Londons SPEECH To His Royal Highness THE PRINCE of ORANGE, On the 20th. of this Instant December, 1688.  
Presented to his own Hand which he received very Graciously: And at the Request of some Noble Persons ordered to be published.  

W hat Force, what Strength can Vanquish Your Alarms,  
I f conquering Heavens thus Protect your Arms?  
L ost in despair and Tyranny, we lay  
L oaded with Chains of Rome's Imperial Sway:  
I nfirm for a Defence this Nation stood,  
A nd still had been, if thy all-pitying Blood,  
M ade no brave Sallys to withstand the Flood.   

H elp, help ye Powers! but Mortals need not Pray;  
E ache Juster God Participates the Fray.  
N owe Temples may with aweful Worship stand,  
R esults of Joy Crown all the Wishing Land;  
Y ea, Rome her self may his kind Will Command.   

P eace so desired, yet so long absent here,  
R evives again, and does its Glory wear:  
I ustice abhorred by none but Unjust Men,  
N owe, by your Aid, unsheaths her Sword again:  
C ome on Great Sir, Victorious Prince, outdare  
E ache Act of Rome, nor all her Malice fear.   

O ur after-Age will Consecrate thy famed  
F or this brave Act, for this Extol thy Name.   

O h! to Erect a Fading Churches Head,  
R aise like a God, a Nation, though 'twas Dead:  
A nd all the Pomp of british Glory show;  
N o Man but you, but you could ever do.  
G odd the chief Healer of our Wounded State,  
E ache moment shrowded You from Rome's Killing Hate.   
FINIS.   

LONDON, Printed for J.G. 1688.