A POEM Humbly presented to His most Excellent MAJESTY King. VVilliam the Third, Upon His most Miraculous and Happy Pre­servation from that Barbarous Jacobitish Conspirary To Assassinate His Royal Person, February Anno 1695.

By R. B.

—Nec Ignes
Nec potuit ferrum!

LONDON; Printed by J. Dover, for Richard Baldwin near the Oxford-Arms in Warwick-lane, 1696.

A POEM upon His Majesty's Miraculous and Happy Preservation from JACOBITE and FRENCH Assassines.

WHilst Treach'rous France in his Versail secures
His Guilty Mould'ring Carcass, and immures
In lewd Maintinion's Arms his Conscious Soul,
Which in streams of Blood makes Gasping Europe rowl,
And Massacres whole Countries by Surprize,
Boasting his breach of Faith for Victories:
Whilst he t'Inglorious Poisonings resorts,
And in Secret Murthers makes his great Efforts;
Sordid Attempts! despis'd by Men of Arms,
Honour their Blood for Just Atcheiv'ments warms▪
These Court the Glorious Field, and seek Renown
Where toyling Hero's strive for Vict'ries Crown:
But Mean, and Abject Souls, such as the base
Case-hard'ned Priests, and Cain's pale Treach'rous Race
Of Hated Vagabonds, and Bigotted Fools,
Bog-Trotting Ruffians, Mercenary Tools,
[Page 4](Fit Instruments t'advance the vast Design
In which great Lewis, and just James conjoin)
Barb'rous Attempts these naturally Chuse,
Black as their Cause, such are the Means they use.
The Brave are Heaven's Care, this Caesar taught
When his frighted Pilot in a Tempest wrought,
Proud swelling Surges crusht the Trembling Keel,
And made the Captain's blust'ring Courage reel,
Mountains of Water combate on the Main,
And into foaming Billows dash again;
The Scaly Legion to the Bottom creep
T' avoid the Fury of the angry Deep;
The Watry Regions glows with Sparks of Fire,
And all the Glories of the Day retire,
Dark pitchy Clouds obscure the spangled Sky,
And thunder down their Terrors from on High:
The Crazy Vessel like a Cork was tost,
And th' half-dead Seamen yielded all was lost.
Th'Ʋndaunted Hero checques their gloomy Fear,
And buoys their Spirits sinking in Dispair:
[Page 5] Chear up my Mates! the Gods of Us take Care,
Caesar, and th' Empires Fortune are lodg'd here:
Not all the Raging Floods can Swallow's up;
I see a Calm from yonder Mountain's Top:
A bright Serenity shines in my Mind,
And shews the Empires Work is yet behind;
This shatter'd Vessel, tho' by Tempests Tore,
Shall Caesar whaft to the Appointed Shore,
Nor will his better Stars see him Forlorn
Who was for Glory, and an Empire Born.
How oft hath England's greater Caesar found
His Guardian Angel shield his Temples round?
Your Sacred Head was cover'd from on High
When Storms of Ball obscur'd the Ecchoing Sky;
When Bombs, whose Murth'ring Thunders rend the Air,
Like the Last Tempest which the Globe shall Tear,
Have set great Camps, and Cities all on Fire
As if the World should in that Blaze expire;
Your Heav'n-skreen'd Person hath unshaken stood
In midst of Hurricanes of Fire and Blood.
[Page 6]Great Cannon-Ball, disarm'd of all their Force,
Slide o'er Your Shoulders, baffled in their Course!
Some touch Your Royal Garments, and pass by,
's if Aw'd by Laws of Supreme Destiny.
Not all the Battles Rome's great Gen'rals fought,
Not all the Trophies which to Rome they brought,
With Your Immortal Triumphs e'er can shine,
If we regard Your Glories at the Boyn;
Or Namur's Walls, which like to Vulcan's Forge,
Or Etna's Top, Thunder, and Fire disgorge.
This Castle France Impregnable did boast,
Here he laid out his utmost Care, and Cost,
In this he vaunted as of Babel's Tower,
'twas the Result of all his Might, and Power:
This Your Great Soul with Indignation fill'd,
This Mighty Fortress to Your Sword must yield!
Namur's the Word, and 'tis Resolv'd upon
France shan't keep Towns, and England's King look on!
What Conduct here, what Bravery was shown,
What Rage, what Arts, in former Fights unknown?
[Page 7]This Draggoon Buffleur with Amazement saw,
And fill'd Chantillie's shaken Soul with Awe;
They saw the English against Rocks aspire,
Combat with Cannon, Grapple Storms of Fire!
Courage like this our Stout Fore-Fathers shew'd,
They Came, they Saw, like Caesar, and Subdu'd.
Astonisht Villeroy the Seige Beheld,
And th' English reap the Honour of the Field,
His Hundred Thousand French durst not appear,
But stood, like Statues, Petrified with Fear.
Whilst, Royal SIR, with Honour You Chastise,
Your Foes resort to Feeble Treacheries,
In Camp they Basely seek Your Precious Life
By Poyson, or a Consecrated Knife;
In Your Own Court their Treasons they pursue;
What is 't their Guilty Fears won't hurry 'em to?
A Set of Spurious Wretches, Vile, and Base,
Spawn'd, like their Councils, of th' Infernal Race,
The Scum, Reproach, and Pest o'th' Human Line,
As the fall'n Angels are of that Divine;
[Page 8]Alike in Rancour, and alike in Spight,
Both fight against Almighty Power, and Light:
These are the Crew Chose by Most Christian France,
His Long-Projected Empire to Advance;
Now that his Priest-blest Arms, and Councils fail,
He'll try if Hell-spawn'd Tories can't prevail.
SIR, 'tis Your Noble Vertue makes them dread,
And raise their baffled Plots against Your Head;
Had You at first but Crusht the Viprous Brood,
They had not Now been Hunting for Your Blood!
But Your Mild Reign, Indulgent to a Fault,
Cherisht those Serpents which Your Life Assault;
Those Home bred Foes, more dangerous by far
Than all the Open Violence of War:
Not Impious Louis with his Fleet, and Host,
Of which (till the Late Reigns) he ne'er could Boast,
Could stop the Justice of Your Conq'ring Sword,
But for the Aids Our Traytors Hence afford.
Now, Sir, Your Thunder let the Miscreants share,
Whom Heav'n discovers, let not Favour spare:
[Page 9]Root the Malignant Race that dare disown
Your Peoples Right to Give a Forfeit Crown,
Who from false Toppicks, false Conclusions draw,
And give the Prince a Pow'r to Null the Law;
These, to foment Our Woes, Two Titles bring▪
Make One de facto, One de jure King;
Such Politiciaus would a Claim Reserve,
The French Designs to Complement, and serve▪
To pamper their Insatiate Avarice,
They'd Europe sell, and England sacrifice.
When such as these are from Preferments Purg'd,
And by Your Justice for their Treasons Scourg'd,
Intrigu'ing France shall gain no more from hence,
Supplies of Treasure, and Intelligence;
But this will mortify the Monsieur more
Than five Campaigns have ever done before;
The Gallic Power would but weak appear,
If not supported by his Engins Here.
Great Sir, by Wonders Rais'd, England to save
From b'ing a Spiritual, and a Temp'ral Slave,
[Page 10]Whom the Eternal Goodness hath Preserv'd,
And for some Greater Work to Come Reserv'd;
On whom all Europe fix their Suppliant Eyes
To Save 'em from French Chains, and Cruelties;
See with what Zeal Your People join in One
To Guard Your Person, and Secure Your Throne▪
Th' Associating Senate lead the Van,
Your Lords and Commons as one Single Man;
Your Loyal City, Opulent, and Great,
'bove all the Glorious Sun e'er shin'd on yet;
Taking Copy from Original so fair,
Express their Love, their Duty, and their Care.
No sooner was the Welcome Tydings hurl'd
Of their Darling's Safety thro' Your English World,
But in Rural Triumphs they their Joy proclaim;
And vow to Die for Brave King WILLIAM.
In Chearful Throngs each County crowds to Sign,
And with their Representatives Conjoin:
This Bond of Ʋnion is approv'd by All,
And Swells from Corporate to National.
[Page 11]Nor will the General Pact determine here,
But Foreign Princes in the League appear;
The Potentates of Europe, One and All,
States, and Crown'd Heads, Allies, and Neuteral:
None can be Safe, all Government's destroy'd,
When Butchers are for Holy Ends Imploy'd.
How Execrable must this make the Names
Of the Twin-Cut-Throats Lou' le Grand, and James?
Whilst these fresh Treasons wake your Friends at Land
Your floating Tow'rs, their Force at Sea withstand;
This to Your Royal Vigilance We owe,
Soft they Approach'd, but found no Sleepy Foe:
Soon when your Startling Squadron came in view,
The Noisy French Armada straight withdrew,
Th' affrighted Flota to the Sands do Creep,
And durst not meet Your Adm'ral on the Deep▪
Their Pannick Army they Debarque again,
And Heave their Cannon in the watry Main;
And, tho' in Haste their Hero to Restore,
They durst not venture on Your English Shoar.
[Page 12]Your Royal Flagg made Ships, and Troops to Run,
They mind the Setting of their Rising Sun.
Great RƲSSEL stops them in their Hot Carier,
Russel, whose Name the French with Trembling hear.
That Illustrious Captain, Monsieur durst not meet,
They felt his Courage, when He burnt their Fleet.
Thus what false France design'd for England's Woe,
Kind Prov'dence turns to France's Overthrow,
And, well Improv'd, will fix Your Interest more
On Your People's Hearts than ever heretofore.
But I must Crave your Majesty's Excuse
For an Ʋnpollisht, Melancholly Muse,
Who, Ʋninstructed in the Arts of Verse,
Presumes Your Royal Story to Rehearse,
This might become fam'd Mouse, or Dorset's Lyre,
Whose Eloquence can charm, and Sence inspire:
But, if Hearty Zeal may for the rest Atone,
May Heav'n-sav'd William long wear England's Crown▪

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