The SUN in the Sien of Libra; or, The BALANCE.  1. Monsieur de LUXENBURGH to Lewis the XlVth. 

GREAT Sir, since Namur is Reduced, you may find  
How the Weightier Scale to our Side is inclined;  
'Tis true, your Fleet's lost, but you've gotten Namur,  
Which will make the Scales even at least to be sure.   2. LEWIS the XIVth. 

Ah! Dear Hump, your Compliment fulsome and silly!  
Namur can't make up for our Loss, I must tell you:  
We'll dissemble however, and put a good face on't;  
Though, between you and I, I can hardly be patient.  
For Thirty long years, while our Neighbours were sleeping,  
We advanced the Marine, and grew dreadful in Shipping:  
But 'tis gone in a blast, should my Subjects but know all,  
They'd Rebel in a moment, and soon overthrow all.  
My Treasury's drained, and I have beggared the Nation,  
My Parliament's Term-time's as bad as Vacation;  
That the Peasants I've robbed of their Food, is no news,  
The Wretches for Rye Bread, pawn their Wooden Shoes.  
And with a hard shift, my Grandees, turned Commanders,  
Can scrape a few Crowns to Equip 'em for Flanders.  
I've Taxed Judge, Bumbailiff, Attorney and Proctor,  
And Barber, and Butcher, and Cobbler, and Doctor.  
I've even laid a Tax on the Tapster and his Pot,  
On the Horsler's Half-peck, and the Chamberlain's Pisspot.  
Not a Wench at Pont-neus, nor a Punk at Versaille  
But is willingly taxed for the lease of her Tail.  
I have pillaged the Mass, and the Priests with their Altars,  
And instead of good Plate, have bequeathed them good Halters.  
What a Pox can I more? Why did the Bitch Fortune  
Leave me thus in the lurch, like a Jade to come short home?  
Ah Jernie! why to sight sent I out my Armadas?  
Had they played still at Bow-peep, our Rodomontades  
Might have served to excuse us; but now by a damned Chance  
The Rogues have swinged off poor Tourville with a vengeance.  
Now those damned fight Rascals have got me i'th' wind,  
I must sink all at once both in body and mind.  
Go, Luxenburgh, tell Meintenon (must leave her,  
And be tied to my Bed for a month with a Fever.   3. Madam de MAINTENON.. 

Come, Cheer up, Dear Sir, ●…'ve got England's Infanta  
To help at a dead list, and 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 want a  
Sure Card at our need; the S●●…nder of Namur  
Makes your little Cousin and his Allies the tamer.  
I dare venture that adding the Child to the Town,  
'T will soon turn the Scale, and bring it quite down.   LEWIS, the XlVth. 

In vain, my dear Camper, my Grief tbou wouldst flatter;  
Morbleu! What's all this silly stuff to the matter?  
Can the Balance be poised by a helpless Young Bastard,  
When the Turk, my good Brother and Friend has been mastered?  
Let the Devil assist, let him tug too, and sweat for't,  
And a Million or two of kind Curses repeat for't;  
Still my Scale would be lightest; nay, I'd kiss the Book on't,  
I should quickly run mad, should I venture to look on't.  
Then, Old Girl, let's away, you and I'll have a Touch for't:  
Tho our case is but bad, we'll grieve not too much for't.  
In your Arms will I lie,  
Where no Rebel can spy;  
And in Tempests of Pleasures and Kisses I'll die:  
So killed and so pleased,  
My sad heart may be eased,  
And the Devil that reigns in my bosom appeased.   4. Admiral RUSSEL. 

See there our wondrous Conqueror  
By Policy's Infernal Power!  
None breaks the Public Peace but He,  
Yet he would fain be thought its Guarantee.  
Sec his Visage disturbed, and his Face Melancholic,  
For the pitiful Close of his Admiral's Frolic.  
The Defeat of his Fleet, quite confounded his Master;  
Nor can Maintenon's Art give the Mischief a Plaster.  
Thus Lovis le Grand is a Conqueror plain,  
Who his Honour can sell, an Advantage to gain.   5. Admiral ALLEMUNDE. 

What a Coxcomb was he, that would try in the Scale  
If his Conquests could more than his Losses avail?  
He has taken Namur, true, the more was the pity:  
And now values himself on a dear-purchased City.  
But the Gay Royal Sun, with Two more, and his Second  
Four Ships of more worth than Namur may be reckoned.   6. General HEUSLER. 

Should you want any Weight, on my Sword here I bring  
Great Waradin, into the Balance to fling;  
But I'll e'en lay it by, for I see there's no need on't,  
Our Advantage is plain, and the World is agreed on't:  
Nay, let Lewis himself now determine our Plea;  
We have Towns good as his, and are Masters at Sea.   LEWIS the XIVth. 

Who are these here? ha! Allemonde, Heusler, and Russel?  
What a Pox do they here, with their Fight and Bustle?  
How I Tremble and Sweat! Come, Allons a Versaille:  
I'm as Stout as a Mars, within my Serail.  
Your Battles I hate, but at home I can bluster;  
Where a Bully in Venus' Camp may pass Muster.   EXIT Lewis.  

London: Printed for Richard Baldwin, near the Oxford Arms in Warwick-Lane. 1692.