An Heroic POEM UPON HIS MAJESTIES Most GRATIOUS RELEASING the CHIMNEY-MONEY.
ABove the Waves, so Neptune shew'd his Face,
To chide the Winds and save the Trojan R [...]e;
As our Great MONARCH has our Fears releas't,
And threatning Storms of Tyranny suppres't.
Our drooping Nation, almost quite become,
The Prey of Lawless Power, and Cruel Rome;
Shatter'd by Popish Plots, and Jesuites Hate,
Is now restor'd and made a Glorious State.
The Seat of Empire, where must shortly come,
The Rebel-Irish to receive their Doom;
And now proud Rome by His Atchievements scar'd,
(Although another Caesar were her Guard)
Could trembling wish behind more Alps to stand,
While His fresh Laurels Her swift fall portend.
The Sea's our own, and now all Nations greet,
With loering Sails each Vessel of our Fleet;
Our Monarchs Power extends as far as Winds do blow,
Or swelling Sails around the Globe may go.
Heaven that has plac'd this Island to give Law,
To ballance Europe, and her States to aw;
In this conjuncture does on Britain smile,
The Greatest Leader, and the Greatest Ile.
Whether this Portion of the World were rent,
By the rude Ocean from the Continent
Or thus Created, it was sure design'd,
To be the Sacred Refuge of Mankind.
Here the Oppressed shall henceforth resort,
Justice to crave, and Succour at our Court;
And then our Soveraign, not for ours alone,
But for the World's Great MONARCH shall be known.
Fame swifter than his winged Navy flies,
To every Land that near the Ocean lies;
Sounding his Name, and telling dreadful News,
To all that Tyranny, and Rapine use.
While his blest Subjects, under their own Laws,
Where no unjust controle can interpose;
Enjoy in ample Liberty and Ease,
With Freedom Plenty, and with Plenty Peace.
Lords of the Worlds large wast, the Ocean, we
Whole Forrests send to Rule upon the Sea;
And every Coast may trouble or relieve,
But none can visit us. without His leave.
Our little World, the Image of the great,
Like that amidst the boundless Ocean Set;
Of her own growth has all that Nature craves,
And all that's scarce, as Tribute from the Waves.
As AEgypt does not on the Clouds rely,
But to her Nile ows more than to the Skie;
So what our Earth, and what our Heaven denies,
Our ever constant Friend (the Sea) supplies.
The taste of hot Arabia's Spice we know,
Free from the scorching heat that makes it grow;
Without the Worm in Persian Silk we shine,
And without Planting, Drink of every Vine.
Our's is the Harvest where the Indians mow,
We Plough the deep, and Reap what others sow;
Things of the Nobles't kind our own Soyl breeds,
Stout are our Men, and Warlike are our Steeds.
Rome, tho' her Eagle through the World had flown,
Could never make this Island all her own;
Here flourish'd Edward, and the Black Prince too,
Victorious Henry, and now GREAT SIR, YOU,
For YOU we stay'd, once more to fill our Story
With great Atchievments, and with Acts of Glory.
When for more Worlds the Macedonian cry'd,
He wist not T [...]etys in her lap did hide
Another yet, a world reserv'd for You,
To make more Great, than that he did subdue.
When Fate or Errour had our Age misled,
And on this Nation such Confusion spread,
The only Cure which could from Heav'n come down
Was so much power and Piety in One.
One, whose Extraction from an Ancient Line,
Gives Hope again that well-born Men may shine:
The meanest, in your Nature, mild and good,
The Noble rest secured in your Blood.
For when our Troubl'd Country call'd you forth,
Your Noble Courage and your Matchless Worth
Dazling the Eyes of all that did pretend,
To fierce Contention gave a prosperous End.
No sooner You, GREAT SIR, the Throne ascend,
But our Disorders cease, and all things mend.
As if your Royal Touch were only sure
The true King's Evil of the Realm to Cure.
'Twas not Ambition spurr'd our Soveraign on
To seize the Scepter, and assume the Crown;
But like the Vestal Heat, his Martial Fire
Was such as true Devotion did inspire;
His Zeal for GOD, and Pity to Mankind
Awak'd his Courage, and confirm'd his Mind.
Religion 'twas, that putting on his shield,
Brought him Victorious through a bloodless Field;
His Arms were such, as th' Ancient Heroes wore,
Bequeath'd him by the God he does adore.
And all to save three Kingdoms from the Curse
Of Lawless Rule, and Romes Tyrannick Force.
A Prince-like Pious Ardour of Renown,
To seek the Church's Triumph in his own:
Which once accomplish'd under his Command,
Th' August and Grateful Senate of the Land
Gave up what they had left (who had done ill)
To Him, that more deserv'd the Throne to fill.
With equal Love the Generous King releas't
The chiefest Impost, which the poor opprest;
Which, tho' so fair a Branch of publick Store,
He valu'd not, because it wrong'd the Poor.
One Landlord to the House, to Chimneys two,
Seem'd more than was to equal Justice due;
He that once lets his House, his Chimney lets,
There the poor dresses what his Labour gets;
Hard, double-Pay for that from, whence he eats.
Or if through Poverty it be not paid,
For Cruelty to tear away the single Bed,
On which the poor Man rests his wearied Head,
At once deprives him of his Rest and Bread.
But such Injustice He would not Command,
Who came by Justice to relieve the Land;
Nor would he have an opulent Land supply
Th' Expence of State by grinding Cruelty.
Thus the vext World to find repose, at last
Into Augustus Arms her self did cast.
As England now with equal Toyls opprest,
Her wearied Head did on Your Bosome rest.
Then let the Muses with such Notes as these,
Instruct us what belongs unto our Peace.
Here in low strains your milder Deeds we sing,
Hereafter we will Bayes and Olive bring
To Crown your Head, while you in Triumph ride
On Vanquish'd Nations, and the Sea bestride;
While all your Neighbouring Princes unto You,
Like Ioseph's Sheaves, pay Reverence, and bow.
LONDON, Printed for R. Taylor near Stationers-Hall, in the Year, MDCLXXXIX.