To the King, an ode on His Majesty's arrival in Holland, 1695 by Mr. Prior. Prior, Matthew, 1664-1721. 1695 Approx. 8 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 6 1-bit group-IV TIFF page images. Text Creation Partnership, Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) : 2003-11 (EEBO-TCP Phase 1). A55912 Wing P3516 ESTC R21182 12360197 ocm 12360197 60202

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 Early English books online. (EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A55912) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 60202) Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1641-1700 ; 222:9) To the King, an ode on His Majesty's arrival in Holland, 1695 by Mr. Prior. Prior, Matthew, 1664-1721. 11 p. Printed for Jacob Tonson ..., London : 1695. Reproduction of original in Harvard University Libraries.

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 eng William -- III, -- King of England, 1650-1702 -- Poetry. 2003-04 Assigned for keying and markup 2003-05 Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2003-08 Sampled and proofread 2003-08 Text and markup reviewed and edited 2003-10 Batch review (QC) and XML conversion

TO THE KING, AN ODE ON His Majesty's ARRIVAL IN HOLLAND, 1695. By Mr. PRIOR.

Quis desiderio sit pudor aut Modus Tam Chari capitis? Hor.

LONDON, Printed for Iacob Tonson at the Iudge's-Head near the Inner-Temple-Gate in Fleetstreet. 1695.
TO THE KING, AN ODE, &c. ON MARY's Tomb, thrô rowling Years, The Mournful Graces all shall weep; And, with fresh Lamps and flowing Tears, The Virtues endless Vigils Keep. For MARY distant Lands shall Mourn VVhen late Records Her Deeds relate, Ages to come, and Men unborn, Shall Bless Her Name, and Sigh Her Fate. Fair ALBION shall with watchful Trust, Her Holy QUEEN's sad Reliques guard, Till Heaven awakes the precious Dust, To Cloath it in its full Reward. But let the KING forsake his Woes, Reflecting on his fair Renown; And take the Cypress from his Brows, To put his wonted Lawrels on. The Lovely Dead, whom He regrets, Can know no Fear, can feel no Grief: The living World, whom He forgets, Would perish without His Relief. In vain the British Lyons roar, While prest by Grief their MONARCH stoops; The Belgic Darts will wound no more, If He, whose Hand sustain'd them, droops: Embattel'd Princes wait their Chief, Whose Voice should rule, whose Arm should lead; And, in Kind Murmurs, chide that Grief Which hinders EUROPE's being freed. The great Example they demand VVho still to Conquest led the VVay, And wish Him present to command, As They stand ready to obey. They seek that Joy which used to glow Expanded on the HERO's Face, When the thick Squadrons prest the Foe, And WILLIAM led the glorious Chase. Oh! give the Mourning Nations Joy, Break forth, great Sun, with usual Light: And let thy stronger Beams destroy Those Clouds, which keep Thee from our sight. Advance in thy Meridian Course, And, since thy MARY's Light is gone, Rejoyce the World with double Force, Thy Beams all fixt in Thee alone. See, pious KING, with different strife Thy struggling ALBION's Bosom torn; So much She fears for WILLIAM's Life, That MARY's Fate she dare not mourn. Her fair Delight, Her so • ter Half, Cold in the Grave with MARY lies, Unless in Thee her strength is safe, The frighted Nation wholly dies. Thou, Guardian Angel, save our Land▪ From Thy own Grief, her fiercest foe; Lest, rais'd and rescu'd by thy Hand, She bend and sink beneath thy Woe. Her former Triumphs all are vain, Unless new Trophies still be sought; And hoary Majesty sustain The Battles which thy youth has fought. Where now is BRITAIN's fearful Love, Which made Her hate the War's alarms? Where that Excess with which She strove To keep her HERO in her Arms? While still She chid the coming Spring, VVhich call'd Thee o'er thy subject Seas, VVhilst, for the Safety of the KING, She wish'd the VICTOR's Glory less? 'Tis gone, 'tis chang'd; sad BRITAIN now Hastens her LORD to Foreign VVars: Happy if Toyls may break his VVoe, Or Danger may divert his Cares. In Martial sounds She drowns her Sighs, Lest He the rising Grief should hear▪ She pulls her Helmet o'er her Eyes, Lest He should see the falling Tear. Go, Mighty Prince▪ let FRANCE be taught How constant Minds by grief are try'd, How great the Land, that wept and fought, When VVILLIAM l • d, and MARY dy'd. Fierce in the Battle make it Known, VVhere Death with all her Darts is seen, That she could strike▪ Thy Heart with None, But that with which she struck the QUEEN. Thy Virtue, whose resi • tless force No dire Event could ever s • ay, Must carry on its de •• 'd course, Thô Death and 〈…〉 the way. Envy shall calm that useless Rage, By which Thy Glory brighter grows, And Death, Thy Sorrows to asswage, Shall turn her wrath, and wound Thy Foes. BELGIA indulg'd her open Grief, VVhile yet her Master was not near, She hated Hope, She scorn'd Relief, And triumph'd, Proud in full Despair. Her echo'd VVailings pierc't the Skyes, To Earth her bended Forehead bow'd, The Tears unbounded from her Eyes, As VVaters from her Sluces, flow'd. But soon as Thou her Lord return'd, Her Head is rear'd, her Eyes are dry'd, She smiles as WILLIAM ne'r had mourn'd, She looks as MARY ne'r had dy'd. That Freedom which all Sorrows claim She does for Thy Content resign: Her Piety it self would blame, If Her Regrets should waken Thine. Dissembling Ease, and forcing Joy, She begs her Lord his Tears to dry: Did BELGIA e're her prayers employ, And ORANGE stand regardless by? To cure Thy Woes She shews thy Fame, Lest the great Mourner should forget That all the Race whence ORANGE came, Made Virtue triumph over Fate. VVILLIAM his Countrey's Cause cou'd fight, And with His Blood its Freedom Seal: MAURICE and HENRY guard that Right For which their pious Father fell. A second VVILLIAM's Bloom could tell How Heroes rise, how Patriots set: As Theirs did Others Deeds excel, Excelling Theirs be Thine compleat. The last fair Instance Thou must give VVhence NASSAU's Virtue can be try'd; And shew the World that Thou canst live As glorious as Thy MARY dy'd. That Thou canst live for BELGIA's sake, Pierc'd by her Griefs forget Thy own; New Toyls •• dure, new Conquests make To give her Ease, thô Thou hast None. To keep from treach'rous Foes Her store, Thô all Thy Wealth be robb'd by Death; To vanquish, thô She lives no more Whose Hands prepar'd the Victor's Wreath. Oh, could Thy Griefs obdurate prove To BELGIA's Cries, to BRITAIN's Fears, Yet let them yield to MARY's Love, To NASSAU's Glory joyn'd in Her's. If MARY could so well command, It was by long obeying Thee; Her Scepter, guided by Thy Hand, Preserv'd the Isles and rul'd the Sea. But oh! 'twas little that Her Life Thy Fame o'er Earth and Water bears, In Death 'twas worthy WILLIAM's Wife To Fix His Name amidst the Stars. Beyond where Matter moves, or Place Receives its Forms, Thy Virtues rowl: From MARY's Glories Angels trace The Beauties of Her Part'ners Soul. Wise Fate, which does its Heaven decree To Heroes, when They yield their breath, Hastens Thy Triumphs, Half of Thee Is deifi'd before Thy Death. And to Thy Fame alone 'tis given Unbounded thrô all Worlds to go, While MARY reigns a Saint in Heaven, And Thou a Demi-God below. FINIS.