A POEM ON THE Present Assembling OF THE PARLIAMENT. March the 6 th'. 1678.  

BREAK, Sacred Morn, on our expecting Isle,  
And make our Albion's sullen Genius smile;  
His Brightest Glories let the Sun Display,  
He Rose not with a more important Day  
Since CHARLES Returned on his Triumphant way:  
Gay as a Bridegroom then our Eyes he drew,  
And now seems Wedded to his Realms anew.  
Great Senate, haste, to join your Royal Head,  
Best Council by the best of Monarches swayed:  
Methinks our Fears already are o'erblown,  
And on our Enemy's Coast their Terror thrown.   

Darlings of Fame, you British Bards that wrote  
Of Old, as warmly as our Heroes fought,  
Aid me a bold Advent'rer for the Fame  
O'th' British State, and Touch me with your Flame;  
Steep my rude Quill in your diviner Stream,  
And raise my Daring Fancy to my Theme.  
Give me th' Heroic Wings to Soar as High  
As Icarus did, I would like Icarus Die!   

Now I behold the bright Assembly Met,  
And 'bove the Rest our Sacred Monarch Set,  
Charmed with the dazzling Scene, without a Crime,  
My Thoughts reflect on th' Infancy of Time,  
And wrap me in Ideas most Sublime.  
I think how at the new Creation, Sat  
Th' Eternal Monarch in his Heaven's fresh State;  
The Stars yet wondering at each others Fires,  
And all the Sons of Glory Ranked in Quires.   

Hail, awful Patriots, Peers by Birth, and you  
The Commons, for high Virtues, Noble too!  
The First by Heaven, in this Assembly placed,  
And by heavens Voice, the People's Votes the Last.   

As Various Streams from distant Regions fall,  
And in the Deep their general Council call;  
Conveying thence Supplies to their first Source,  
And fail not to maintain their rolling Course:  
Our Senate thus, from every Quarter Called,  
And in Complete Assembly Here Installed,  
Shall deal their Influence to each Province round,  
And in our Isle no Barren Spot be found.  
justice as plenteous as our Thames shall Flow  
In Peace the Sailer Steer, and Peasant Blow.  
From Foreign wrongs safe shall our Public be,  
And Private Rights from Home Oppressors free:  
Degrees observed, Customs and Laws obeyed,  
Deuce, less through Force, than Fear of Scandal, paid.   

Proceed, brave Worthies then, to your Debates;  
Nor to Decree alone our Private Fates,  
But to Judge Kingdoms and Dispose of States.  
From You, their Rise, or Downfall, they assume,  
Expecting from our Capitol their Doom:  
You Form their Peace and War, as You approve  
They close in Leagues, or to fierce Battele move.   

And though the Pride of France has swelled so high  
A Warlike Empire's Forces to Defy,  
To crush th' United Lands confederate Power,  
And silence the loud Belgian Lion's Roar;  
Yet let their Troops in Silent Triumph come  
From Vanquished Fields, and steal their Trophies Home,  
Take care their Cannon at Just Distance Roar,  
Nor with too near a Volley rouse our Shore;  
Lest our disdaining Islanders Advance  
With Courage taught long since to Conquer France,  
Seizing at Once their Spoils of many a Year,  
And Cheaply Win what they oft bought too Dear:  
Their late Success but juster Fear affords,  
For they are now grown Worthy of our Swords.  
Howe'er 'tmust be confessed, the gallic Powers  
Can ne'er Engage on Equal Terms with Ours.  
In Nature we have th' Odds, they Dread, we Scorn,  
The English o'er the French are Conqerors Born.   

The Terror still of our Third EDWARD's Name  
Rebukes their Pride, and Damps their towering Fame;  
Nor can the Tide of many rolling Years  
Wash the stained Fields of Cressey and Poitiers.  
A pointed Horror strikes their Bosoms still,  
When they survey that famous, fatal Hill,  
Where EDWARD with his Host Spectator stood,  
And left the Prince to make the Conquest good.  
The Eagle thus from her fledged Young withdraws,  
Trusts 'em t'engage whole Troops of Kites and Daws  
Nor has the black Remembrance left their Breast  
How our Fifth HARRY to their Paris pressed,  
Whilst France wept Blood for their hot Dauphin's Jest.  
We forced their Cavalry their Foot t'ore-run,  
As Tides withstood, bear their own Billows down:  
Such was the Virtue of our Ancestors,  
And such, on just Resentment, shall be Ours;  
Our Tempered Valour just Pretence requires,  
As Flints are Struck, before they show their Fires.   
FINIS.