Gloria· A poem, in honour of pious majesty, occasioned by the safe, happy, and much-wish'd for return of our dread soveraign lord King William. By, Mr. Hopkins.

GLORIA.

A POEM, In Honour of PIOUS MAJESTY, Occaſioned by the Safe, Happy, and Much-wiſh'd for Return OF OUR DREAD SOVERAIGN LORD King William.

By, Mr. HOPKINS.

Perituro Ingenio; Gloria Perennis.

LONDON, Printed for H. Newman, at the Graſs-Hopper in the Poultry. 1700.

TO HIS GRACE JAMES Duke of ORMOND, &c. May it pleaſe Your Grace,

THE Dedicating Poet has but one only Plea, whereby to Vindicate his Preſumption againſt the various Cenſures of the World; and that I justly Claim, while I Addreſs your Grace.

The Acknowledging Favours receiv'd, can never be imputed to me as a Crime, ſince the very looſeſt Senſe of Gratitude obliges all to pay it as a Duty.

A Duty it muſt be confeſs'd in thoſe, whoſe Merits and whoſe Services ſeem to Engage them; but in me, it were the utmoſt Baſeneſs not to return my humbleſt Thanks; in me, who have been in a ſingular manner greatly favour'd by your Grace, to whom, I have not yet had the Honour to be Perſonally known.

But indeed, whom is it your Grace inclines not to oblige? Your Goodneſs ſtoops as univerſally to the Wants of Mankind, as your Greatneſs ſoars above them. And unbyaſs'd by the Customary Opinion of the World, Your Grace is ſo far from believing a Man undeſerving, becauſe unfortunate, that his very Indigence in a great meaſure entitles him to your Protection. Vertue is often Ragged, tho' 'tis the true Nobility; yet ſo well, ſo juſtly your Grace diſtinguiſhes between Man and Man, that while I acknowledge your Grace's Favour to me, in that Acknowledgment I boast a ſeeming Merit.

This is your Grace's Character, and I'll be hold to ſay your Grace draws thence as true Nobility, as from your Illuſtrious Birth: Or, to run higher ſtill, from your yet more Illuſtrious Actions. Your Grace's Vertues can be ſhown by no Compariſon but of themſelves: They ſtand a full created Orb of real Grandeur, and poiz'd by their own centring parts, there needs no Pen, no Pillar to be rais'd to prop them. Cou'd Poetry diſplay your Grace, Great as you are, and generouſly Good, and truly Noble; tho' your tranſcendent Excellencies are univerſally acknowledg'd and admir'd; and it grows thence impoſſible I ſhould be thought to dare attempt mean Flattery; yet 'tis not for me to undertake ſo great a Draught, for me, whoſe very Name ſtands with an Infamous Brand, as long as Letters live, accurst in Verſe.

Hence I grow ſtill more ſenſible of my preſumptuous Acknowledgments, and fear my very Gratitude may render me the more Ingrateful.

But t • whom ſhould the Fame of Royal Naſſaw • e moſt dear, but to your Grace▪ for whoſe Glorious Intreſts • one has ventur'd m • re; and ind • ed, • one had more to venture.

I ſhall only now beg leave to aſſure your Grace, you are not, you cannot be, more faithfully your King's, than I am

Your Grace's moſt Obliged, and moſt Devoted Humble Servant. J. HOPKINS.

TO THE MUSE. A PINDARICK. I. SING Muſe, the Man, Muſe, praiſe the Godlike Man! And bid him welcome ore; Welcome him Muſe to his own Albion Shore: The lofty Trumpet of whoſe Fame, Firſt blew thy daring Fancy to a Flame: Soon as thy downy Flight began, Rouz'd Thee to ſtretch thy unexperienc'd Wing. To Mount, to Soar, and Sing Triumphant Peace, the Conqueror and the King. II. Not now in queſt what Hero thou ſhalt raiſe, Praiſe Naſſaw, Muſe, Naſſaw claims all thy Praiſe. Mount, mount, and beat the Sky of Fame, Bear on thy leaded Wings the weighty Name. Up to the utmoſt Limits fly, The utmoſt Limits of the Muſe's Sky, Thro' the Aerial Regions of the Mind, And leave dull Judgment, gravely ſlow, behind. III. How can thy trackleſs Courſe • n Verſe be ta •••• t, How in Judicious M •• hod brought. Notions unform'd, and Clo •• s of miſty T •• ught! Where lightning Fancy, quick in Flaſhes breaks, And paints the guilded way with gay diſcolour'd ſtreaks. IV. Strike, ſtrike my Muſe, bold, ſtrike the lo • ty Stars, Once Mortal Heroes in Illuſtrious Wars; There the great Name of NASSAW bear, Exalted high, above all others far, Mount the tranſcendantictor, And fix, for ever fix it there. V. Thence thy unſhady Wings extend, And thy ſtrong Courſe to thy own Phabus bend: Within the Luſt'rous Chariot of the Sun, The Goddeſs Gloria's Seat behold, Where ſparkling Jewels deck the poliſh'd Gold. Clap, clap thy Wings at her Immortal Throne; Whoſe Regal Globe, unfix't, turns ever round, On which nor eſt for Gloria's Feet is found. VI. Looſe, in a Garment of Coeleſtial Air, Behold, behold, ſhe hovers there; With Wings of Adamant ſhe flys; Her Face divinely bright, Quick, tremulous Rays ſtream from her glowing Eyes, And dazzle Phaebus Sight. VII. In her Right Hand ſhe hears a Starry Crown, Whoſe weight bends even her Arm, the Arm of Gloria down. This Prize to Naſſaw, She ſhall thence transfer; Naſſaw has purchas'd that by winning her. Her other Hand a Golden Trumpet bears, Which ſets Heroick Souls on Flame, And gives the Signal to the Trump of Fame. Perch'd on her Head an Eagle fierce appears, Which, whenſoe'er the Noble Signal's given, Shakes her ſtrong Wings, and Soaring, Strikes at Heaven. VIII. Hark! hark! the lofty Charge She ſounds, And from her Sacred Stand, Loe! How the glowing Goddeſs bounds, Stretching to thee, Dread Muſe! her loaded Hand. Hark! Hark the Trumpets Voice - Receive This Crown, ſhe ſounds, and to my Naſſaw give. Deſcend my Muſe, thou Gloria be obey'd. The Crown is Naſſaw's, tho' not gives, but paid.

To THE KING. WElcome, thrice welcome to thy happy Shore, Albion, made happy by thy coming or'e. Welcome again, while at thy ſafe Return Thy People ſmile, who did thy Abſence mourn. Scarce from continu'd Welcomes can we ceaſe, Welcome—as when at firſt thou brought'ſt us glorious Peace. Bleſt be the ſmiling Surges of the Sea, Which thro' their cleaving Boſom yield their way; The Conſcious Floods the Ocean's Lord obey. Thy boſom'd Sails young ſportive Zephirs bear, And court thy waving Streamers in the Air. The tuneful Air does to their Muſick yield, And the Waves dance along the watry Field. Thy ſwelling Canvas ſeems the Winds to blame, Swol'n not with Breezes, but the Breath of Fame. Officious Winds! reſtrain your uſeleſs Gales, Immortal Glory fills her N • ſſ •• ' • Sail • Before thy Ship, Smooth ſpreads the Liquid Plain, Down doſt thou glide, down thy deſcending Main, The happ • Emblem of thy proſp'rous Reign. The Veſſel thus does with the Oceans flow; So doſt thou Rule us, condeſcending ſo; With eaſie Pow'rs thy Beaks thro' Waters ſweep, Thou cleav'ſt our Boſoms, as they cleave the Deep. Short is thy Paſſage from the Belgian Port, Short tho' it be, yet it appears not ſhort. Behind thy Ship the conſcious Oceans roar, Daſh their big rolling Waves— And urge their Monarch to his Albion ſhore. Whilſt from Batavia thy ſwift Veſſel flies, As Belgia leſſens, ſhall Brittania riſe. Belgia and Brittain claim alike their Lord, Both doſt thou Sway, and art in both ador'd. Great is the love thy Belgia does expreſs, Great tho' it be, yet is not Brittain's leſs. May thy bleſt Reign ſtill thus auſpicious prove, Still live they Rivals in their Loyal Love. Roll on ye Tides, ye ſwelling Surges roll, Reviving Albion ſhall receive her Soul. Now heave the watry Mountains of the Main, And ſeem to feel, but with the Lover's pain, The preſſing weight of Empire they ſuſtain. Thus, when the Ark was o'er the Oceans hurl'd. The Oceans groan'd beneath the rond'rous World. The maſſy State of the whole World they bore, Of the whole World which they had drourn'd before. When the Almighty his Creation made, The vaſt Deſign was on the Waters lay'd. On Mother Deep the forming Godhead lay, And from her gloomy Womb ſprung the Light, active day. Thus roſe the World by the Creative Will, And as at firſt 'twas form'd, 'tis Govern'd ſtill. Naſſaw, to Thee this ſecret Charge is given, To Thee, the Darling Subſtitute of Heaven. Like Juſtice Self, thou doſt Heaven's Aims purſue, Weild'ſt the ſtrong Sword, and hold'ſt the Ballance too. Thou, the vow'd Foe to the Almighty's Foes, Giv'ſt Bliſs to Europe, to the World Repoſe. Kingdoms, once Rivals, thro' their Fears agree, Who offers Wrong, proclaims the War with Thee. Thus their old Crowns the Heads of Monarchs wear, Poſſeſt of Empire, not thro' Force, but fear. Princes to Thee their Purple Honours owe; From Thee, the Source of Majeſty they flow. Sheathing their Swords, their Scepters they may uſe, But weilding thoſe, they muſt their Seepters loſe. Thus, thus, behold the Glorious Naſſaw ſtands, Monarchs, and Thrones, and Kingdoms he Commands, Three on his Regal Head.— But Univerſal Empire in his Hands. Thus Reign'd Augustus, thus his Sway was hurld, Thus Ruling Rome; he over-ruld ſhe World. Repine not Albion, let no Breath complain, Jove does not ever on Olympus • e • g •• . Where Naſſaw goes, his Fame, thy Safety call; His Tread muſt poize the partial pendent Ball; The Lord of Britain Reigns the Lord of all. As well we might at the Sun's Courſe repine, The Sun, which round the Univerſe muſt ſhine. Like his, diffuſive is our Naſſaw's Light, Preſent, 'tis Day, but when he leaves us, Night. Like his, have Naſſaw's mighty Labours prov'd, He ripens Fruits, when from our view remov'd. Great! Good! and Just! What Pillars ſhall I caiſe? Verſe, dying Verſe ſupports not Naſſaw's Praiſe.

The Invocation. Whom ſhall I urge, whoſe happier Muſe to ſing, Welcomes return'd to our returning King? Shall Dorſet, Cutts, ſhall Montague be Nam'd, For Numbers Nobly as for Honours fam'd? Hail, great Triumvirate of ſacred Wit! Great is your Fame, who have ſo greatly writ: The nobleſt ends of Greatneſs you purſue, The beſt of Poets, beſt of Patrons too. What tuneful Muſe, tho' ſoaring can rehearſe Which ſweeteſt flows, your Bounty, or your Verſe? Both flow from Nature, unconſtrain'd and free; Praiſe you your Naſſaw, be ador'd by me; Parnaſſw Heads ſhall be reputed three. On laſting Pyramids his Name be rais'd, Praiſe God-like Naſſaw, if he can be prais'd. Weakly my Muſe attempts in vain to riſe, Blaſted by Fate, groveling, and low ſhe lies, Claps oft her ſickly Wings—but never, never flies. For Nobler Ends than fancy'd Praiſe you ſhine, Not to be reach'd by any Muſe— At diſtance to be ſeen, rever'd by mine. Shall Congreve riſe? ſucceſsful, high in Fame; Congreve has gain'd, and he deferves a Name. Unenvy'd riſe, exert thy utmoſt skill, And grow, tho' now the greateſt, greater ſtill. In vain I court, as I admir'd in vain, With Lover's Tranſport, yet with Lover's Pain. Even Naſſaw's Fame, while I invoke, you flee, Yet ſure my Verſe ne're imur'd ought —but hi • . Let conſcious Criminals for Crimes ſubmit, I ſhould not guiltleſs bend—, Were you your ſelf Immortal as your Wit. Riſe Congreve, riſe with thy unequal'd Charms, And ſing the Man, the God-like Man, and Arms, Quit the falſe Promp, the ſhaddow'd Scene diſplays, And make not Heroes, but the Hero praiſe. Draw him, whoſe Glories Fancy's Beams out-ſhine, The Hero, Great, Illuſtrious and like thine The Hero, worthy of a Muſe Divine. Spread our Immortal Naſſaw's Actions far, As Fam'd in Verſe, as Naſſaw's ſelf in War. Oft ſtrikes thy Muſe bright Fame's Gaerulean Skies, Yet art thou riſing ſtill, and ſtill to riſe. Sill may you riſe, ſtill 〈◊〉 ſublimely Soar, Your Fame ſo much, till I can't wiſh it more. My Muſe mounts too be ••• ted thus ſhe ſings; As Wrens Tow'r high, born on the Eagle's Wings. Pitcht for the Flight, bear Sir, aſpiring bear The Glorious Naſſaw thro' the fiery Air. Whilſt on this Theam thy glowing thought ſhall dwell, Excel—if poſſible, thy ſelf excel. Loſe then thy pow'rs, thy ſtrugling Genius loſe, The nobleſt Hero claims the nobleſt Muſe.

Inſtructions to a Painter. Before Thee there the ready Painter ſtands, Inſpire his Fancy, and inſpire his Hands. Thou Naſſaw's Glories to the Artiſt ſhow, So ſhall he paint, that all the Draught may know, Naſſaw, who ſeems Immortal, ſhall be ſo Paint him Triumphant ore the peaceful Ball, And at his Feet let Europe's Scepters fall. Paint him Inſtructing Heroes in the Field, Paint him at once War's Thunderbolt and Sheild. Paint him unmov'd in Dangers and in Blood, Yet paint him Mild, and mercifully good. Behind this Mars let fierce Bellona ſtand, But paint Aſtraea ſmiling in his Hand. To him be every mortal Vertue given, Paint him the Conqu'ror of the Earth— Paint too the pious Hero Conqu'ring Heaven Beneath his Throne, let the luſt Pencil draw That ill fam'd Chief, who kept the World in a we. Fix on the Ground Macedo's weeping Eyes, But fix the loftier Naſſaw's on the Skies A future World this Monarch holds in view, By pious force he ſhall that World ſubdue. Abroad, he leading, we our Foes or'ecome, And o'er our Selves grow Conquerors at home. Whilſt our own Will our Paſſions ſhall reſtrain, He gives us each an Empire where to Reign. What Pen, what Pencil ſtrikes the vaſt Extent? The Godhead can't be ſhaddow'd out by Poetry or Paint. FINIS.