A PANEGYRIC UPON His MAJESTY'S GLORIOUS RETURN FROM THE WARS, AFTER THE CONCLUSION OF A GENERAL PEACE. By Joseph Brown, Dr. of Physic and the Civil Laws.  
Salve igitur multum Regum Rex maxim, Salvus  
Ingredere optatam patriam, Salvusque revise  
Quae loca grata tibi felix terraque marique  
Aeternum tuos, & te diadema coronet.  
LONDON, Printed for A. Bosvile, at the Dyal over against St. Dunstan's Church in Fleetstreet, and to be sold by E. Whitlock, near Stationer's Hall, 1697.   

To his Grace HENRY Duke of NORFOLK, Earl Marshal of England, etc.  

WHEN Poets write th' Immortal Worth of Kings,  
From what blost Source their Glorious Actions springs;  
They may, with less Ambition justly claim,  
The Umbrage of some highborn Prince's Name:  
Such as great Norfolk; boldly may assume,  
Next to his Sov reigns Right, as justly due to him.  
When Bosworth Field was once the glorious Scene,  
Where Norfolk's Blood did noble Hanours gain:  
When youthful Surrey did as bravely show,  
How far a true Heroic Soul dunst go:  
When Moubrey's Lion for Example strove,  
To kill the Brutish Herd, to gain the Conqerors Love:  
Which none deserved with greater worth we find,  
A noble Birth joined with a generous Mind.   

Honour is talked of much, but where's the Name,  
So much of Honour from their Ancestors dare claim,  
Embalmed with Glory, and Eternal Fame.  
What can the Noble Off-sppring be, but brave,  
That such Alliance from the Great and Noble have.  
And that first Power is still the generous Soul,  
That actuates and moves the mighty whole.  
And that high Genius does itself disperse,  
Through Howard's intellectual Universe.  
The Muses I am sure will bless my Choice,  
When Norfolk's Name shall echo from my Voice.  
This mighty Theme could come to none but you,  
Your Noble Station calling it your due;  
Of Honour's Laws made Judge and Patron too:  
Well may you then these humble Lines deserve.  
Could they, Immortal as your Honour live.  
Could such strong Torrents on my Numbers roll,  
Great as your Worth, capacious as your Soul:  
Then might I boast no vain Poetic Fire,  
But such as Homer might himself admire,  
When Jove with Harmony did him inspire.  
And such the Gods might sure bestow on me,  
When I essay the highborn Norfolk's Pedigree:  
But more, when boldly I essay to sing  
Th' Imortal Triumphs of the greatest King.    

A PANEGYRIC TO THE KING.  

ASSIST, some Godlike Muse, assist my Song,  
Some Angel now with Nectar touch my Tongue;  
Let my ambitious Lyre tune all her Strings,  
To Heavenly Numbers, soft Harmonious Things.  
Such a bold Theme employs my daring Muse,  
As none but such a rash artless Bard durst choose.  
Since then the Powerful Charm does here begin,  
I feel, I rising feel, the God within.   

Arise, ye Ruins, now the Conqu'ror's come,  
With Peaceful Laurels, to Britannia home.  
No more let Fame boast the Grand Lewis' Praise,  
'Tis William's Royal Temples wears the Bays:  
To which more justly, none e'er yet aspired,  
By all adored, by all the World admired;  
Since Peace, a happy glorious Peace he brings,  
Spreading itself on Fame's Eternal Wings;  
A lasting Triumph to Britannia's Kings.  
What greater Conquest could our Albion wish?  
Than have her Monarch crown all Europe's Peace.  
What greater can to future Times be told?  
Than that our William was the mighty Chief of Old;  
That he more Brave, Heroic Trophies won,  
Than other Generals, great in Arms, had known.  
More Crowns had truckled to his vast Success,  
Than other Monarches durst attempt to wish.  
Such Glory to his Arms was freely given,  
As he himself durst never ask from Heaven:  
For Fortune to his great Designs must yield,  
And Fate obey his Conduct in the Field.  
Such prosperous, high Success, moves from afar,  
And comes not from the formal Pageantry of War:  
For if by chance such Glorious Actions move,  
We're vainly fond to think there is a Jove.   

Arise, brave Britons, now no longer mourn,  
Your Tragic Cypress to triumphant Laurels turn.  
As newborn Souls arise, come gladly show  
How much to Caesar's mighty Toils you owe:  
Whilst Zephir's Balmy Blasts do gently cheer  
The tender Plants of each indulging Year.  
Let Flora all her gaudy Nymphs adorn,  
More beauteous than the Rosy Blushes of the Morn.  
Ceres and Bacchus, on the desert Plain,  
Let them a far more fertile Conquest gain:  
And let Diana, once again be made  
Free of her wont Solitary Shade.  
Romona, let the fruitful Gardens yield  
To thee the Luxury of all the Field.  
And let that too increase its usual Store,  
Which to our settled Peace may still add more,  
Than all the Happiness we knew before;  
Whilst Pan, propitious of the Flocks, remains,  
A glorious Pattern to succeeding Swains.   

This Prodigy of Peace, we Britons boast,  
That so much Noble Blood has Europe cost.  
The want thereof, so much benumbs our grateful Sense,  
We yet enjoy not half its Influence.  
The Pleasure so surprisingly does seize,  
We feel the Dose too Strong at first, to ease.  
This wondrous Cure our great Apollo wrought;  
But how 'twas done, is past all Human Thought.  
Each feels th' Effect, but none the Cause can find,  
Or William's God, or God's to William kind.  
Either this power's himself, or to him given  
As the choice Favourite of bounteous Heaven:  
This Mighty Act describes Him so much more,  
Than all the high-famed Deeds he did before:  
Such a confused Chaos, did once appear,  
Our utmost hopes was but a doubtful War.  
When, lo! despairing, pensive Albion sat,  
The Son of War revived her sinking State,  
And gave her Life to hope a better Fate.  
That every Corner of the Land became  
Enriched with Triumphs of the Hero's name.  
For had Achilles, or Alcides lived,  
T' have seen the Scene of War so boldly now revived.  
They'd thought their Heroes here returned again,  
Bravely to fight, not barely to be seen,  
That they were Deities, but Warlike Men.  
So like to Mars Heroic Nassau reigns,  
He out-rivals all his Virtues but his Vice refrains.  
Noble by Birth, by bold Experience, wise,  
Inur'd to hard, and toilsome Victories;  
Bold even to a Fault, if such a Fault we blame,  
That gained our Peace, and his Immortal Fame.  
His well taught Passion rules his Warlike Rage,  
And a mild Clemency his Actions gauge.  
So soft by Nature, to Compassion led,  
His Soldiers are no Tyrants, but to Mercy bred.  
So great in Arms, each to a Caesar's grown,  
And as well, Caesar-like, deserves a Crown,  
Bold Sons of War, and to that Honour born,  
virtue's their Aim, and Baseness what they scorn;  
With Arms, like Atlas, they support a Crown,  
And they must fall, ere that can tumble down;  
The noblest Title they desire to gain,  
Is their great general's Honour to maintain:  
Under whose Conduct they may boast more Fame,  
Then ever Monarch yet, on his own Score durst claim.  
If Caesar knew the Peace his Power doth give,  
Even Caesar would be proud under that Power to live.  
To all that's good, and Virtuous, so inclined,  
He Godlike shares the praise of every Mind;  
Whilst Things inanimate do seem to move,  
In just Obedience, to express their Love.  
The battered Walls before his Soldier's fall,  
And to the neighbouring Rocks with Clamour call,  
Fall, fall, to Albion's Hero Homage pay,  
For Stones and Rocks must Albion's Power obey;  
Fall ye Rebellious Towns before his Force,  
Lest your Proud towers do perish with a Curse:  
Lest your green Fields be died with Purple Blood,  
Yield to his Arms, and own him all divinely good.  
Whilst lofty Mountains do their Tribute give,  
And fruitful Valleys rise to ask Reprieve,  
That they may yet descend again, and live.   

But Peace, Triumphant Nassau does prefer,  
Ignoble Peace, before destructive War.  
Tho' he a Noble, Glorious Peace might claim,  
'Twas all beneath the Godlike Hero's Fame:  
His Virtue was too strong, himself too brave  
T' usurp that Power, which other States enslave.  
Earth is too base, too high heavens glorious call,  
For Albion's Peace imports the Peace of all.  
Uniting France, he has enlarged his Throne,  
And made divided Europe all in one.  
Far from a common Pitch his Actions rise,  
Their just Designs enough convince the wise,  
And with Amazement dazzle vulgar Eyes.  
Yet some bold Infidels deny that Light,  
Which like the glaring Sun betrays their Sight:  
So screeching Night-Owls o'er the deserts fly,  
And hate the Lustre of the beamy Sky.   

Methinks I see the Times already here,  
Hasting their Motion through each circling Sphere;  
These Days I see with Joy return again,  
Which will, Augustus's-like, be thought a glorious Reign.  
When Arthur's name must yield to Time, and Fate,  
And the famed Julian Period lose its Date:  
When in the more Victorious William's Name,  
Time shall begin anew, and all the Rites proclaim,  
Which gracefully enshrine the Heroe's Fame.  
When all the daring Conquests, glorious Fights,  
Performed by Edward, and his Garter Knights,  
Shall be, by great Nassau, excelled as far,  
As Meteors are by the Idalian Star.  
Then shall they raise Portraicts of Massy Gold,  
Such as Men gave unto their Gods of old.  
Then shall they Fanes, and Sacred Altars call,  
By William, Henry, Nassau, or them all;  
Then shall Men with Ambitious Pride desire,  
The Sacred Name of William to admire.  
This is the Hero, shall the Mystic Sibyls say,  
For whom, even Time obliged itself to stay.  
The long wished Hero, by whose conquering Reign,  
Britannia should her ancient Power regain.  
The Hero, that of Mortals best deserves the Style,  
To govern great Britannia's glorious Isle.   

Too great 'tis to relate all he hath done,  
Since he ascended that Successful Crown:  
How by Example, more than rigid Laws,  
He did support Britannia's Sacred Cause.  
How, while the neighbouring Worlds, tossed by the Fates,  
So many Phaeton's had in their restless States,  
Which into furious Flames turned their bright Thrones;  
Our peaceful William quenched their burning Zones.  
With Lute in hand, full of Celestial Fire,  
To the Pierian Groves he did retire.  
Encircled there with all Urania's Flowers,  
In sweeter Lays than raised up Theban towers:  
He charmed the fleeting Time, till from her Sphere,  
The fair Astraea kindly did appear.  
Then did the Sun its wont Heat regain,  
And Light diffused itself o'er all the Plain:  
The peaceful Brooks in silent Streams do glide,  
The Meadows stretch themselves, with wanton Pride  
Embroid'ring all their Banks; whilst the proud Hills aspire,  
To crown their Heads with more Aetherial Fire.  
The feathered Choir display their grateful Wings,  
And in soft Harmony glad Anthems sings:  
Each circling Flood to Thetis Tribute brings.  
The starry Senate looks serene and fair,  
And no disordered blasts disturb the Air.  
Pan without Care may keep his peaceful Flocks,  
Seas need no Dangers fear, but the deceitful Rocks.  
What Altars then to Nassau can we raise?  
Or sing due Paeans to the Heroe's Praise?   

But more, what can t' Iberia's Land compare?  
Once the great Monarch's Toil, and now his constant Care,  
But the Event that crowned that tedious War.  
The Glory that he won on that famed Field,  
Trophies engraved on his Immortal Shield.  
But what sums all, is this his last Success,  
That makes him Glorious, and all Europe bless,  
With the redoubled Echoes of a welcome Peace.  
Was these recorded by some Maro's Quill,  
Our very Foes the conquering Charm would feel,  
And own the Magic of the pointed Steel.  
How'midst his Troops the Hero flew like Fire,  
His Martial Soul burning with hot Desire;  
Which every Soldier's Breast did so inspire.  
With hugh Gigantic Strides he moved apace,  
Amazing all his Foes to see his warlike Grace.  
O'er Torrent Streams, and the high Mountain's Top,  
Nor Ramparts could his thundering Progress stop:  
Rending in pieces, with impetuous Shocks,  
The hardened Flint, and the rebounding Rocks,  
Into ten thousand Atoms shivering every part,  
Irreparable, even by Vaughban's matchless Art.   

Whilst others, daring in the Feats of War,  
Do show, how brave 'tis to be bold, how base to fear.  
To serve their Pious Chief, they hazard all,  
And glory, if before him they can fall;  
With such Ambition do their Souls aspire,  
To mount to Bliss, though 'tis by vulgar Fire.   

So Curtius once, a Noble Roman born,  
Whose Name Rome's Sacred Annals does adorn;  
Himself for Liberty a Victim gave,  
And died ignobly, that he Rome might save.  
With Glorious Pride he bore the scorching Flame,  
And suffered bravely, to raise Rome's sinking Fame.   

To serve a Pious Prince, then who'd not choose,  
Who would not gladly Life or Empire lose;  
Since 'tis for Honour, and for Peace to strive,  
And thus to die, is doubly blest to live?  
Whilst other States for Monarchy contend,  
And boldly their Designs at Empire bend,  
Their vain Ambition finds a juster End.  
Since Peace the Universal World does crown,  
Who can but with excessive Pleasure own  
The Glory of our Heroe's Arms?—  
Even the wild Fame from Envy this just Praise imparts,  
William's the only Monarch of all Hearts,  
The only Victor is, sent from above,  
What others gain by Force, to win by Love.  
By softer Means he makes men's Pride obey,  
And with unwilling readiness his Tribute pay.  
But let this cursed Age frown, the next due Praise will give,  
And wish that William long as his Fame may live.  
'Midst undistinguished Crowds of endless Praise,  
In Glory to outlive old Nestor's days.  
Whilst the glad Tritons of the watery Field,  
Shall give him what far distant Shores can yield.   

Whilst from the Northern Clime, and frigid Zone,  
The mighty Caesar of the World is come,  
Our greater Caesar's Glory to behold,  
Crowned with Imperial Diadems of Gold.  
To both the Poles the Sun spreads forth his Praise,  
And turns their sable Nights to bright refulgent Days.  
Thus does great Nassau to dark Climates shine,  
Proving thy far famed Merits all Divine,  
Not gained by Chance, but by wise Conduct thine.  
As the wise King of Israel's Fame was spread,  
From Tago's Stream to Indus Sacred Head:  
So through the spacious extent of the Land,  
Victorious William shall his Troops command;  
And barbarous Kings to his just Laws subject,  
Not to usurp their Power, but to protect:  
Whilst they the Conduct of his Arms admire,  
His mild Revenge, and yet his warlike Fire;  
Thoughtful of Glory, not of high Applause,  
And yet deserving both, the Merit of his Cause.  
Yet tired with Honour's Load, and Wars vast Toil,  
He thus expostulates upon the grateful Soil.   

As Man when first from Native Turf did rise,  
He all around him cast his wondering Eyes;  
Absolute Monarch than himself might call,  
And, under his great Maker, Lord of all.  
The Royal Lion willing Homage paid,  
And the huge Elephant Obeisance made:  
Ambition could not find a thing to ask,  
And Pleasure had as difficult a Task;  
His most luxurious Wish could seek no more,  
When all fair Eden was his own before.  
He saw the Amorous Palms outstretching wide  
Their leafy Hands, to reach the distant Side:  
The Groves all whisper, and the Birds all sing,  
Murmur each Crystal Brook, and Silver Spring.  
No wind, but gentle Zephir's Spicy Breeze,  
Which into softer Motions fans the Waves, and Trees.  
An Universal Calm around him cast,  
He saw, which into Eden quickly passed,  
This more than Mortal Bliss, too great to last.   

Hail than ye Sacred Sons of Levi, hail!  
Let Peace and Union o'er your Tribe prevail,  
And let seditious Zeal from hence be driven,  
As most pernicious to the Peace of Heaven.  
No more let Plots the awful Robe profane,  
Or Stains of Blood condemn their Souls for gain;  
Nor let ambitious Greatness prompt the wise,  
To wilful Sacrilegious Perjuries.  
Whilst Ignorance, the common Cause of Strife,  
Acts the Seditious Bigot to the Life.   

You Noble Senators, that Laws dispense,  
With utmost Justice, not with Violence;  
Depress this Monster Envy that does rise,  
Argos-like, with a Thousand kill Eyes.  
Hell's spiteful Engines! like huge Winds that roar,  
Deaf'ning the glad Pilot, when in sight of Shore,  
He joyfully proclaims the Danger o'er.  
So look the heavens when no Star appears,  
But slow and weary, shrowded them in their Spheres.   

O, bright Augusta! let thy Streets be filled,  
With all the Triumphs that united Joy can yield;  
Let the wild Populace aloud proclaim  
Their ecstasy of Joy, in William's Fame;  
Moved by a sense of Gratitude, let them confess  
Their due Obedience, and their Happiness;  
Needing no more the dire avenging Sword,  
But humbly yield to Mercy's milder Rod.   

O, happier Thames! let thy proud Floods arise,  
To meet the watery, and impending Skies:  
Advance thy Surges through Nassovia's Court,  
With Pompous Pride, in soft luxurious sport.  
Whilst the kind Banks the forward Noise proclaims,  
And sounds the Echo thro' the Neighbouring Plains:  
From a far distant Shore, the busy Nymph imparts  
This blissful Welcome to our grateful Hearts.  
That William, O! th' Heroic, Godlike Man,  
Victorious William is returned again.  
Eased from laborious War, a servile Toil  
He undertook, to make Britanni ' a peaceful Isle,  
O Nassau! let me blush for the ungrateful Soil.   

Soon as these Tidings from the Main was brought,  
Th' Ambitious Stream conveyed her joyful Thought,  
To all the nimble Floods, adjoining nigh,  
She told her Tale, she told her melting Joy:  
Thames first the soft diffusive Pleasure took,  
Which she conveyed to Isis, and fair Charwell's Brook,  
Where all the Muses round about her flock;  
Each Bard attending to her powerful Tale,  
Each Bard has Charms, but none o'er hers prevail.  
The tickling Pleasure like Enchantments spread,  
And with fresh Flowers adorned each unclothed Mead.   

But why should Isis only make thee shine,  
Is not thy Thames, more than thy Isis thine?  
Tho' Isis may in softer Songs adore,  
Let it suffice, thy Thames doth love thee more.  
Tho' Isis, for her Beauty may compare with Seyne;  
For Swans, and Flood-Nymphs with Imperial Rhine:  
Yet in the Title both may claim in thee,  
Nor Isis, nor the World shall equal me.   

When in her Amorous Arms Thames does thee fold,  
And dries thy Martial Hairs, with hers of Gold:  
Whilst floating Skiffs ambitious are to ride,  
Upon the undisturbed Stream, and Peaceful Tide.  
As Bees, after a stormy Shower is past,  
Return unto their Flowers with eager haste;  
The busy Insect doubles her Desire,  
To gain the End which Nature does require,  
And all Mankind with Wonder so admire.   
FINIS.