A NEW POEM On the Late Illustrious Congress AT THE HAGUE. — Fortuna Tibi Numen incruenta submittit suum, Et dedit habenas Imperii facili manu; Nutuque Terras, Maria, subjecit suo. Invidia Tristis victa consensu pio Cessit; Senatus, Equitis accensus favour, Plebisque votum, atque Judicium Patrum est: Tu pacis Author, Generis humani Arbiter Electus, Orbem tu sacra specie regis, Patriae Parens, quod Nomen ut serves, petit. Senecae Traged. Octavia. LONDON Printed, and are to be sold by the Booksellers of London, 1691. To the Right Honourable Charles Lord Viscount Lansdown, Count of the Sacred Roman Empire, Baron Granville of Kilkhampton, Lord Lieutenant of the Counties of Devon and Cornwall, and Governor of the Royal Citadel and Town of Plymouth, etc. MY LORD, WERE the vicissitudes of Fortune, or the danger of an Enemy the worst Inconveniences, the Great and Brave were exposed to by their Station and Virtue, and same Virtue which raised them thither, would be sufficient to defend them. But there's one thing, 'tis impossible either for them or Heaven itself to avoid, I mean the importunate Addresses of the World below, to both which the Temples and your Lordship's Gates are ever open. So high a Generosity is a dangerous Virtue, and 'tis as impossible for signal Merit to steal through the World without a Crowd of Dedications, as a noted Beauty without as many Adorers. The true witty Men choose such Persons as Your Lordship for their Patrons out of judgement, and those who would be thought such, or think themselves so, for that very Reason follow their Example; And though I am not ambitious of one of those Characters, nor can pretend to the other, I must own that 'twas not merely the Crowd of your Lordship's Addresses hurfyed me hither, since a distinguishing Virtue drew me almost irresistibly; ror even a Blindman can perceive some glimmering of the Sun, if he turns his Face towards it, though a small Star or any lesser Light would not come behind 'em, to have Wit and Virtue, and Bravery and Honour, that is, to be a true Englishman; as they are not Glories which many can aspire to, so it is not possible they should long remain obscure to the World: Without any Reflection on our English Nobility, I hope I may be permitted to wish there were more of 'em like your Lordship, as equally fit to preside in a Council, or lead an Army. Your Lordship's unblemished and unbiast Loyalty to your Royal Master and Mistress at home, remarkably visible, when the French Fleet, not without Invitation hovered on our Coast the last Summer, can be Rivalled by nothing but your Lordship's Valour abroad; which neither the Turks nor the Germans can forget, as long as either Tradition or Annals remain amongst 'em. The Christians have given you a Noble Testimony of their Acknowledgement and Gratitude, and all the World knows it must not be a vulgar Merit which can raise a Man to be Count of the Sacred Roman Empire. The Infidels have reason to remember your Lordship while they reflect either on Vienna, Barcan, or Gran, they saw you there covered with Laurels and Blood, and found their Fate written legibly enough in your Lordship's Forehead, whatever 'twas in their own: But Providence had reserved for Your Lordship a much more great and inestimable Happiness to allay and sweeten your Lordship's Martial Toils, I mean a Branch of the Illustrious Family of the Overkirks. 'Tis love as well as Victory that Crowns the Hero; And if ever Heaven studied to make the Honourable happy, 'twas when it presented your Lordship with the best of Women, who is as much the Ornament of her Sex as your Lordship is the Envy of your own. But I must repress that fervour which would carry me beyond the Bounds of Time, though not of Justice, lest I should be thought a Poet too soon, though I advance nothing but the most sacred and evident Truths. All that I shall add, is, that there's a greater Infidel to be pulled down than him your Lordship has already engaged, and a much more dangerous Enemy to the Liberty and Peace of Christendom; 'tis obvious that I mean the French King: For the humbling whose Pride, and putting speedy Bounds to the Ocean of his Ambition before it has overwhelmed all the World, The Illustrious Congress at the Hague were lately Assembled, where such Measures were concerted, that 'tis beyond either his Policy or his Force to break 'em; and this Congress 'tis, which is the Subject of this present Poem, as well as of the Expectations of Europe. It has little I own to recommend it, any more than its Author, who if he desired to boast of any thing, it should be of his Loyalty to Their Majesties, and Love to his Country; which Character, if he might ever wear in your Lordship's Esteem, he should never court Fortune for any other Favour, unless that of having the Honour to subscribe himself, MY LORD, Your Lordship's most faithful humble Servant RICHARD SAULT. A NEW POEM On the Late Illustrious Congress AT THE HAGUE. LONG did the Statesmen reconcile Their Monarch's Grandeur with the Subjects spoil. Long had they drained the deep unwilling store, Till the concealing Fund would yield no more; Which fatal Crisis Richlieu first assigned T' Exalt his own vain Prince, and Plague Mankind. The Charm prevailed, and quickly did engage Proud Charles the Seventh that Monster of his Age To quit his fruitless Agents in a Rage: He taught the Tyrant to dispose, and treat His Subjects Lives, and Goods, as he thought sit: Him each succeeding Prince admired, and strove Which should th' Exuberant Darling most improve; But as the watchful Sentinels of Night Disown their Pride, and lose their borrowed Light, When the more fierce and burning Eye of Day Chases the dark and sullen Shades away; So shackled France, thy present glaring Sun, The World's dire Comet rather has outdone And cleared the Stage of each preceding Name That claimed a Title in Despotic Fame. Witness his Subjects Groans, his Neighbour's Fears, Wronged Innocence, and unappealing Tears, The daily Lecture now to Europe's Ears. If Interest for Destruction mark a State, No Means to him are Illegitimate, To act his powerful Will, that new decreeing Fate. Repeated breach of Faith, rapes Fire and Sword, And barbarous Massacres obey his Word, And yet all's just when his Command is given: His Stamp and Privilege outrival Heaven. Have we not seen a lofty Cedar spread It's levy Branches, and erect its Head Among the Clouds, until it does impart A proper Choice for the Mechanics Art? And when his Aid some Neighbouring Place calls, Beneath the axes sounding struck it falls. Thus that Ambitious Monarch's boasted Power Affects a lofty rise to fall the lower; At last the pitying Tutelary Fates Espouse the Interest of his Neighbour-States, Who long have groaned beneath unequal Weights, And choose an Instrument to set 'em free, Great Nassau's Sword, that Scourge of Tyranny, That Sword, whose Force they have already tried, To ease three Crowns of War and Tyrant's Pride. Glad of his Fame, the abused States send o'er Their faithful Envoys to the British Shore, Congratulate his spreading, great Success, Renew their League of Amity and Peace, Appoint a Royal Congress, and entreat His Presence there to fill the chiefest Seat; His graver Counsels, and his Guardian Arm, Those to instruct, and this protect from Harm: Glad of the Charge, and willing to relieve, He gives, and they his Patronage receive. Back they retire in their Embassy blest With Preparations for their Royal Guest; Whilst he sets out, and leaves his Peaceful own To state new Measures with an angry Crown. Hark! how the wounded Air complains aloud, Torn with the Acclamations of the Crowd, And Peals of Cannon which with joyful Pride Welcome Great NASSAV to the Ocean's side. But see, the Winds and Earth conspire to keep The mighty Prize from the impatient Deep; And he returns again, till they agree To lend him for a moment to the Sea. And now the Billows dance in state, and swell, Proud of the burden of the Royal Keel, Whilst He reads o'er the Volumes of the Fates, And smooths the blackest Lines that fear creates. See how the labouring, Rival Winds waft o'er The happy Pinnace for the happier Shoar; See how they strive; see how they emulate, Which soon shall perform the charge of Fate; Which most advance the mighty Work that lies Upon the Atlas of the Belgic Skies. And is He then with cruel Horror gone? Our Islands Genius, our Life, our Sun? Must a confused Darkness seize us now, And we unguarded under Ruins bow? Cease needless Fear; the Partner of his Fate Has undertaken the Mighty Bulk of State; She'll with like Vigour, yet more softly move, And Temper Might with Sweet Commanding Love. Peace, Happy Isle— farewel, I must away, The Belgic Shoar proclaims an Holiday; That now the Hemisphere wherein the Sun Of Albion's Peace, and yet not hers alone Arises, to dispel that angry Cloud Which threatens Europe with new Showers of Blood. Hail happy Climate! see the mournful Tide Runs back again, to try if it can hid The deep Resentments of its ravished Pride. The very Stars forsake their Native Course, Conspire new Aspects full of happy force, Propitious Omens fill the wondering Sky To influence the great Solemnity; Great, greater yet by far than e'er was known, Since Babylon was filled with subject Crowns, Until it groaned beneath that Royal Load, Led there in Triumph by the Conquering God. When the proud Titans had usurped the World, And Towering Pelion upon Ossa hurled, Pileing stupendious Aetna upon these, And War proclaimed against the Deities. Jove called a Council of the Gods, and sat Chief Precedent at the August Debate, Then casts his direful Thunderbolts at those Presumptive Monsters dared his Arms oppose; So here the British Monarch does preside Amongst these Earthly Gods, to curb the Pride; Saxony and Bavaria's Princely Line, Great Brandenburg, and all that near the Rhine, Like Stars in this fair Constellation shine. See how they move in Stately Majesty, Laden with Indian Spoils and Tyrian Dye; Mountains of Sand cut through, and paved with Stone, T' accommodate the Great Procession; The best of Europe's Ingineers inspire Machine's, and Pyramids of Artful Fire: Whilst Piles of Mortals glut their wondering Eyes With the bright view of sportive Prodigies, Entering the great Consistory of Fate, To cull the deepest Politics o● State. Methinks (the Muse steps on;) methinks I hear— Presumptive Sacrilegious Wretch forbear: Those Secrets are too greeat to be expressed, Their only Cabinet, a Prince's Breast; Gaze not within the Ark, nor fond try To guests the oraculous Thoughts of Majesty, Without a deep and Reverend Extacy? Enough; Enough is thought, consulted, done, For deepest Monuments of lasting Stone, Or faithful Records safe Repository, Too much for one succeeding Ages Glory. But see, the Generous Youth in Crowds appear, To fan their Noble Warmth, and strike new fear; Strike from their thundering Arms, and Lightning Eyes, Amidst their proud insulting Enemies. And thus begin,— Shall this bright Congress meet To trample stubborn France beneath our Feet; T' adjust the Grand Intrigues of War and State, And make proud Lewis his Destruction Date? Shall our great Patriots consult the way, Lay down the Scheme? And shall we disobey, Or slight the Practic that would set us free From the Alarms of Slavery? No: Rather let the fatal Engines fly, And Clouds of Sulphurous Smoke eclipse the Sky; Our dying Groans shall drown the Conquering Noise, And louder Cannon ring our Obsequies: The Verdant Plains shall first be conver'd o'er With mangled Holocausts and Crimson Gore, the insulting Tyrant shall proclaim The UNIVERSAL MONARCH'S NAME. Turn to the other sides,— methinks I see France busy in her mock Divinity; Methinks I see her in a black Despair, Towards her hallowed Altars make repair, To which they prostrate Fall, and deeply load, With missal Vows, tiring their Maiden God. See how the weary Beads are mumbled o'er In stinted Repetitions, whilst some poor Deluded Fools more charitable given, And full as wise, light Tapers up to Heaven: But most of all, the loud Emphatic Sighs Of solfter Masculines in Nun's disguise, That sleep and revel in Religious Cells, Till the devoted Pious Virgin swells, Or turns a Convert to the Hospitals. Malignant Stars (say they) alas that we Must forfeit now at length our Liberty! Must leave these sacred Rapes, this private State, These sweeter Thefts to our Revenging Fate. Nor less, is their Great Master terrified At this new prospect of his tottering Pride: Complaining thus— That fatal Aspect! That unhappy Star That influenced us to denounce a WAR Against the mighty; floating Belgic Wood, And the more bravely Valiant English Blood! Are there not Chronicles enough that show, What that proud Nation for our Crown could do? Speak Boulogne, and those Towns which heretofore Were Tributary to the English Shore; Speak Ireland, speak our Troops, how fierce they join, And mingle Blood, with the Triumphant Boyne. What humble Rites, and hasty Funerals, Are found about despairing Lymerick's Walls? And those whose lengthening slower Fates denies The honour of a Soldier's Obsequies, Without their Officers, see how they come Tossed through the Rage of angry Billows home, Complaining of their Balls that would not harm The British Prince, but kissed his Conquering Arm: Whilst he as bold as a robbed Lion, led His animated Army at the Head. Thus far we bear— but ah! what shall we do When Paris and her Pride gins to bow, When she expands her Gates, and spreads the Fame Of Nassau's Laurels, and Triumphing Name? Thus that Great Prince— whilst sometimes England's Heir, The Royal Abdicate let fall a Tear. And thus— Farewell lost Diadem,— Time was when I Was vested with Imperial Majesty; Farewell misguided Might; Farewell that Throne I yet had filled, had I but Reigned alone: Once Monarch great enough, and ruled the Ball, Till Rome's black Emissaries wrought my Fall. Ah cursed See! in thee my Ruin stood; Hadst thou not been, I had been Great and Good. Now, as in Storms the angry Winds engage, And toss the leaking Pinnace with such Rage, That all the hardy Seamens Toil, and Care, Is lost, and overborn with cold Despair. Thus am I tossed about, and ne'er can find A place of calm Repose to ease my mind. Unhappy Rule! No more to be enjoyed; With me the STVARTS Fame and Crowned Pride Is lost, for ever lost.— Thus that unhappy Prince gave o'er, and sighed; And thus continued his Italian BRIDE, Shall I consult my Honour or my Fear, Whether a Crown should raise a Childish Tear? No; Break, reluctant, struggling Heart, before I should betray an Action mean and poor, Before I should in Female Weakness pine, That had the greatest share of Masculine. Go Wretches, Slaves, Fools, Villains, Infidels, Is this the product of your Conclave Spells? Where are your Subjects now of Dispensation, Passive-Obedience, Non-Resisting-Nation? Dull Idiots, home again, and learn anew What Homage from the English State is due; Whilst I (thanks to my Guides) am torn away From State, to meet a black Inglorious Day. Thrice happy Priamus, couldst thou bequeath Thy Fate to me, with what a scorn I'd leave My Orphan Titles, and my Grief deceive? Thrice happy Priamus, thou fellest too Great, Thy Life and Kingdoms had an equal Date: Had I my choice, just so would I expire, My Palace Flames should be my Funeral Fire; There, as the Noble Phoenix would I burn, A glorious Death! and make my Throne my Urn. But hold! the great Constantinople shakes The mighty Turk's a Party, and partakes An equal share in this vast Turn of Fate, With his Ally the Potentate: And thus complains,— Great Mahomet! hast thou forgot to hear That thus the daring Enemy draws near? Whither, ah whither tends the Toil and Pain, The small Successes of our last Campaign? What if we all our Losses should regain? Oft, through the Fields, the bold incensed Ram Retreats (as we conceive) through Fear or Shame, But strait returns with reinforced Shock, And puts to flight the Rival of his Flock. Just so our Foes; Oh that they would refrain! Share half my Sceptres, and sit down again; Or upon any Terms conclude a Peace, Great Alla, grant these Wars at length may cease. Methinks I see the ruin'd Sacrifice Of War and Fire out of its Ashes rise, And mount their Newborn Turrets to the Skies; Fairer by such a Fall, as was the Great, The Famous Metropholitan and Seat Of British Kings, when hotter Rome had given Light to the General Pile that frighted Heaven. Desist, Bellona, sheath that angry Blade That did an Universal Peace invade; The Shades of Death are full, and Envy falls A Victim to her Victims Funerals. Enough— Go meet the Royal Keel again, Riding in Triumph through the Raging Main; From Rock to Rock the News glad Echo beats, And in deep Quavers the Return repeats: A little more, and then the listening Spheres Will leave undone their soft harmonious Airs, To learn Great WILLIAMS everlasting Name, And join in Consort with his lower Frame. Mountains of Flaming Piles and Artful Fire Are Victims to the Loyal warm Desire; The joyful Bells in various changes Ring A welcome Entertainment to their KING: And flowing Bowls run round, till on our Knees Warmly inspired, we drink such Healths as these. A Health unto the World's great Referee, The Arbitrator both of Land and Sea, To Him whose closer Conduct, Counsel, Arms, Were fated to compose Europe's Alarms, And settle Peace in all its Native Charms. Health to the Royal Pair, and may we see Their Portraitures in a long Progeny: Oh that indulgent Heaven would engage A living Image for the following Age! A Pattern of this bright, this glorious Sun, Before Death's dark and dismal Night draws on. Has Nature drawn a Work of such extent, That all her chief Materials are spent, Her Store exhausted by so great a Worth, Or else forgot to bring another forth? No: Drown this Fear, as yet 'tis not too late, we'll Drink, and Wish, and leave the rest to Fate. FINIS.