A Congratulatory POEM On Occasion of His HIGHNESS The Prince of ORANGE HIS MARRIAGE.  

HAil High and Mighty PRINCE! for thou'rt no less,  
By Birth, by Merit, and by great Success.  
What is thy Birth and Merit all Men know,  
Let then my Muse thy great Success now show:  
'Tis great indeed, since some occult Decree  
Exalts Thee still 'gainst seeming Destiny.  
For when the Gallic Powers without control,  
Swift as those Streams which bore them, down did roll,  
And o'erwhelmed lofty Cities in their way,  
Which thick upon the Belgic Shores lay:  
When with their Swords they ploughed up Conquered ground,  
And Rooting for their spreading Lilies found:  
When homebred Storms, Storms from abroad did join,  
And all, to make a State-wreck, did combine;  
When the United Arrows broke their stay,  
And on their own rough Seas dispersed lay:  
Thou didst by Miracle walk on those Waves,  
And Mount where thousands sank into their Graves.  
Thou, who in Calms hadst long neglected lain,  
Were't on fierce Billows Backs raised up again:  
Nay, at the sight of such a Pilot, straight  
Th● amazed Hostile Cohorts did retreat,  
Even of themselves they back again did glide  
More swift, than when they rushed down with the Tide.  
(Thou being restored) they quickly were dismayed,  
And feared the Conquests they themselves had made  
Let others brag what their great Troops have done,  
Thou perform'st Wonders by mere looking on:  
Just so, great Perseus (tho' o're-powered) won,  
And pressing Numbers Vanquished all alone:  
Thy Enemies, like his, Attack in vain,  
Since by their Labours, Thou still seem'st to gain  
The Cities which they Captive made, now Free  
Remain as Monuments Rebuilt by Thee.  
Nor do these Trophies but in part express,  
How thou'rt (as 'twere) pursued with great Success  
Seven Provinces cannot thy Merit Crown,  
Tho' they could do seven times more than they've do●●  
Therefore we Welcome Thee to Britain's Shore,  
And to enrich Thee, make ourselves grow poor,  
Not Gold, nor Gems can purchase the fair Prize,  
Which Thou thyself must now Monopolise;  
A VIRGIN Princess 'tis, in whom alone,  
More than the Gain of many Camps is won.  
Hence forward Thou securely may'st disdain  
Those who small Towns with great Expenses gain  
Their Conquests (tho' they Nations should subd●●  
Seem poor, when once compared unto you:  
For Thou hast got what well may termed be  
EUROPA, Kingdoms in Epitome.    

LONDON, Printed by T. D. for Henry Brome, at the Gun at the West-end of St. Paul's. 1678