A Pindaric Ode By way of Panegyric, upon the Glorious Conquests of Magnanimous K. WILLIAM in the Campagne of 92. Presented to him at his Return.  

I.  
LET uhe Parnassian immmortal Choir  
On this August Occasion tune their choicest Lyre;  
And inspire each Poet's breast  
With Raptures more Heroic far,  
Than Tasso's, Homer's, or great Virgil's are;  
Let them club all their Furies into one,  
By none of these alone  
This Sovereign Subject can be worthily expressed.  
Let loud-mouthed Fame her shrillest Trumpet take,  
And blow till both her big-swollen Cheeks and Lungs do ache,  
And startle the World both far and near,  
Th' astonishing Noise to hear.  
Let her brisk sounds through the trembling Sky  
To Heavens High-arched Roof upward fly,  
And many Stories higher;  
And thence an Universal Echo make,  
Able to stun all Europe, and make France to quake.  
Proud France that dares to vie  
With Royal WILLIAMS matchless power and deepest policy.  
The Subject is so Glorious and High,  
That, as he did his Foes, it makes Wit prostrate lie.  
Victory, complete Victory,  
Victories crowding one another so,  
As if they did together grow  
In a continuate Row,  
Which mowed whole Armies down, and did annihilate the Foe.  
These, these are the great Themes I sing,  
Th' unheard of Victories of Great Britain's King,  
Renowned WILLIAM, whose All-conquering hand,  
Has France subdued, saved and enriched our happy Land.   

II.  
Now had the wanton Spring begun,  
To teem with the sweet Issue of the youthful Sun,  
When WILLIAM, Europe's Sword, and England's Shield,  
With Numerous Armies took and shook the Field.  
A Hundred Thousand bold and daring Hearts,  
To whom his single Valour Warlike Heat imparts,  
With strutting Marches did all over  
Glad Flanders cover.  
France heard the Noise of this great Host,  
And quaked for fear,  
King WILLIAM should come near,  
Whose Valour they had tried too often to their Cost.  
Yet to preserve an ill got Name,  
Something they must do for shame.  
Towards him King LEWIS in a trembling Fright  
Crept slowly, but yet durst not sight.  
To save his Credit he did feign  
He could not pass Mehaigne.  
Poor Luxemburg stood still and gazed, mean while,  
Great unconcerned WILLIAM at their Cowardice did smile.  
But when they saw him move, and's Colours wave,  
His very sight the victory gave;  
Away ran all the French, each striving one to save.  
But, as the Coward Bessus, who for fear did fly,  
By chance ran on the Foo and got the Victory;  
So by ill Luck they in their Flight,  
On poor Namur did light;  
And for their shelter took the easy Town;  
But Thanks to WILLIAM's Valour, not their own.  
'Twas he that made them run,  
And 'twas their Fear, not Courage, which the weak Town won.   

III.  
At first our Monarch's breast with Fury glowed,  
To see that Fools and Cowards often have  
Far better Fortune than the Wise and Brave,  
And to regain the Town he vowed.  
But noble Pity, which with fierce Disdain  
In his great Soul alternately did reign,  
Did take its turn, and the too harsh Resolve recalled again.  
Great Minds are still most Merciful, and so  
When WILLIAM saw the sad Case of his helpless Foe,  
Let them still hold the Town, said he,  
The Free Gift of our Generosity:  
I will not envy them their Lurking-hole,  
Let them enjoy't without Control.  
I'll beat them in the Field; This, this Design  
Is only worthy to be called mine.   

iv  
He sought their Army long time round about,  
But could not find them out,  
At length his piercing Eye  
Made clearer by quick sighted policy,  
Discovered how they did near Steen-kerk ;  
With brakes and bushes shrouded  
And with thick blinds of Woods beclouded,  
Just as the Knightsbridge Army lay.  
When the two Monarch's Usher. and Phys. the Brentford Realms did sway.  
So, in her form finding the Timorous Hare  
Or as Moss caught his Mare,  
He set upon them, who straightway begun  
With nimble Feet and fainting Hearts to run,  
But (Oh the blind Guide Fortune!) like Cow'rd Bessus they,  
Did again quite mistake their way,  
And, thinking to run home, on us they fell,  
And, by running over us, knocked us down pellmell;  
Not that they hurt a Man of us in Fight.  
But Mortal Power could not resist their fierce and desperate Flight.   

V  
Yet Glory's Thirst something to slake,  
Let us, cries WILLIAM, at least Ipres take,  
That all the World may say,  
We can take Towns as well as they.  
The powerful Word scarce spoke, our winged Troops did fly,  
And to the Town approached nigh.  
This struck the French with more than Panic fear;  
Boufflers they sent,  
The wise-laid Project to prevent,  
And in our Army's way,  
French Blocks they lay.  
This did Great WILLIAM's high Thoughts fire,  
To conceive Attempts still higher.  
Dunkirk, the Christian Algiers (if at all  
We the French may Christians call)  
Dunkirk shall down, said he, the Pirates Nest  
Besieged, bombed, scaled, we from their hands will wrest.  
This spoke, Bombs, Canons, by commanding Charm  
Were brought from Maestricht, and our Troops did swarm  
Towards the damned place whose Doom our Prince had past.  
(And Fate ne'er spoke more sure Words than are His,  
Nor did his wise Aim ever miss.)  
Yet still his Noble Mercy did again  
With his Dread Anger struggle amain,  
And again got the Victory at last.  
For, seeing the fearful Cowards hie  
New Forts to rear where they secure might lie,  
He generously did scorn  
T' attack poor Wretches trembling and forlorn;  
So, back to strong Maestricht Wars Thunderbolts were born.   

VI  
Wherefore, at our Victorious King's Auspicious Return  
Let all the Sky with Bonfires burn,  
The Bells ring lofty Welcomes, and the Tower  
With thrice-discharged Peals express his Thundering Power,  
Let Loyal Citizens Pyramids invent,  
Such as may overlook their Monument.  
Mildness in War,  
(As Rose that amongst Byars grows  
Far more sweetly shows)  
Is more Illustrious by far  
Than uncompassionate Cruelty than none does spare.  
And what more Gallant, what more Brave,  
Than when he could have killed All, All to save!  
He more than Worlds does conquer without Blood or Pain,  
Who o'er Himself does Conquest gain.  
And he's more truly a Victor whose wise Skill  
Can win men's Minds, than he who does their Bodies kill.  
No doubt, but when 'tis understood,  
Our Hero is even to his worst Foes so Gracious and so Good  
There can need no rough force of Arms,  
Where such sweet Kindness charms:  
But by a Stratagem strangely rare and new,  
Attractive Meekness all his Foes will strait subdue,  
Make his enamoured Enemies for Peace sue,  
And save our England precious Blood, and precious Money too.   Philanax.