AN Encomiastic and Congratulatory Poem. On the Glorious and Peaceable Return of His Sacred MAJESTY KING WILLIAM III. Into ENGLAND, 1697.  

I Sing not Hannibal's, nor Caesar's Fate,  
Nor do I Brave Adolphus Celebrate,  
Full of Extatic Valour out of Breath,  
That Nobly Conquering Ttiumphed after Death;  
But that great Hero, who surpasses far  
Him, who was styled the Thunderbolt of War.  
Recovering drooping, Europe, makes War cease,  
Healing its Bloody Wounds with Balms of Peace.  
The Glittering Macedonian Swords and Shields  
Struck mighty Terror thro' the Persian Fields,  
Darius t' Alexander fairly yields.   

The Heavenly Hosts, that do assist you still,  
O may those Guardian Angels guide my Quill,  
And clasp me with their Wings in endless Fame,  
Great Monarch, whilst I have You for my Theme;  
Whom by Philosophy we truly call.  
The World's great Genius, Universal Soul.  
Your brave Heroic Acts, and Nassau's Name  
Are fled through th' Earth, on th' airy wings of Fame;  
Fame, which altho' she dares some Kings belie,  
Yet cares not, can't belly your Majesty,  
As far beyond Poetic Flattery.  
For the Imperial Czar of Muscovy  
Pays civil Homage to your Majesty;  
As Cheha's Queen's Ambition led her on,  
To pay a Visit to great Solomon.   

We almost ( You to our Rescue came,)  
To th' Roman Eagle as a Prey became,  
Our Helpless, Hopeless, Forlorn Case did show  
Nothing was wanting but the Murdering blow.  
Some Men t' adore those Crocodiles were free,  
Whose Tears were false as their Hypocrisy.  
Astraea saw't, and Blushing veiled her Head,  
The Goddess sighed, and then away she fled.  
Upstart Egyptian Gods, (like Wasps or Bees)  
Did sting and plague us with their Prodigies.  
When You, our great Apollo, would appear,  
These Locusts fled away in less than half a Year.  
Conscious of their own Gild, without delay,  
(Like crawling Vermins) slily sneaked away.  
As on the Womb o'th' uncreated Mass,  
Thick Darkness sat, Huddled in heaps, as 'twas,  
Till Light appeared, chased it away, to show  
Nothing so Welcome as itself, but You.  
So Heaven on us with Storms and anger frowned,  
And Floods of Woes our Island almost drowned,  
As Sinking Boats, t' escape we strived in vain,  
From the profound Embraces of the Main.  
Till your Victorious Hand the Sceptre bore,  
And (Great Dictator) did our Peace restore,  
And 'Stablish'd us more firmly than before.   

Cowards do dread the Grim, Pale Face of Death,  
Who foiled by't, are but squeezed out of Breath,  
You took delight in Trumpet's Martial Sounds,  
More than the Music of the Horn and Hounds;  
Whilst you pursued your Foes, a nobler Chase,  
Your Royal Soul was winged in Honour's Race.  
In Onsets Fierce, in your Encounters Brave,  
Potent t' o'ercome, most Merciful to save.  
You, second Scanderbag, for Europe's good,  
Fearless in many dreadful Battles stood;  
Undaunted, undismayed, You, You it was  
Outdared the Thunder of the roaring Brass;  
Made Death to Tremble, made your Foes to fly,  
Some prostrate Vassals at your Feet did lie,  
Whilst Thousands did yield up the Ghost, and die.   

Just Wars are made, to make unjust Wars cease,  
King William's War was thus the means of Peace.  
Sometimes the most ungrateful Discords throng.  
And tune themselves into the sweetest Song.  
So broken Bones being healed, become more sound,  
And Hydra stronger from its fruitful Wound.   

If Death be sweet by fight for our King,  
If to be Conquered be a noble Thing?  
To Live, how joyful is it? Can there be  
A greater Honour than in Victory?  
For in the highest Towering flight of Kings,  
Both Victory and Triumph are the Wings,  
By which they mount to Heaven; and 'tis this  
That is their proper Apotheosis.  
'Twixt God and Kings this is the greatest Odds,  
God an immortal King, King's Mortal Gods.  
My Soul I vote unto the Deity,  
And to your Majesty my Loyalty.   

All Joy to Caesar, Loyalists begin  
To play upon the Harp and Violin.  
We rock each Steeple through the Land, for now  
England's a Ringing Island, cause of you.  
Loud Acclamations meet you every where,  
Volleys of Huzza's Echo in the Air.  
Hail King Triumphant! Glorious, Great and Good;  
You hear the natural Music of the Wood  
The Trumpets clangor, and Drums loudly beat,  
From Mars his Field the Soldiers now Retreat.  
And Cannon's loud Report so rends the Sky▪  
That chirping Birds drop down as they do fly,  
Which Surfeit with excess of Joy, and die.  
So Rivers lose themselves, when swollen too high,  
And in their Union with the Ocean die.   

Hushed in a blissful Peace, secure we sleep,  
Our Guardian Angels constant Watch do keep.  
Our Ravishing, Transcendent Joy does prove  
Our Church Below, Triumphant; as Above.   

Vive le Roy, Traitors to Hell are sent,  
If their Repentance may not it prevent.  
Let not the Feet against the Head rebel,  
So Lucifer (by Pride) from Heaven fell,  
To be a Devil in the Pit of Hell.   
Sic Laetabundus cecinit, Joh. Thomas   

London, Printed by J. Bradford in Little Britain over against the Pump. 1697.