and Persecuted, and a way laid open to all sorts of barbarities upon the Orthodox Christians; and when at length the glory of the Cross was turned into the scandal of an Inquisition; how gallantly and industriously did the Princes of Europe oppose the establishment of such an unmerciful Tribunal? and yet how was it Voted up, and themselves awed by Preachers and Confessors, by Bulls and Croisadoes, and the sanguinary determinations of the Lateran Council? and what was the design of those audacious men, who lately declaimed against the Church of England, but to transport a generous and indulgent Sovereign into indignation and fury against his Protestant Subjects? That all that noise and loud exclamation was mere illusion, juggle and Disguise, will very evidently appear; if we do but consider that at first our Church was caressed by those Men, who afterwards began to spurn and revile her: The Romish Factors did seem at first to have such a passionate devotion for her, that they put on the garb and fashion of fond Suitors, accosting her with the sweet perfume of fine Language, and all the winning ornaments of address; but being not able to make good their promises and propositions of Marriage, and finding themselves for that just reason cast off, and utterly rejected; they found it necessary, for the better support of their own sinking credit, to libel her honour, and assail her reputation; and she was therefore proclaimed naughty and dishonest, because she would not yield to the wanton and treacherous Embraces of the Church of Rome. Being thus cast off for discovered cheats, they soon began to display themselves in their true Roman antipathy and Italian bravery of Spirit; Sanguinary Laws, Church of England's severity, were made the ordinary Topics of discourse; and we had some reason to fear, bade those Heroes went on, that fire and faggot, and an Holy Inquisition, would have been made at length the Characteristical note of the Antichristian Church of England, since 'tis easy to imagine, that they who can give credit to contradictions and impossibilities on the one hand, may quite invalidate the evidence of demonstration on the other.  
But it has pleased God (who makes his Church the object of his care) to blast all their policies with an inglorious defeat; and by his omnipotent arm (which neither the Roman nor Infernal powers can resist) to rescue the Virgin from the Dragon's jaws, when she was but one remove from inevitable destruction; such folly and madness it is for Men to vie power with Heaven, and to countermand omniscience with maxims of state, and foolish artifices of humane wisdom. How pleasant is it to observe the vanity of aspiring projectors; to see the politicians taken in their own snare; meeting with shame where they hoped for promotion, and confusion where they grasped at glory? such providential disappointments may make us expect that they will be weary at length with plotting to no purpose; and that they will be both ashamed and afraid to bring their base cause to another Trial, which God himself has condemned by such a number of Miracles.  
The only thing that can obstruct the progress of our present felicity, is that spirit of discord that is gone into the World, and which still reigns in the Children of disobedience: Whosoever is sensible of those fears and convulsions which lately threatened us, must think it high time to bind up those wounds, at which Protestancy itself was just ready to expire. And indeed God seems to have put this gracious opportunity into your hands; but we must not expect that he will perfect our deliverance without our own concurrence; and therefore, if after all the experiments and demonstrations of danger, as well as mercy, which we have seen and heard, animosities still reign, divisions prosper, and punctilio's still divide us; we have just reason to expect a reverse of God's providence; nay, we deserve to perish without commiseration.   


THE Phoenix AND THE PEACOCK.  

IN a fair Island, like Arabia blest  
With the rich Plenty of the bounteous East,  
Where all the Glories of both Indies meet,  
And Blessings crowd around each Natives Feet,  
A Phoenix once did Reign; and all the Land  
With peaceful sway did willingly command:  
Her Feathered Subjects with obsequious awe,  
Stooped to her Will, which was her mildest Law.  
Where ere she walked, in Woods, or on the Green,  
No plumed Potentate was ever seen  
With so much joy, as was this Maiden-Queen:  
Long was her Reign, and full of Haltion days,  
Her Subjects all did warble forth her Praise:  
So quick was their Allegiance, that it might  
Seem not so much their Duty as delight.  
Wide was her Sovereignty, and great her Bliss,  
Yet greater still all wished her Happiness:  
Few were the ills and Dangers she sustained,  
Yet more than she deserved; so well she reigned.  
For as she thus indulged her Subject's Ease,  
And slept herself in the warm Lap of Peace,  
Some black and envious Fowl came from afar,  
Threatening Disturbance, and at length a War;  
Which, because signal, in th' Event I'll tell  
How it began, advanced, and ended well;  
For all this pompous Noise, and proud Intent  
Soon vanished into Sport and Merriment.   

In a strange Country, where the scorching Sun  
Breeds loathsome Monsters, Plagues, Infection;  
Where Ravens, Vultures, Bats and Owls do dwell,  
(A place that's famed, for Horror, next to Hell)  
An haughty Peacock reigned, and bore great sway,  
Ruled over ravenous Fowl, and Birds of Prey.  
High on a Mountain's top he fixed his Nest,  
Displayed his Plumes, and reared his gilded Crest  
Nigh to the Stars, thinking himself to be  
Allied to th' Sun, the World's bright Deity.  
Oft would he, when pricked on by nature's Pride,  
In gay Procession stalk with formal Stride,  
Then, perking up, would pompously unveil  
The golden Scutcheons of his tawdry Tail:  
While all around his Vassals did him greet,  
And with an awful Reverence kiss his Feet.  
But though his Plumes were of Angelic Hue,  
And his bespangled Feathers wonder drew,  
His puny upstart Greatness did arise  
From glorious Robberies, Rapine and Surprise:  
Th' Imperial Eagle he had quite o'ercome  
By Force or Fraud, and made him cheep at Home;  
Had pulled his Feathers, clipped his Wings, and stood  
Upon his Neck in a disdainful Mood,  
Poor and ashamed, he scarce durst peep. Abroad.  
Or, if he did assume a Princely Mien,  
(A daring Glory which was seldom seen)  
Into the Warlike Claws, by wiles well laid  
Of the great Scythian Bird he was betrayed.  
The Eagle tamed, the rest did soon give way,  
The Feathered Kings did servilely obey  
This strutting Tyrant, who with Pride over born,  
Made 'em the Objects of his Rage and Scorn;  
Wide did he his victorious Wings Display,  
And fond grasped at universal Sway.   

It grieved th' aspiring Peacock to behold  
The Royal Phoenix fortunately bold;  
He grieved to see her single Force withstand  
His potent Sway, and rigorous Command;  
He raved, and Cursed her, made a hellish Noise,  
(For what's more like Hell than a Peacock's Voice?)  
Then doubtful stood, and hovering in Suspense  
How to chastise and stop this grand Offence.  
At length great things he in his mind revolves,  
And hastily her final Doom resolves;  
He vows her Death and unlamented Fall;  
A Troop of Vultures Echoed at his Call.  
These Birds that feed on Blood he did command  
Forthwith to visit her detested Land.   

And soon the winged Missionaries came  
In various Shapes, prepared for Royal Game;  
From grave and silly Birds they Feathers took,  
And put on a demure and harmless Look,  
Hoping such specious Dress and Disguise  
Might render them secure from jealous Eyes.  
Long time did they remonstrate and complain  
Against the Phoenix and her Tyrannous Reign;  
They said, She did affect too high a Port,  
And that 'twas fit she should Reform her Court;  
That her ambitious Highness was akin  
To the gay Peacock's domineering Line,  
Her Subjects did too rich a Livery wear,  
Those gaudy Birds which were to her most dear,  
Which round about her Highness daily stood,  
Had some o'th' Peacock's Feathers, and his Blood.  
Thus for some time did these Impostors get  
Some small Esteem, and draw Birds to their Net;  
Thus did they with deluding Notes Surprise  
Some vulgar Birds, and catch poor Jacks and Pies;  
Till some of 'em, whose Feathers, loosely joined,  
Dropped off, and proved 'em of another kind;  
Betrayed themselves, together with their Cause,  
And so became the Mark o'th' Phoenix and her Laws.   

The Peacock heard this; Vengeance adds new Charms,  
And a fresh Rage his sinking Spirits arms:  
The Phoenix now he is resolved to burn  
Before her time, and seal her funeral Urn.  
Straightway he sent a Messenger on Wing  
To a Puissant and Victorious King  
Of the same Feather; and thus to him said,  
With haste I challenge your officious Aid;  
There is a Princess, in the World well known,  
Usurps a Realm which I do justly own  
By ancient Charter and Prescription:  
Me she has scorned, my Vassals has annoyed,  
Her and her puny Train I'll have destroyed;  
This must be done, and this to you is given  
By gracious Juno, the fair Queen of Heaven.   

Juno does through the Earth her Power extend;  
The World to her does in Obedience bend.  
When Winds and Seas do swell, and Lightnings play,  
If she but speak, the Elements obey:  
The Winds with soft pacific Murmurs fly,  
And gentle Gales calm the distempered Sky;  
This Patroness alone my Glory raised,  
Let her great Name be above all things praised.   

And now vast winged Legions did prepare  
To cut their Passage through the tender Air;  
Flushed with vain certain Hopes of Victory,  
With vigorous haste, and active speed they try  
Their nimble Wings, and threaten as they fly.  
With Pride they spread their wide expanded Sails,  
Brandished their shining Claws, and glittering Tails;  
They looked like some vast Cloud gilded over with light,  
In Form and Figure like a Rainbow bright.  
With joyful Omens all along they came,  
As if they road upon the Wings of Fame.  
So sometimes when a Kingdom's Fate draws near,  
'Tis said, Bright airy Horsemen do appear,  
And make an ominous Flourish in the Air.   

At length some nimble Scout the News conveyed  
To the Phoenix and her Court; she not dismayed  
(For Innocence can never be afraid;)  
Soon Summons all her Guards, bids 'em prepare  
And readily wait the Events of War;  
And when prepared, she bids 'em rest that Night,  
And by next Mornings wake resolve to Fight;  
Then leaves 'em all, (this was the last she spoke)  
To th' Conduct of the World-surrounding Drake.   

Scarce had the Sun resigned the vacant Sky  
To kind and lovely Cynthia's Regency,  
When Clouds full charged, Granado-like, did fly,  
Breathing contagious Lightning through the Sky,  
And Thunder too, while Storms began to Jar,  
Turned Trumpeter, and loudly called to War:  
I'th' labouring Air were such Convulsions seen,  
One might have justly thought they would have been  
The World's last breath;  
Nature did seem to Travel with th' Event,  
And sighed and groaned as if she was nigh spent.  
Mean time these Birds with fearless vigour blest  
Do unconcerned lay down their Heads to rest;  
Yet sleep abruptly, and ere Morning's peep  
Kill their Foes in Effigy while they sleep.  
In Dreams and broken Slumber● they foretell  
That Conquest which soon afterwards befell.  
Thus slept they, till the Cock, that Sentinel stood,  
Began to clap his Wings, and crow aloud.   

For now Aurora with her beauteous Hand  
Unbar'd the Gates of Light; at whose Command  
Grim Night with her black Equipage gave way  
To th' bright Arrival of revolving Day;  
The Elemental War began to cease,  
The Storms were hushed, and listened to a Peace:  
Black Mists already had their flight begun,  
And rolled in gilded wreaths before the Sun;  
Yet still the Winds were sometimes heard to groan,  
The tinctured Skies a crimson die put on,  
As if already they were purpled over  
With streaks of Blood, and Red with Wounds and Gore.  
Up risen these Birds, and with quick Order flew  
To meet the barbarous Rout, and foreign Crew;  
When spied, with martial Shouts they did 'em greet  
Before their pointed Claws, and Wings could meet,  
When met, they charged 'em boldly in the Face,  
With moving Order, and a warlike Grace,  
And with undaunted Force maintained their place.   

Have you not seen two Rival Navies join,  
And turn and meet, and justle on the Main,  
And thoughtless of the Danger and the Toil,  
Bravely salute with Blows, and so Recoil,  
And again grapple as they both draw nigh?  
So Birds met Birds, and battled in the Sky.  
Hot was the Contest, while the trembling Skies  
Echoed with gallant Shouts, and mingled Cries:  
The brave Phoenician Birds fought to a wonder,  
As quick as Lightning, and as bold as Thunder;  
Many they deeply wounded, more they slew,  
Their Foes forced back, durst not the Fight renew.  
At length the Birds of Paradise came down  
To guard the Phoenix, and her Enemies drown;  
For now loud sounding Storms began to play  
Against these Foreigners, and Birds of Prey;  
About their Ears a sudden Tempest Rings,  
Sends 'em away with shattered Legs and Wings;  
Thick mangled Troops lay floating on the Main,  
Some gasping, some half dead, and others slain;  
Some few poor tattered Birds their heavy Wings display,  
And with much heavier Hearts these Tidings home convey.   

This Fight, which made the Islanders much Sport,  
Did soon alarm the plumed Tyrant's Court,  
Where on a sudden all in mournful Weeds,  
Hang down their drooping ignominious Heads:  
The Peacock and his Train no Comfort found,  
Nothing but dismal Elegies go round;  
All this sad Story in wild Notes repeat;  
The ravenous Birds amuz'd forget their meat;  
The Pheacock stormed, and blamed the Seas and Wind,  
Called Juno Cruel, and the Stars Unkind;  
Down dropped his painted Tail, low hung his Crest,  
Through fear he fouled his Feathers and his Nest;  
Stripped off his Pride, and from his Wishes torn,  
He's made a Sport to th' Pies, to th' very Jacks a Scorn.   

But now what artful or harmonious Voice  
Can sing our Maiden Queen's triumphant Joys?  
The Birds at Home with Emulation strove  
To tell her wondrous Praises, and their Love.  
The tuneful Orators o'th' Woods and Plain  
Did sing the Triumphs of her happy Reign;  
All different Notes were reconciled in this;  
All did Congratulate her mighty Bliss;  
Praised and admired she was where ere she came,  
Each Forest was made Vocal with her Name;  
The stately Trees with Reverence seemed to bow  
Their lofty Tops, t' adorn and grace the Show;  
All things conspired to make the Joy complete,  
And render her magnificently great.   

Ye Birds that now dwell in that lovely place,  
Which the Famed Phoenix heretofore did Grace;  
Praise that thrice Fortunate and Happy Isle,  
Which she adorned with Favours and her Smile:  
Praise Heaven, that with fair Days and Haltion Wether  
Blest both the Island, and its Birds together:  
That Island which does seem so rudely hurled  
By scornful Nature from the wider World,  
Did then in her sweet Solitude enjoy  
The choicest Smiles of Heaven; what could destroy  
That Place, which Vultures could not much annoy?  
Pray Heaven, ye still may see such happy Days,  
May Heaven in sending such make short delays:  
May ye Phoenicians ne'er forget the Fame  
Of your Illustrious Queen;  
May Birds unfeathered yet be taught to Chirp her Name;  
May Nightingales it chant from every Tree,  
And may it, like herself, Immortal be:  
For, unless ancient Story utter Lies,  
The Phoenix is Immortal, never dies:  
Her Dust is pregnant, a new vital Fire,  
As quick as thought, her Ashes does inspire:  
At least, when parted hence, she still does reign,  
And in her Successor alive remain.    

An Elegy upon the Late King.  

THAT Sun, which rising with a joyful Ray,  
Seems to foretell a long and happy day,  
Stripped of all Beams, and wrapped in mournful Shroud,  
Oft sets obscurely in a midday Cloud.  
Thus Mighty James, who by the Vote o'th' Laws,  
Rose to a Throne, and with the World's applause,  
From his Meridian sunk has set apace:  
And, as it were, i'th' middle of his Race,  
Looks like a poor neglected nameless thing,  
The Shade and Ghost of a departed King.  
And yet give leave (Great Sir) (I cannot yet  
Thy awful Name and Character forget)  
Give leave, I say, before I celebrate  
Our present Twins of Majesty and State;  
To drop a short Encomium on thy Hearse,  
And to lament thy Fate with untuned Verse.  
For sure thou was't by Heaven for Empire framed,  
And virtue to thy Breast a little claimed:  
Honour in thee chose her Imperial Seat,  
And, because joined to Virtue, looked more great;  
But amongst all the Plagues on Earth, there's none  
So great a Plague as False Religion:  
Religion, when corrupt, o'recasts with night  
men's Souls, and darkens where it should give light.  
This blots that Virtue which it should adorn,  
Whilst men by blind Zeal are in Triumph born.  
Blind Zeal, that Lust o'th'Soul, t'affliction brings  
The headlong Bigot, and destroys even Kings;  
'Twas this that soiled thy Virtue in its prime,  
'Twas thy mishap, I will not call't thy Crime.  
'Twas thy mishap, brave Soul, to be misled  
By Slaves that Merit not their daily Bread:  
By men that Lucifer himself outdo,  
That Saintship claim, while they his steps pursue:  
Men whose Religion's nothing but Grimace,  
Hypocrisy set off with Paint and Grace:  
Men that have shown how far a Christian can  
Outsin a Heathen and a Publican:  
Men that by solemn Oath to sin are driven,  
Yet fawn and pass a Compliment on Heaven:  
Men that grow Rich by vows of Poverty,  
Grow Fat with Fasting and Severity;  
Who, while they Fast, enlarge their Mouths like Hell,  
And could devour both Indies at a Meal:  
Men that renounce the World, yet haunt the Court  
Where Kings must Hood winked be to make them sport.  
Who, when Religion's made the darling Theme,  
Can whistle the tame Vulgar after them,  
And shuffle Souls into a Stratagem;  
Establish Treason with a graceful awe,  
And stamp Rank Murder Orthodox by Law.  
If all that men report or fear be true,  
May heavens just Scourge thy Counsellors pursue,  
May it light all on them, and none on you.   

Pardon this Liberty, and I'll atone  
All that I've said with a repeated groan:  
I speak't with troubled Breast, and trembling Lips,  
And with some fear I gaze on thy Eclipse.  
I ne'er rejoiced with those that sing thy shame,  
Nor will I ever persecute thy Name.  
May I th'infamous Brand of Slanderer bear,  
If e'er I blot thy name but with a Tear.    

A Panegyric upon their Majesty's King William and Queen Mary.  

IT was a lovely and a cheerful night,  
The Skies were decked with living Gems; the light  
Did not overflow with too redundant Streams,  
But cheaply interwove the Clouds with Beams:  
The lower Regions were all calm and fair,  
And no rude Gusts disturbed the peaceful Air.  
It was a night by Heaven sent from above,  
T'invite soft Vows, sweet Ardours, and chaste Love;  
When sleep with gentle wiles besieged my Breast,  
With willing haste I laid me down to rest:  
All things as yet were cheerful, it did seem  
Nature's Vacation, and the rest of time.  
But as I slept secure from outward harms,  
With sense fast bound in sweet and pleasing Charms,  
My active Fancy waked, and from afar  
Displayed a Visionary Scene of War:  
Death seemed to blacken and overspread the Plain,  
And airy Troops in Purple heaps lay slain.  
Bless me, said I— and e'er I more could say,  
Behold a sudden Beam of gladsome day  
Chased all this ghastly Spectacle away.  
Quick as the light arose a glittering band  
Of men whose joyful Songs did cheer the Land:  
Before them a Fair Hero marched, whose head  
With Laurels bright was decently arrayed:  
Whilst Halo-like bright Glories played around  
His comely face with graceful sorrow crowned:  
Tears, which adorned his Cheeks, ran streaming down,  
Shed for a Nations Sufferings not his own,  
And o'er his Head there hung a starry Crown.  
In Golden Characters some hand above  
Had stamped upon his Breastplate, Truth and Love;  
Each Letter looked like an auspicious Star,  
The whole a Constellation did appear.    

To the King.  

I waked and soon did find the Vision true;  
And this Illustrious Hero, Sir, was you:  
Strange Omen! for just then to us you came  
Peace and perpetual Triumphs to proclaim:  
To save us from a Wild and Savage Brood  
Of Squeamish Monsters loathing all that's good:  
To quell, while you restore our Liberty,  
The worst of French Diseases, Tyranny:  
To stop the Plague, to calm a Nations Moan;  
This was, and could be done by you alone.  
Your Powder, Sir, is Sympathetick sure;  
It saves at distance, does not kill but cure:  
So mighty Tempests sometimes as they fly,  
Do serve to clear a thick infectious Sky.  
Heaven bless your generous Aid; you seem the care  
Of Providence and Charge of every Star:  
All things are reconciled to your command,  
At Sea you're Neptune, and a Jove at Land:  
Where you frequent, there Fame still keeps her Court,  
And Victory grown proud to make you sport,  
With her bright Train does thither too resort.  
Oft have I heard how in times past you stood  
Undaunted amidst dangers, death and blood;  
When ruin wrapped in dismal sounds did fly,  
And drowned the noysless whispers of the Sky;  
Yet to your Fortune Death itself gave way,  
And danger round you only seemed to play:  
As if, like Julive, trusting to your fate,  
You braved the tempest which around you sat  
Brooding destruction, and unmoved surveyed  
The Tragic scene which Destiny displayed.  
How did you lately too with brave disdain  
Yourself seem an Armado on the Main;  
Whilst Winds grew tame, and the tempestuous Sea  
Grew proud her Lord and Master to obey?  
Sure some officious, fond Intelligence  
Stooped from its Orb, and with kind influence  
Guided your Vessel, steered it in the dark,  
And turned your floating Chariot to an Ark:  
An Ark I'll call't, since things succeed so well;  
For before it Rome's mighty Dagon fell.  
Good Heaven! What raptures of enormous joy  
Did lull our senses, and our vitals cloy;  
How were we all in sweet distraction tossed,  
And in a maze of speechless wonder lost,  
When Fame first sang aloud,  
At length the time is come, when Britanny  
Shall be for ever from Rome's bondage free?  
As Men confined to Caves, and doomed to Night,  
But faintly bear the sudden start of Light,  
And seem to shun with a dejected face  
Its pleasing violence, and its wished embrace;  
So were we overwhelmed with sudden bliss,  
And scarcely stemmed the Flood of happiness:  
The span of mortal life did seem too small  
To grasp a joy so great, so general.   

Go on (Great Hero) and in time advance  
To th' utmost bounds of domineering France:  
Crush that Great Monster dead, who all on flame  
Thinks the whole World too narrow for his Fame;  
One Globe's too little for his mighty span,  
The Universe must stretch  it contain  
His boundless thoughts; how does he fret and rage  
Like Bajazet confined within a Cage?  
Yet this fine swelling Fop that looks so gay,  
This spruce embalmed lump of gilded clay,  
Must shortly to ignobler dust return,  
And his proud ashes shrink into an urn:  
Look him but in the Face, and speak the word,  
He'll die with fear, at least put up his Sword;  
His martial Troops will quickly scorn t'obey  
His sneaking greatness, and pedantic sway;  
When you appear, they'll wisely run away.   

Monarches that grasp at too much power and might,  
Look small when raised above their lawful height,  
And mounting higher vanish out of sight.   

If Poets may divine (and sure I'm told  
They challenged that Prerogative of old)  
I'll say, Heaven seems to have selected you,  
Rome's warlike Church, and Empire to subdue:  
Your Name now sounds through Italy and Spain,  
Where grave unerring ignorance does reign,  
Where venerable Nonsense sits i'th' chair,  
And Pagan pomp does Catholic Titles wear:  
And where (as each sad Traveller can relate)  
Poor defunct Piety now lies in stare  
Th' Italian Monsters tremble at the same  
Of Britan's Hercules; his very Name  
Makes Cerberus quake; whose Massy, Triple Crown  
Gins to totter; and with look cast down  
He sneaks, and fears the Light of Reformation.    

To the QVEEN.  

And now Illustrious Paragon, to you  
Somewhat I fain would speak, yet scarce know how:  
The task appears too weighty for my pen;  
An Angel's voice may reached, not that of Men:  
What glorious charms lie couched within your frame,  
The wonderful event does best Proclaim:  
At your approach the Oracles of Rome  
Returned to their old shades, and were struck dumb:  
Your breath, which you so kindly do dispense,  
Has countercharmed a Popish Pestilence.  
Your presence raised our hopes when they were dead;  
Before you the Destroying Angel fled.  
Th' Unconquered Prince, that did mankind subdue,  
Yielded, when he first fixed his Eyes on you:  
Surely from you one conquering art he took;  
From you he learned to vanquish with a look:  
Welcome now (Royal Madam) to a Throne;  
Now welcome to our Nation, and your own,  
'Tis true, a Crown adds nothing to your Power;  
For you were chosen Queen of Hearts before:  
Yet may you light to us and influence give,  
And lustre to the Crown which you receive:  
Mary does now Elizabeth out shine;  
That which looked Monstrous, now appears Divine,  
've made that Sacred which was once accursed,  
Made that the best of Names which was the worst:  
Britannia sighed and grieved where gone;  
Pensive she lay, and uttered many a groan:  
She sat encompassed with illboding fears,  
And like a Widow all dissolved in tears:  
But now, her sorrows having laid aside  
She reassumes her ornaments and pride,  
And looks gay like some new expecting Bride.   

A joy like this Great Charles our gracious King  
Did to a sad afflicted Nation bring,  
When homewards bend proud swelling Seas he crossed,  
As strangely found as Romulus was lost.   

A joy like this, tho' more refined and bright,  
Departed Spirits find, and those that live in light;  
When first they come to that Harmonious place,  
Where friends do meet again, where Angels do embrace.   

Happy that day (and may it ne'er be torn  
From the fair Book of Fame) when you were born:  
May it for ever shine, and still appear  
A Diamond i'th' Circle of the year:  
May it still be as happy 'mongst the rest  
Oth' days, as you are amongst Women blest:  
And may your following Reign a Sabbath prove  
Of Peace, of Joy, of Ecstasy and Love:  
When 've completed what you have begun,  
May you look down with pleasure from a Throne  
Upon the works and wonders you have done.  
Long may you live encircled round with joys,  
Blest by consent, by our unanimous voice:  
May Sovereign Virtue all your wishes steer,  
And harmless pleasures sweeten all your care.  
And when at length (O may th' unhappy day  
Move slowly on) your life must pass away;  
May you retire to everlasting rest;  
And may these Nations be securely blest  
By Heirs descended from your fruitful Womb,  
Till Shiloh shall again in Glory come.    

The Ghost of St. Ignatius, addressing himself to a Cabal in France.  

FRom the unhallowed Mansions of Despair,  
O'erflown with black and pestilential Air,  
Where mutinous Billows roar and never sleep,  
And wanton winds still revel on the deep;  
From that infernal Gulf where Daemons dwell,  
(A place best known by the great name of Hell)  
I'm come an angry spirit, urged by just rage  
Against th'unthinking Zealots of this Age:  
O! I could tear with groans my dusky shrine,  
While I behold these wretched Sons of mine  
Hunted like Beasts of prey, and homeward driven  
By an accursed Legerdemain of Heaven.  
How frail is Happiness, how quickly gone,  
By th' eager rapt of time still hurried on?  
How fading are the Glories and Applause,  
Which here the proudest sinning Heroes raise?  
How poor and scanty are the Crimes they know?  
Perfection's only to be found below:  
Here soon the bold are to Destruction hurled;  
'Tis plain Discretion does not guide the World:  
No; every Kingdom, every reeling State  
Is whirled about upon the poles of Fate.   

Falsehearted Britain! how I grieve to see  
Th'Italian Legions thus undone by thee?  
O had the Belgian Brisk been cast away  
To Neptune, and the scaly rout a prey;  
Or given a Bait to great Leviathan,  
That Monarch and proud Hector of the Main.  
Happy Britannia then had never borne  
The rigid shock of his imperious Scorn,  
And Hell had had less reason to complain;  
But now ill Destiny succeeds again:  
His Foes like Iron Images stand mute,  
Shrunk in their Arms, not daring to dispute  
The cause by noble Force; No, they appear  
A Fairy Scene, a Poppet-show of War.  
His pointed Aspect does the work of Steel,  
And distant Troops his awful Nod do feel.  
Hark, hark, methinks I hear th'ill-boding noise,  
The voice of Conquest, and the Victor's Joys:  
Te Deums, Shouts, Hosannas, and the like  
Fantastic sounds my shattered Senses strike:  
The heavens aloud with Gratulations ring;  
Angels above their grateful Anthems sing;  
And seem to promise by this signal Grace,  
That Romish Rage shall ne'er again deface  
Fair Britanny, nor drown the lovely place.   

Curse on these Guardian-Saints, these Tell-tale Spies,  
That lurk i'th-secret Foldings of the Skies;  
That with a wakeful and indulgent care  
Pry into Hells Arcana's, and declare  
The Councils of the Deep:  
These peevish Powers Leagues and Cabals detect;  
This puny Lifeguard of the poor elect,  
Have lately blasted our beloved Theme,  
Our hopeful Plot, and thriving Stratagem,  
Involving the most black and monstrous things  
That night e'er sheltered with her gloomy wings.   

Hell sickens at the News, each Fury groans,  
And gasping Fiends do mingle their sad tones  
Into a signal Grief, a deeper Woe:  
Satan at first could hardly undergo  
The shock of this report; with hollow sound  
He bellowed loud, and whirled his Eyeballs round:  
No soft persuasion could his Wrath assuage,  
But thus he breathed out his long penned rage:  
Into what maze of horror am I led?  
Sure some Almighty hand holds fast the thread:  
I toss from side to side, and roam about,  
Spurred on by rage, but hopeless to get out.  
Ah! how am I transformed by treacherous Fate?  
Shadow and blank of what I was of late:  
Outbraved by him, whom I even still disdain,  
From Empire rend, and tossed from pain to pain:  
Distempered Nature's Agonies, when she  
Labours to vent some unborn Prodigy,  
Th'amazing Terrors of the torturing Steel,  
Are sports to those Convulsive Pangs I feel:  
Pain beats so thick upon my staggered sense,  
That Thought itself has scarce time to commence:  
Heaven can no more; it has upon my head  
The very dregs of all its Viols shed.  
O that I could imped with strong rapture fly,  
And justle through th'unnavigable Sky;  
With rapid violence knock the Thunderer down,  
That sits so proudly perched upon a Throne,  
Take new Jerusalem, raze th'Imperial Town;  
Seize all the Guards of Heaven with powerful sway,  
Lay waste with fire those Cells of purer clay,  
Or cover all with night, and blot Eternal day.  
Thus rallied the Dread Sovereign of the Deep;  
The lesser Fiends did awful silence keep,  
Whilst Irish howls, Pope's Bulls, and French Grimace  
Doubled the wont horror of the place.   

'Twould make a pale-faced Ghost even blush to see,  
From what a glorious height of Villainy  
Your noble Friends are fallen in Britanny.  
Hell! can you this unmoved and silent hear?  
When will you rally, if you now forbear?  
What! do you tremble too? for shame give o'er:  
So great Alcides once a Distaff bore;  
And the renowned Achilles to his shame  
Unsinewed did assume a Virgin's name:  
But soon the great Duum virate with disdain  
Quit their Toys, and roused to arms again:  
And thus your Courage, which has ebbed so low,  
By a Cessation now should stronger grow,  
And like a Flood damned up, all Banks should overflow.  
Can Hurricanes forget to roar, and fly  
With lazy wings calming the ruffled Sky?  
Can sullen Waves conspire to lull the Deep,  
And bind the Ocean in a lasting sleep?  
Or can the Needle Nature's Laws control,  
And shun th'embraces of its darling pole?  
Can a sworn Witch find leisure to repent?  
Can Tigers fawn, or Lion's compliment?  
No more can you by adverse Fate be driven  
To turn tame Fops, and basely cringe to Heaven.  
The Spheres shall halt, Nature shall make a pause,  
And quite invested change her ancient Laws;  
Discord shall split the Universe in twain,  
And shake the solid Globe to dust again;  
E'er those Barbarians start whose Souls have been  
But once strained up to th' highest pitch of sin.  
Therefore let Death begin his march; drive on  
Unwilling Fate; and let Crimes yet unknown  
The guilt of your past innocence atone.  
Do not despair, but reassume a will  
To plot on, and usurp a power to kill.  
Prepare to attack th'insulting British Slaves,  
And if repulsed fight back into your Graves:  
Quickly begin, before it be too late;  
Stake all at once i'th' doubtful hand of Fate:  
Life, Church, and Empire in a cause so good:  
Let your Religion set, as it arose, in Blood.   

But Ha! what Fiendlike form salutes my Eyes?  
And rends me from myself with quick surprise:  
Am I deceived? or do I plainly see,  
The Saintlike Monster, brave Le Cheese? 'tis he,  
The very same; as may be partly seen  
By his Lampooning Face, and frightful Mien.  
Thy Pardon Reverend Sage,  
That I should dare to be thus proudly rude,  
Before thy face my Dictates to obtrude;  
When 'tis well known the Fiends themselves from thee  
May copy out choice Rules of Policy,  
And wait the Dictates e'er they do Decree.  
All the black Dwellers in the Plains below  
At thy name with submissive Reverence bow;  
If they but hear't, they seem to steal a bliss;  
And never speak't without an Emphasis:  
Now I see thee, some glimmering hopes return;  
And my chilled Spirits with fresh Passions burn.  
Thy single force can heavens attempts control,  
For it has tried in vain to steer thy Soul.  
Thy Prowess from mean Acts no Honour wins,  
But Sinewy, solid, and substantial Sins  
Are thy Diversion; thou art framed and built  
For strange Exploits, and some unusual guilt.  
Clement and Ravillack, compared to thee,  
Were but poor Padders in Iniquity,  
And superficial sinners; in thy fame  
Their little Tricks are lost, and want a name.  
Old Petre to thy brave and manly Port  
Seems but a Poppet, only made for sport,  
And for experiment in Vacation time,  
And formed for some obscure and vulgar crime.  
Racks, Fire and Faggot have been caused by me;  
But these are now dull things, too light for thee:  
A thousand Mariana's in thee dwell;  
And thy rare Deeds add blackness even to Hell.  
At thy Nativity the factious Stars  
In lucky consult met, portending Wars;  
And shedding noisome influence on the Earth,  
With various Terrors signalised thy Birth:  
Nature grew pale, Heaven frowned when it did view  
The little Monster; and the angelic Crew  
Cried, a bad Omen! as if thou hadst been  
Born to advance the Theory of sin.  
Nor didst thou frustrate the design of Fate;  
Water on thee was thrown away,  
For thou was't ever unregenerate;  
Shut out from Grace when from thy Mother torn,  
A Wretch consummate in thy Infant Morn:  
Brave polished Villain, and incarnate Spirit,  
To whom sin is both business and delight;  
What Miracles in mischief hadst thou done,  
How hadst thou braved the Gods, had thy Glass run  
In Saturn's or Jove's Reign? hadst thou lived then  
When Gods were known to have less Wit than Men.   

Giants (those Prototypes o'th' Romish Race)  
Had once the Monarch of the World in chase;  
By force they hurled Mountains against Heaven;  
Pelion was like a Hand-granado driven:  
While Jupiter from his high Crystal Fort  
Looked down, and dashed them with a Godlike Port,  
Making their Toils his Merriment and Sport.  
But hadst thou helped, the Boys had then prevailed,  
By thee Elysium had been stormed and scaled:  
Thy wit had rallied, nay even baffled Jove,  
When brandished Mountains useless Toys did prove.   

Go on great Genius; let whole Nations be  
Demolished and undone to set up thee:  
Since thou art now just in thy plotting prime,  
Court not delay, but snatch the present time.  
Do thou but speak, vast crowds shall make reply;  
Thick Troops of fight Fools will follow thee.  
Tho canst the senseless Multitude beguile  
With solemn nod, and artificial smile,  
And Magic sense disguised in Gospel stile.  
Thus flattering Phoebus to th' Spectator's Eye,  
Dresses and tricks up a tempestuous Sky  
In a bright Livery, and the World beguiles  
With gaudy mischief, and ill natured smiles:  
Thus treacherous Pirates wantonly display  
Deceitful colours to invite a prey:  
Thus wiser Fiends with false assumed light  
Gilled their dark Vests, and play upon the sight:  
And so canst thou delude men unawares  
With flowery Nets, gay Wiles, and Golden snares.  
What are the Vulgar but mere passive Tools?  
A pack of poor predestinated Fools:  
'Tis their lot and prerogative to be  
Made slaves to men of Wit and Policy:  
Moved by the Breath, and guided by the Hand,  
They'll all things do, though nothing understand;  
And thus inspired by thy example, they  
Will sin by rote, and fight extempore.   

Neither will I be wanting, for I'll be  
An Actor in the Black Solemnity:  
With airy Legions from the boundless Deep  
I'll come, and through your Foes with fury sweep:  
Hag-like I'll clog their Vitals, and destroy;  
Then Vulturelike I'll seize upon my prey:  
Hot vapours, steams and gore shall be my Food;  
I'll quench my thirst with nectarous draughts of Blood:  
Thus I my vengeance shall accomplish quite;  
Were it to gain Heaven I'd not lose the sight.   

And now methinks I see impartial Fate,  
Like a Colossus, stand with equal feet  
On great and vulgar; with an even hand  
Dealing Destruction all around the Land:  
Methinks already I behold the Peers  
Of the celestial Senate clad in Fears:  
Each drooping Saint, with heavy trembling heart  
Does from his Golden Dormitory start,  
And every Singer i'th' Harmonious Choir  
In thoughtful hurry throws aside his lyre:  
The first brave Rebels that attacked the Skies,  
Did not Omnipotence so much surprise,  
As shall your sprightly and well-balanced Rage;  
Look to it well, and I'll dare to presage  
For one short act the Triumph of an Age.   

I saw this written, when I last did pry  
Into th' dark Volume of Eternity:  
There I did read Britannia's Mournful Doom;  
After six Moons were passed, it was to come:  
Three are passed by, the rest are rolling on,  
And the kind hours seem eager to be gone:  
Tho' Death, Time, Fate, and the incensed band  
Of injured Heaven in opposition stand;  
All their united force shall not dispel  
That gloomy sentence that is sealed in Hell.  
What nobler praise, or more exalted bliss  
Then that which is achieved by wickedness?  
Did not the World's first famous Monarchies  
By glorious rapines, thefts, and murders rise?  
Th' Assyrian, Persian, and the Grecian Sparks,  
Scorning the censure of dull dreaming Clerks,  
Advanced to that bold height of Regency  
By crimes too great for weak Posterity:  
So the brave Roman too,  
With Diabolick inspiration filled,  
With Blood his Everlasting Name did gild,  
And upon conquered Necks a lasting Empire build.   

Such was the genius of those Men of worth  
Which the first Ages of the World brought forth;  
Thus 'twas till Gospel pedantry came in,  
And every gallant Act was deemed a sin:  
Hence pious Fools with painted terrors scared  
Poor injured Nature of all rights debarred:  
They robbed themselves to enrich their Enemies;  
They stole from Nature, but they gained no prize,  
Unless the Gibbet, Rack, and servile toils  
Were counted Trophies, and embraced for spoils:  
For what more eligible things than these  
Did the Sots find in many Centuries?  
Blessed Souls! that feel at distance unknown joys,  
That feed on tales of bliss that never cloys,  
On sacred nothings, and immortal toys:   

But our Progenitors with unerring steel  
These innovations quickly did repel:  
Their charms have laid the Gospel in a trance,  
And turned the Bible to a grave Romance.  
Those tame Mock-Heroes who themselves betrayed,  
Those Legendary Saints in Masquerade,  
Were quickly Damned, and made a comic Theme;  
While glorious Murderer drowned the Martyr's Name.  
By such rare Arts our Faction first did grow,  
And that which did create, must still conserve it so.   

O that I could at present but survey  
That dismal Scene which my fond hopes display:  
Blessed in the midst of Curses I could dwell,  
And think myself imparadiced in Hell.  
But lo, the Sun with an aspiring Beam,  
Joys and diverts me from this wanton Dream:  
The all-surrounding Globe with darted Ray,  
Gins to snatch back and redeem the day:  
The blushing Moon has modestly withdrawn  
Her glittering Mantle, and her Silver Lawn:  
The Feathered Choir already does salute  
Rising Aurora; but I'll soon confute  
Their promised Mirth by forcing back the night,  
And breathing Storms in my Fantastic Flight:  
I'll blot the Sun with a tempestuous yawn,  
And blast Aurora in her blooming Dawn.     

The EPILOGUE.  

SEarch all the Records of the World, pass over  
The Triple Continent t'th' Western Shore,  
And tell me after all if you can find  
A man without some darkness in his mind:  
Tell me if any can by Humane Skill  
A clear discernment make 'twixt good and ill,  
Without some cloud of Error in the will.   

Vain Shows, tumultuous Pomp, and endless Strife  
Fill up the vacant Scenes of Humane Life:  
In these we idly spend long days and years;  
Bereft of Reason which should guide our cares;  
For Reason nothing covets nothing fears.  
In vain Men talk of God and Providence,  
While they reject the Favours they dispense;  
In vain the Stars are kind, the Skies are clear,  
While cloudy Passions in our Breasts make War.   

Hopeless perhaps we pray, when danger's nigh;  
And Heaven in pity sends some quick supply:  
But when the Danger and the Storm is over,  
We court that Ruin which we feared before.  
Thus to our loss we wantonly combine,  
And pull down Wrath, which Heaven did ne'er design:  
We bribe the Deity to our own ill,  
And make him punish us against his will.   

Good Heaven, since such wild thoughts Mankind infest,  
Tell me where I may fix my Soul and rest:  
With generous mind, neither depressed nor proud,  
Teach me to soar above th' unthinking Crowd:  
That placed in a fair Orb, and calm retreat,  
I may look down with pity on the great,  
And view the Storms of State beneath my feet.  
And, that I may with one well-framed desire.  
Grasp all the Wealth to which I do aspire,  
Give me, kind Heaven, a body firm and sound,  
With steadfast mind, and a good Conscience crowned:  
A Conscience that can bear, without affright,  
The Dangers of the day, and Terrors of the night:  
A Conscience free from fashionable Crimes,  
That stands unmoved, and turns not with the Times:  
A Conscience that ne'er can with pressures bend,  
But can call Death himself a welcome Friend:  
That counts the Primitive Martyrs fruitful Toils  
Far better Trophies, more illustrious Spoils  
Than Gifts of Courts, and all that tempting Fate  
That springs from the rich falls in Church and State.   

Happy's that Man whom nothing can defeat,  
Who bravely scorns to be ignobly great:  
Who o'er himself does unmolested reign,  
And seeks no wider Empire to obtain:  
Who blessed with obscure Ease, not gaudy Strife,  
After the dull fatigue of Humane Life,  
When Death draws nigh Life's Ligaments t' unbind,  
Feels no convulsive Tremble in his mind:  
But with a look Serene, and peaceful breath,  
Falls undisturbed, and smiles i'th' face of Death.   
FINIS.