HONOURS INVITATION, OR A Call to the Camp. WHEREIN The Triumphant Genius of Great Britain by a Poetical Alarm AWAKENS The Youth of the three Nations, to Generous Attempts, for the Glory of their Country: With a Prospect of the present Gallant Campagne on Black-Heath. Written by a young Gentleman of Quality now in the Service; Dignos Laude Viros Musa vetabit Mori: LONDON Printed by H. B. for John Clark at the Harp and Bible in West-smithfield. 1673. HONOURS INVITATION OR A Call to the Camp, etc. BRED by fond Mothers too Indulgent Care, My vainer life spun on its thirtieth Year: Charmed with the Poisonous sweets of barren Ease, And all the luxuries of wanton Peace; To duel Rampant miss on a soft Bed Hector the watch, or break a Drawer's Head To drown a younger Brother in a Look Kick a poor Lackey, or berogue a Cook Top a small crew of Tenants that dare Stir In no language, but, please your Worship Sir, To chase the Stagg, and now and then pursue The timorous Hare, were all the Wars I knew; When drunk o'er night with generous Burgundy I thought (as Gallants use) to sleep all Sunday But scarce could Morpheus leaden plumets close My Eye, and lock my Senses in repose, When, lo! A reverend Spectrum did appear Surprising me with equal joy and fear; It seemed a Personage of Noblest Race A Manly presence, and Majestic Face An Azure Mantle flowing round his Waste And his strong hands with Neptune's Trident Graced Three Crowns he bore, and under them his Brow Circled with Laurels fresh plucked from the Bough. I gazed a while, till it approached more near And thus (with voice like Thunder) pierced my ear Will't thou, Degenerous Youth! Ignobly Blot The Trophies which thy Ancestors have Got? Prove them the Sires of a spurious Race? Ore'turn their Statues, and their Tombs Deface; Forfeit those Honours which they left to thee By sleeping in a senseless Lethargy? Now, when each Noble Soul, greedy of Fame Feels his breast glowing with a generous Flame When Sceens of blood on neighbouring shores appear And furious Mars sways all our Hemisphere; Will't thou alone, stupidly drowned, prefer Sordid delights to the Glory of the war? Decline that Road of Honour which Displays To every daring hand a wreath of Bays And in a wretched sloth consume thy days? Can the poor yelping of a deepmouthed Hound Vye Music with the warlike Trumpets Sound? Or faint Applauses of a Horse race won (When sprightly Sorrel out-flew nimble ) Equal those Acclammations that are sent In Volleys to the Echoing Firmament? Which every Victor justly calls his own? For Kingdoms conquered, and proud States o'erthrown? Shall Troops of Heroes from all parts resort, That quit the softer pleasures of the Court? Charge death i'th' face, and forward still Aspire Through midst of dangers swift as Heaven's Fire? Shall the Drums Rattling Summons nimbly bring Crowds of vulgar in, to serve their King? That laugh at hardships, and dare bravely die, If Fate required, to purchase Victory? And their Example neither move thy spirit Nor Emulation of the others merit? What drowsy Opium has possessed thy Brain Dull soul! That all these Joggins are in Vain? For shame at last awake lest it be said Your courage does not slumber, but is dead; From before paltry Beauties raise your siege Who thinks by feigned resistance to oblige Nor let the kinder Ladies tempting Charms Confine you still to their enfeebling Arms: (When Fate turned prodigal, freely affords) The Destinies of Nations to your swordsâ–Ş Let mighty cities be your Mistresses Whose dowry brings the spoils of Provinces; Levelly their prouder walls, and let it be A doubt hereafter to Posterity When only shattered Monuments they vieu Whether Jove's thunder hath been there, or you; These are atcheiuments fitting to be done By each dares call himself stout England's son. As a brave courser standing on the sand Of some swelling Sea-channel vieus a land Smiling with sweets upon the distant side Garnish in natures best Embroidered pride Larded with springs, and fringed with curled woods Impatient bounces into the capering floods Big with a nobler fury than that stream Of shallow violence he meets in them Thence armed with scorn and courage ploughs a way Through the Impostumed Billows of the sea And makes the grumbling surges, slaves to Oar And waft him safely to the further shore Where landed in a sovereign disdain He turning back surveys the foaming main Whilst the subjected waters, flowing, reel Ambitious yet to kiss their Conq'rours' heel. At such a generous rate shouldst thou engage, In the grand Expedition of our age, Thy active soul in gallant fury hurled To club with all the Worthies of the world Then rouz at last from this Lethargic dream And let Heroic actions be thy theme. No more to base Effeminate follies yield Thy countries' GENIUS calls thee to the field. No sooner these last Accents had I heard But straight the glorious vision disappeared; And round about methoughts a glittering ray Was spread, creating in my soul new day. As Caesar once on banks of Rubicon Stood shivering and scarce durst venture on, Till lucky Daemon by a signal chance Beckoned him o'er and made his Troops advance, So I confirmed by this good Omen found Those mists exhaled which had my courage drowned. Blushing I rise, and to the Eastwards spy As brave a sight as ever courted eye. Encamped there lay upon a spreading plain Of sprightly warlike youths a numerous train; Dressed in such arms as those where with Mars lays World's waist, and new ones from their dust can raise; Led by a Chief whose valorous fervour can Hatch him whom nature broached but half a man, Whose trumpets, like the Angels at the last Make the soul rise by a miraculous blast Were the mount Athos carved in shape of man (As fancied by the Macedonian) Whose right hand should a populous land contain And the left be a channel to the Main His spirit might inform so vast a figure Yet still straight laced sweat for dominion bigger Like Under this sun a thousand sparks bare place Like stars, Honour's bright Firmament to Grace Whilst common Soldiers from their Tents arise As small Sporad's to Beautify the Skies. Ah Glorious Art of war I cried! from whence All Honour and all Power did first Commence, By which the Grandeur of each state doth grow And unto which Nations their safety owe, Henceforth my Mistress thou alone shalt be And all my strength I consecrate to thee, Hence than you gay diversions of the Town Your bubbling vanities I must disown, Morning long sleeps adieu, let sordid Ease Silken Buffoons, and painted Peacocks please, Whose labouring souls being stifled with Excess Scarce keep from stench their rotten Carcases, Whilst I'mid'st blood and sweat and toils of war Through storms, cold, hunger, and many a scar, Pursue my Fate, resolved thus to have An Honoured Life, or else a Noble Grave. With Allowance, June 21. 1673. FINIS.