TO THE PRINCE OF ORANGE, Upon the opening of the Campagne, 1684  
LONDON, Printed for R. Bentley, in Russel-street in Covent-Garden, 1684.   

TO THE PRINCE OF ORANGE Upon the opening of the Campagne, 1684.  

ILlustrious Sir, among the numerous Vows  
Of Loyal Hearts, which your Just Cause espouse,  
Who think you are the present Ages prop,  
And from you all their future Blessings hope!  
Forgive that Zeal, which by no Pension hired,  
No Malice armed, no Factious Rage inspired,  
Instructs an English Muse this harmless way,  
Hers, and the Nations wishes to Convey.  
Nor those alone she brings you, for no less  
Than Europe's Fate depends on your Success.  
All Nations from the calm Atlantic shore,  
To those cold Climes, where the Sun shines no more:  
The Thames, the Mose, the Tagus, and the Rhine,  
Whose distant Streams their common interests join,  
In In suppliant manner from your Arms implore,  
That lasting Peace you only can restore.  
(For Leagues with France of Force no longer are,  
Than till their Interest persuades a War.)  
Urge then your Fortune, on brave Prince, advance  
Your Sword into the Heart of trembling France.  

And to their mattered Monarch make it clear,  
How ill his Falsehood serves to prop his Fear,  
If Valiant Orange in the Field appear.   
Then at full ease your Peaceful Uncle may  
Enjoy the Fruits of that Successful Day,  
Which yields his Nephew, after all his Toils,  
A glorious Triumph, and unenvied Spoils.  
Then shall the British, and the Belgic Fleet,  
No Rival in their common Mistress meet,  
But with united Force by Sea, and Land,  
The Trade, and Riches of the World Command.  
The ancient Rhine from her French Fetters freed,  
No more in vain shall see her Children bleed,  
But with just Fury push her victories home  
Against the other Foe of Christendom.  

Then frighted Italy may to sloth return,  
Their Gardens, and their Palaces adorn,  
Saved by that Hero, whose Belief they scorn.   
Spain then may breathe again, nor fear, that she  
Shall, as in Ages past, imprisoned be  
Between the Pyrenaeans, and the Sea.  
But having healed her Wounds, again grow bold,  
And fetch from th' Indies more destructive Gold.   

These Benefits, and greater, we believe,  
Europe will from your Conquering hand receive.  

Nor doubt, Great Sir, but the Presage is true,  
For Faithless France entirely to subdue,  
Fate ever has reserved for Caesar, and for You.    
FINIS.