A Congratulatory POEM On His Highness The Prince of Orange, Upon his Arrival to Town.  
Welcome, great Hero, of Illustrious Name;  
Of Faith unspotted, and unspotted Fame.  
Welcome, as Showers to thirsty Earth, or Light  
To Storm-tost-Sailors, or to Lover's Night!  
Our clouded Isle was cheered to see afar  
The hopeful Glimpses of our Morning Star.  
Our Hellborn Fiends and Spectres fled away,  
And durst not stand the Test of open Day.  
To other Nations dreadful are Alarms,  
But we Congratulate your Peaceful Arms.  
You, like Alcides, take your Sword in Hand,  
Only to chase the Monsters from our Land.  
You only Arm to make our Tumults cease,  
Your Wars are glorious, for your End is Peace.  
Our Virgin-Church to save from Dragon's Jaws,  
To fix Religion, and restore our Laws.  
Your Martial Aid restores our Publick-Weal,  
Your Sword is dipped in Balm, and drawn to Heal.  
Let guilty Rome, and yet more guilty France,  
Tremble to see your glorious Arms advance.  
For though the Pride of France has swelled so high,  
A Warlike Empire's Forces to defy,  
To crush United States Confederate Power,  
And silence the loud Belgian Lions Roar,  
Our longing Islanders shall now advance,  
With Courage taught long since to Conquer France;  
To seize at once their Spoils of many a year,  
And cheaply win what they oft bought too dear.  
The terror still of our Third Edward's Name,  
Rebukes their Pride, and damps their swelling Fame.  
Nor can the Tide of many rolling years,  
Wash the stained Fields of Cressey and Poitiers.  
A Conscious terror strikes their Bosoms still,  
When they behold that famous fatal Hill,  
Where Edward with his Host Spectator stood,  
And left the PRINCE to make the Conquest good.  

Nor has the black Remembrance left their Breast,  
How our Fifth Harry to their Paris pressed,  
While France wept Blood for their hot Dauphin's Jest.   
The British Lion with the Belgian joined,  
For universal Conquest seem designed:  
The Earth's one half to each must quit the Field,  
But where their Forces join, the World must yield.   

LONDON: Printed for H. P. M DC LXXXVIII.