AN Heroic Poem UPON THE LATE EXPEDITION OF HIS MAJESTY, To Rescue ENGLAND FROM POPERY, TYRANNY, and ARBITRARY GOVERNMENT.  
By JOHN TUTCHIM, Gent.  
LONDON: Printed, and are to be sold by R. Janeway, 1689.   

AN HEROIC POEM Upon the Late EXPEDITION, etc.  

WHEN Heaven a Godlike Hero does create,  
By Nature Virtuous, and by Action Great,  
Straight some Diviner Muse is called forth,  
In Verse Immortal to declare his Worth.  
Thus Antique Worthies in Destruction skilled,  
With their own Swords ploughed the Pharsalian Field;  
Whilst softer Lucan sang in well-tuned Lays,  
The Victor's Triumphs, and the Hero's Praise.  
Let old Renowned Bards of Honours tell,  
How by their Swords the Mighty Thousands fell:  
The Subject of my Younger Muse must be,  
A Harmless War, and Bloodless Victory.   

I sing the gentle Man of War, to whom  
Distressed Nations do with Tribute come.  
The mighty Hercules, that must Suppress  
The Tyrant Hydra of the Universe.  
In War so happy, so Divinely good,  
The Man of War 's become the Man of God;  
As Sacred Chronicles do oft declare,  
The Man of God was styled the Man of War.  
At home in Virtue, and in Fields Renowned,  
Yet Seas themselves cannot his Justice bound.  
Some Provinces were his Paternal care,  
Blest with their Jove in Peace, and Mars in War;  
Whilst other Kingdoms more unblessed than they,  
To Savage Force and Rapine were a Prey.  
Old England, that August and Beauteous Isle,  
Made great by wholesome Laws, and fruitful Soil;  
Felt such Tyrannic Force without Redress,  
That turned her Eden to a Wilderness.  
Cursed with a Government had changed ill,  
The People's Freedom, for the Prince's Will;  
Had changed their Chapels and their Sacred Guests,  
For Wooden Gods and far more Wooden Priests:  
In Courts of Justice did as Judges sit,  
Lawyers without Sense, and Statesmen without Wit.  
Who taught the Law the Subject to devour,  
Gave it not Saving, but destroying Power.  
A Tyrant Yoke th' enslaved Subject bore,  
Such as their Free forefathers never wore.   

Hereat our Prince his Pious care expressed,  
Whilst Generous Indignation filled his Breast.  
Religious Worthies hear the dread Alarm,  
And in his Cause the Warlike Hero's arm:  
Neptune gives Ships, and Mars does Troops create,  
All Threat Destruction to the Tyrant State.  
Nature herself does seemingly Espouse,  
So Brave a Gen'ral, and so Good a Cause;  
Propitiously to their Assistance brings,  
A Large Right Gale to fill their Canvas Wings.  
Here all the Ancient Stories are made good,  
Where Tears of weeping Friends augment the Flood.  
One curses Winds and Tides, that must Convey  
Her Mars, her Husband, and her Guard away.  
One Theseus to his Briny Fortress flies,  
Whilst on the Shore his Ariadne lies:  
Ere this, the Princess has the Story told,  
Of Jason's Warlike Enterprise of old,  
Prays for his good Success, her Loss bewails;  
With Tears she fills her Eyes, with Sighs his Sails:  
Mean while the Argonauts expand their wings,  
Whilst Roar of Cannon their departure sings:  
And then the Ocean's Mighty Force they try,  
And Storms and Winds, a Potent Enemy.  
Men-loving Dolphins now before 'em play,  
From Threatening Storms no more secure than they.  
A sure Presage of Boisterous Winds and Waves,  
When the vexed Deep in Mountains rowls and raves.  
The Staggering Ships sustain the Watery Stroke,  
Informed within by many an Heart of Oak;  
Yet great Arion sings unto their Praise,  
Tunes his Sweet Lute, and as they Dance, he Plays.  
A Mighty Tempest rising from afar,  
The Sea itself becomes the Seat of War.  
Why, O ye Winds! do you such Roaring keep?  
And why such Surges roll upon the Deep?  
You do a Great, a Royal Burden bear;  
'Tis Caesar, and our only Hope's your Care.  
Are Storms the Omens of a Fatal Day?  
Or are they Prologues to a Clearer Ray?  
All must submit to the Decrees of Heaven,  
That shows the way, and has Commission given.  
Through Fields of Dangers Men to Kingdoms fly,  
Toils are precedent still to Victory.   

Thus does some Hostile Muse his Hero palnt,  
Exposed to Hardship, Penury, and Want;  
Leads him through Desert Paths, the Place where stand  
No Fruitful Trees, but Barren Heaps of Sand;  
Where Prickly Furz, and Lonesome Fern does grow,  
And piercing Tempests keeps the Grass still low;  
No Eye has seen, or Human Foot has trod;  
All Wild and Desert, since the Mighty Flood;  
Where Frightful Thunders oft obstruct the Day,  
While Raging Winds drive the Black Clouds away;  
Where Savage Beasts their several Kind's devour,  
The Small ones Tremble, as the Great ones Roar:  
Does him over steepy Hills and Mountains lead,  
Makes Heaven his Canopy, and Earth his Bed;  
His Pillow some hard Clod, whilst all around,  
His Active Warriors slumber on the Ground:  
Hunger and Death do stare him in the Face,  
And are the equal Terror of the place:  
Yet after all his Toils, he does him Crown,  
With Lasting Honour, and a great Renown.  
A Brighter Day preceding Storms succeed,  
And Garlands are the Victor's sacred Meed.   

Much happier they that live in Camps at Ease,  
Free from the Dangers of the Faithless Seas;  
Whilst our Illustrious Hero through the Main,  
Ploughs the Rough Waves with Danger, Toil and Pain.  
The Giddy Fleet, drunk with the Briny Draught,  
Hath other Methods, and new Councils taught;  
'Tis deemed enough through Seas thus far to come,  
Are thoughtful now again of Reeling Home:  
The Prince and Warriors both of Hope bereft,  
Have nothing now, but Faith and Courage left:  
Bravely resolve, but 'tis in vain, they find,  
T' oppose the Warring Seas, and Fight Wind:  
A Tyrant Troop of Legicides they sought,  
Such as Free Rome of old, Destroyed and Fought:  
Not Warring Elements, nor yet to prove,  
The Bolts and Thunder of Almighty Jove.  
They cry to Heaven the Ocean to appease,  
And not commit them to Devouring Seas;  
Heaven hears their Prayers, and sends them Gentle Gales  
To sink their Cares, and fill their well-trimmed Sails:  
Now Lucky Halcyons brood upon the Deep,  
The Seas are silent, and the Wind's asleep:  
The wished for Shore's in view; and at Command,  
The long Distressed Heroes Mount and Land.   

Thus Moses once through many Toils did bring  
A Vassal people from a Tyrant King;  
At his and God's Command the Raging Flood,  
Parted its Waters, and a Bulwark stood,  
Whilst Israel's Seed trod the Imperial way,  
Where lately Fish and Sea-born Monsters lay:  
No sooner had they touched the other Shore,  
But the great Billows meet again, and Roar;  
The Tyrant Pharaoh, that did lately Rave,  
And road on's Subjects necks, now road a Wave,  
Which soon o'erturned his Tyranny and Pride;  
The slaves had Freedom, when the Tyrant died:  
When lo! the Ransomed slaves o'erspread the Sand;  
And at their Moses, and their God's Command,  
They join in Thankful Notes, and Praises sing,  
To their Deliverer, th' Eternal King.   

Thus sang our other Moses, and his Host,  
Who more God's Blessing, than their Conquest, boast.  
Thus sings my Muse, the Man of War, that lands,  
A Prey from Treacherous Seas, and Faithless Sands.  
Ah wretched Albion, how untuned, unstrung,  
Have our loved Harps upon the Willows hung?  
Our Charming Bards to Thames and Isis told,  
Their Streams did flow like Babylon's of old:  
No Poetry must pass, but served the Cause,  
Or some Suspending Ballad of the Laws.  
Thrice Happy Albion; we, the Man of War,  
His Godlike Virtues, and his Worth declare.  
Freedom (the much loved Theme) our Lines adorn,  
Of which our Fathers sang beneath the Morn.   

He that has passed the Seas Tumultuous Rage,  
What greater Dangers has he to Engage?  
A Listed Field of Armed and Martial Foes,  
New form Dangers, and new Terror shows;  
Who all in hopes of Foreign Aids, Combine  
With Foreign Councils, and with Foreign Coin;  
Who of their great Alliance boast, and tell,  
Of Rome's good Wishes, and Decrees of Hell.  
The Bloody Wretch, the Bog-begotten Teague,  
Is the weak Prop of the deep-laid Intrigue;  
In solid Massacres and Murders read,  
Through Treason's deep, and secret Poisons led:  
Besides, some Listed Troops against the Laws,  
The fittest Champions in son Damned a Cause.  
But what can Teagues, and the Repealers do?  
The Best are to their Nation's Interest true,  
The People's Freedom, and the Subjects Right;  
And can't against themselves and Country Fight.   

Here Juster Muse expand thy weary wing,  
The Men of Honour and their Praises sing!  
Great Beaumond, and the rest, whose Names of late,  
Have got a Praise above the Reach of Fate;  
Who nobly could Resign, and so declared,  
They had their Laws above their Wealth preferred:  
Whilst to the rest, they Great Examples stood,  
Who in the worst of Times dared to be Good.   

Our Nobles whilom Melancholy sat,  
Nor durst they stop th' impetuous stream of State,  
Tho the Foundation-Piles it overturned  
Whilst the wronged Subject, like its waters mourned.  
Their Native Rights they still exposed saw,  
To Sovereign Will, and Arbitrary Law.  
Tho they could soon the Massy Fetters break,  
It was not Prudence, nor yet Time to speak.   

Thus does some yielding Maid herself betray,  
And gives to some vile Wretch her Heart away;  
Who by Deluding Words, and falser Charms,  
Draws the mistaken Damsel to his Arms;  
Where soon she finds, by a too late Surprise,  
It was her Honour was his only Prize.  
'Tis vain to struggle, hoping Succour's near;  
She soothes and flatters the loathed Ravisher,  
When at the door she hears her Father tread,  
Who strikes the bold and wanton Lecher dead.   

Thus forced by Impious Might, the Nations lay,  
Nor durst they put the Tyrant-Bonds away;  
Till mighty Nassau had his Weapons took,  
And the new-raised Babel-building shook:  
When straight a numerous Crowd o'erspread the Sand,  
To welcome their Deliverer on Land;  
With joyful Shouts, the Stranger Army join;  
Lord! how their Spears and British Targets shine!  
With such rough Boys Old England used to go,  
To Fight, and to Destroy th' Invading Foe.  
Anger did then, as Joy now, fill each Breast;  
ne'er was Invading Army so Carest?   

Brave Cornbury has more Honour got,  
By a Surrender, than to've killed and fought;  
And will more Glory in our Annals share,  
Than Bloody Saints in Roman Calendar.  
Nor must our Noble Lovelace be forgot,  
Who first opposed, and smelled the Ethnic Plot;  
Who fearless of the Law-destroying Yoke,  
First stopped the Fury of the Threatening Struck;  
Welcome, Great Soul, from durance to Command,  
And all the Blessings of the Joyful Land:  
May you in War, successful Fortune meet,  
And humble Teagues lie prostrate at your Feet!   

Nor be the rest unpraised, but writ their Name,  
On the Chief Pinnacle of Towering Fame;  
Which fears not Eating Age, nor Fatal Shock,  
But like our Isle is built upon a Rock:  
When after Ages shall our Stories read,  
Then Fame shall tell what wondrous Works they did.  
In equal Numbers than it shall be told,  
How Macclesfield the Grave, the Wise, the Old,  
Took War and Toils for an inglorious Ease,  
To give the Kingdom's Liberty and Peace.  
How Standing Troops did from their Leaders fly,  
To save their Honour, or in Freedom die:  
How Rome's own Sword did Rome's own King subdue,  
How even the Sea Tarpaulins proved True.  
The Youths unborn, shall lasting Statues raise;  
And late Harmonious Bards shall sing their Praise.   

Now let our Mighty Nassau view the Land,  
And subject Towns bending to his Command,  
Conquered by Goodness, not o'ercome by Might,  
Nor died by Native Blood in Martial Fight.  
Indulgent Heaven designed it should be,  
An Easie, Cheap, and Bloodless Victory.  
Tell it in Gath, and let the News be known,  
In all the spacious Streets of Askalon:  
Let Sion's Daughters in our Triumphs sing,  
And to the Choir Immortal Stanza's bring.  
Our Old Men did not the Rough Poniard feel,  
Nor fell our Young Men by the Fatal Steel:  
Our Conquest not one Scene of Death affords;  
Nor were our Ploughshares turned into Swords.   

Now is Augustus to Augusta come,  
And Crowds of Joyful People shout him home:  
The Joyful Sound fills Villages Remote,  
And Neighbouring Echoes lengthen every Note.  
To the Great Standard all Mankind resort,  
And make a Crowded, and a Splendid Court.  
No grand Impiety does here bear sway,  
Nor Lust and airy Pleasure crown the Day.  
Rest here, Great Prince, in Honour and Renown,  
Till willing people shall your Temple's Crown,  
With lasting Garlands, and yield to your Hand,  
The Great and Awful Sceptre of the Land.   
FINIS.