An heroick poem upon the late expedition of His Majesty, to rescue England from popery, tyranny, and arbitrary government by John Tutchin, Gent.

AN HEROICK POEM Upon the Late EXPEDITION, &c. WHEN Heav'n a Godlike Hero does create, By Nature Virtuous, and by Action Great, Strait ſome Diviner Muſe is called forth, In Verſe Immortal to declare his Worth. Thus Antique Worthies in Deſtruction skill'd, VVith their own Swords plough'd the Pharſalian Field; Whilſt ſofter Lucan ſang in well-tun'd Lays, The Victor's Triumphs, and the Hero's Praiſe. Let old Renowned Bards of Honours tell, How by their Swords the Mighty Thouſands fell: The Subject of my Younger Muſe muſt be, A Harmleſs War, and Bloodleſs Victory. I ſing the gentle Man of War, to whom Diſtreſſed Nations do with Tribute come. The mighty Hercules, that muſt Suppreſs The Tyrant Hydra of the Univerſe. In War ſo happy, ſo Divinely good, The Man of War's become the Man of God; As Sacred Chronicles do oft declare, The Man of God was ſtil'd the Man of War. At home in Virtue, and in Fields Renown'd, Yet Seas themſelves cannot his Juſtice bound. Some Provinces were his Paternal care, Bleſt with their Jove in Peace, and Mars in War; Whilſt other Kingdoms more unbleſt than they, To Savage Force and Rapine were a Prey. Old England, that Auguſt and Beauteous Iſle, Made great by wholſome Laws, and fruitful Soil; Felt ſuch Tyrannick Force without Redreſs, That turn'd her Eden to a Wilderneſs. Curſt with a Government had changed ill, The Peoples Freedom, for the Prince's Will; Had chang'd their Chappels and their Sacred Gueſts, For Wooden Gods and far more Wooden Prieſts: In Courts of Juſtice did as Judges ſit, Lawyers without Sence, and Stateſmen without Wit. Who taught the Law the Subject to devour, Gave it no Saving, but deſtroying Power. A Tyrant Yoak th' enſlaved Subject bore, Such as their Free forefathers never wore. Hereat our Prince his Pious care expreſt, Whilſt Gen'rous Indignation fill'd his Breaſt. Religious Worthies hear the dread Alarm, And in his Cauſe the Warlike Heroes arm: Neptune gives Ships, and Mars does Troops create, All Threat Deſtruction to the Tyrant State. Nature her ſelf does ſeemingly Eſpouſe, So Brave a Gen'ral, and ſo Good a Cauſe; Propitiouſly to their Aſſiſtance brings, A Large Right Gale to fill their Canvas Wings. Here all the Ancient Stories are made good, Where Tears of weeping Friends augment the Flood. One curſes Winds and Tides, that muſt Convey Her Mars, her Husband, and her Guard away. One Theſeus to his Briny Fortreſs flies, Whilſt on the Shore his Ariadne lies: Ere this, the Princeſs has the Story told, Of Jaſon's Warlike Enterprize of old, Prays for his good Succeſs, her Loſs bewails; With Tears ſhe fills her Eyes, with Sighs his Sails: Mean while the Argonauts expand their wings, Whilſt Roar of Cannon their departure ſings: And then the Ocean's Mighty Force they try, And Storms and Winds, a Potent Enemy. Men-loving Dolphins now before 'em play, From Threatning Storms no more ſecure than they. A ſure Preſage of Boiſtrous Winds and Waves, When the vex'd Deep in Mountains rowls and raves. The Staggering Ships ſuſtain the Watry Stroke, Inform'd within by many an Heart of Oak; Yet great Arion ſings unto their Praiſe, Tunes his Sweet Lute, and as they Dance, he Plays. A Mighty Tempeſt riſing from afar, The Sea it ſelf becomes the Seat of War. Why, O ye Winds! do you ſuch Roaring keep? And why ſuch Surges rowl upon the Deep? You do a Great, a Royal Burden bear; 'Tis Caeſar, and our only Hope's your Care. Are Storms the Omens of a Fatal Day? Or are they Prologues to a Clearer Ray? All muſt ſubmit to the Decrees of Heaven, That ſhows the way, and has Commiſſion given. Through Fields of Dangers Men to Kingdoms flye, Toils are precedent ſtill to Victory. Thus does ſome Hoſtile Muſe his Hero palnt, Expos'd to Hardſhip, Penury, and Want; Leads him through Deſert Paths, the Place where ſtand No Fruitful Trees, but Barren Heaps of Sand; Where Prickly Furz, and Loneſome Fern does grow, And piercing Tempeſts keeps the Graſs ſtill low; No Eye has ſeen, or Human Foot has trod; All Wild and Deſart, ſince the Mighty Flood; Where Frightful Thunders oft obſtruct the Day, While Raging Winds drive the Black Clouds away; Where Savage Beaſts their ſeveral Kinds devour, The Small ones Tremble, as the Great ones Roar: Does him ore ſteepy Hills and Mountains lead, Makes Heav'n his Canopy, and Earth his Bed; His Pillow ſome hard Clod, whilſt all around, His Active Warriours ſlumber on the Ground: Hunger and Death do ſtare him in the Face, And are the equal Terror of the place: Yet after all his Toils, he does him Crown, With Laſting Honour, and a great Renown. A Brighter Day preceding Storms ſucceed, And Garlands are the Victor's ſacred Meed. Much happier they that live in Camps at Eaſe, Free from the Dangers of the Faithleſs Seas; Whilſt our Illuſtrious Hero through the Main, Ploughs the Rough Waves with Danger, Toil and Pain. The Giddy Fleet, drunk with the Briny Draught, Hath other Methods, and new Councils taught; 'Tis deem'd enough through Seas thus far to come, Are thoughtful now again of Reeling Home: The Prince and Warriours both of Hope bereft, Have nothing now, but Faith and Courage left: Bravely reſolve, but 'tis in vain, they find, T' oppoſe the Warring Seas, and Fighting Wind: A Tyrant Troop of Legicides they ſought, Such as Free Rome of old, Deſtroy'd and Fought: Not Warring Elements, nor yet to prove, The Bolts and Thunder of Almighty Jove. They cry to Heaven the Ocean to appeaſe, And not commit them to Devouring Seas; Heav'n hears their Pray'rs, and ſends 'm Gentle Gales To ſink their Cares, and fill their well-trimm'd Sails: Now Lucky Halcyons brood upon the Deep, The Seas are ſilent, and the Wind's aſleep: The wiſh'd for Shore's in view; and at Command, The long Diſtreſſed Heroes Mount and Land. Thus Moſes once through many Toils did bring A Vaſſal people from a Tyrant King; At his and God's Command the Raging Flood, Parted its Waters, and a Bulwark ſtood, Whilſt Iſrael's Seed trod the Imperial way, Where lately Fiſh and Sea-born Monſters lay: No ſooner had they toucht the other Shore, But the great Billows meet again, and Roar; The Tyrant Pharoah, that did lately Rave, And rode on's Subjects necks, now rode a Wave, Which ſoon ore-turn'd his Tyranny and Pride; The ſlaves had Freedom, when the Tyrant dy'd: VVhen lo! the Ranſom'd ſlaves oreſpread the Sand; And at their Moſes, and their God's Command, They join in Thankful Notes, and Praiſes ſing, To their Deliverer, th' Eternal King. Thus ſang our other Moſes, and his Hoſt, VVho more God's Bleſſing, than their Conqueſt, boaſt. Thus ſings my Muſe, the Man of War, that lands, A Prey from Treacherous Seas, and Faithleſs Sands. Ah wretched Albion, how untun'd, unſtrung, Have our lov'd Harps upon the Willows hung? Our Charming Bards to Thames and Iſis told, Their Streams did flow like Babylon's of old: No Poetry muſt paſs, but ſerv'd the Cauſe, Or ſome Suſpending Ballad of the Laws. Thrice Happy Albion; we, the Man of War, His Godlike Virtues, and his VVorth declare. Freedom (the much lov'd Theme) our Lines adorn, Of which our Fathers ſang beneath the Morn. He that has paſs'd the Seas Tumultuous Rage, VVhat greater Dangers has he to Engage? A Liſted Field of Arm'd and Martial Foes, New formed Dangers, and new Terror ſhows; VVho all in hopes of Foreign Aids, Combine VVith Foreign Councils, and with Foreign Coin; VVho of their great Alliance boaſt, and tell, Of Rome's good VViſhes, and Decrees of Hell. The Bloody VVretch, the Bog-begotten Teague, Is the weak Prop of the deep-laid Intrigue; In ſolid Maſſacres and Murders read, Through Treaſons deep, and ſecret Poiſons led: Beſides, ſome Liſted Troops againſt the Laws, The fitteſt Champions in ſon Damn'd a Cauſe. But what can Teagues, and the Repealers do? The Beſt are to their Nation's Int'reſt true, The Peoples Freedom, and the Subjects Right; And can't againſt themſelves and Countrey Fight. Here Juſter Muſe expand thy weary wing, The Men of Honour and their Praiſes ſing! Great Beaumont, and the reſt, whoſe Names of late, Have got a Praiſe above the Reach of Fate; VVho nobly could Reſign, and ſo declar'd, They had their Laws above their VVealth preferr'd: VVhilſt to the reſt, they Great Examples ſtood, VVho in the worſt of Times dar'd to be Good. Our Nobles whilome Melancholly ſate, Nor durſt they ſtop th' impetuous ſtream of State, Tho the Foundation-Piles it overturn'd VVhilſt the wrong'd Subject, like its waters mourn'd. Their Native Rights they ſtill expoſed ſaw, To Sovereign VVill, and Arbitrary Law. Tho they could ſoon the Maſſy Fetters break, It was not Prudence, nor yet Time to ſpeak. Thus does ſome yielding Maid her ſelf betray, And gives to ſome vile VVretch her Heart away; Who by Deluding Words, and falſer Charms, Draws the miſtaken Damſel to his Arms; Where ſoon ſhe finds, by a too late Surprize, It was her Honour was his only Prize. 'Tis vain to ſtruggle, hoping Succour's near; She ſooths and flatters the loath'd Raviſher, When at the door ſhe hears her Father tread, Who ſtrikes the bold and wanton Lecher dead. Thus forc'd by Impious Might, the Nations lay, Nor durſt they put the Tyrant-Bonds away; Till mighty Naſſau had his Weapons took, And the new-raiſed Babel-building ſhook: When ſtrait a num'rous Crowd oreſpread the Sand, To welcome their Deliverer on Land; With joyful Shouts, the Stranger Army join; Lord! how their Spears and Brittiſh Targets ſhine! With ſuch rough Boys Old England us'd to go, To Fight, and to Deſtroy th' Invading Foe. Anger did then, as Joy now, fill each Breaſt; Ne're was Invading Army ſo Careſt? Brave Cornbury has more Honour got, By a Surrender, than to've kill'd and fought; And will more Glory in our Annals ſhare, Than Bloody Saints in Roman Kalendar. Nor muſt our Noble Lovelace be forgot, Who firſt oppos'd, and ſmelt the Ethnick Plot; Who fearleſs of the Law-deſtroying Yoke, Firſt ſtopp'd the Fury of the Threatning Stroke; Welcome, Great Soul, from durance to Command, And all the Bleſſings of the Joyful Land: May you in War, ſucceſsful Fortune meet, And humble Teagues lye proſtrate at your Feet! Nor be the reſt unprais'd, but write their Name, On the Chief Pinacle of Tow'ring Fame; Which fears not Eating Age, nor Fatal Shock, But like our Iſle is built upon a Rock: When after Ages ſhall our Stories read, Then Fame ſhall tell what wondrous Works they did. In equal Numbers then it ſhall be told, How Macclesfield the Grave, the Wiſe, the Old, Took War and Toils for an inglorious Eaſe, To give the Kingdoms Liberty and Peace. How Standing Troops did from their Leaders flye, To ſave their Honour, or in Freedom dye: How Rome's own Sword did Rome's own King ſubdue, How e'en the Sea Tarpaulins proved True. The Youths unborn, ſhall laſting Statues raiſe; And late Harmonious Bards ſhall ſing their Praiſe. Now let our Mighty Naſſau view the Land, And ſubject Towns bending to his Command, Conquer'd by Goodneſs, not o'recome by Might, Nor dy'd by Native Blood in Martial Fight. Indulgent Heav'n deſigned it ſhonld be, An Eaſie, Cheap, and Bloodleſs Victory. Tell it in Gath, and let the News be known, In all the ſpacious Streets of Askalon: Let Sion's Daughters in our Triumphs ſing, And to the Choire Immortal Stanzaes bring. Our Old Men did not the Rough Ponyard feel, Nor fell our Young Men by the Fatal Steel: Our Conqueſt not one Scene of Death affords; Nor were our Plough-ſhares turned into Swords. Now is Auguſtus to Auguſta come, And Crouds of Joyful People ſhout him home: The Joyful Sound fills Villages Remote, And Neighb'ring Ecchoes lengthen ev'ry Note. To the Great Standard all Mankind reſort, And make a Crowded, and a Splendid Court. No grand Impiety does here bear ſway, Nor Luſt and airy Pleaſure crown the Day. Reſt here, Great Prince, in Honour and Renown, Till willing people ſhall your Temples Crown, VVith laſting Garlands, and yield to your Hand, The Great and Awful Scepter of the Land. FINIS.