A Congratulatory POEM To the Right Honourable the Earl of ALBEMARLE, Captain of His Majesty's First Troop of Guards.
By E. SETTLE.
Praemia Virtutis dat Gloria.
LONDON: Printed in the Year, 1699.
A Congratulatory POEM.
HAil CAESAR's Dear Hephestion; Hail to all
Those Golden Show'rs that on Crown'd VIRTUE fall.
Hail to those HONOƲRS, Fate does here dispense;
The Grati'tude of Endebted Providence.
True MERIT to the Royal Smiles of Kings
No empty, no precarious Title brings.
HE holds by Claim and Right, His equal Due,
The Smiles of HEAV'N, and Heav'n's Vicegerent too.
What tho NASSAU (War's finisht Circle run)
By that Great Arm the Work of Fate has done;
[Page 4] Patron of EMPIRES, Europe's Guardian Lord,
To the tir'd Ʋniverse has Rest restor'd;
Given the World Peace; whilst now no longer spread
The Branching Laurels for the Conqu'rors Head?
Shall the Great ALBEMARLE less Glorious shine,
Because Bellona, with a Beam Divine,
Does now no more His Radiant Temples twine?
No, tho His Martial Eagles towr no more,
Such GLORY shall even teach his Doves to soar;
His Post of Honour with that Grandeur fill'd,
His very Olive-Wreaths His Brow shall gild.
Peace, and Inglorious Ease, perhaps may shade
Ignobler Worth; and poorer Brightness fade.
Your Lustre a more Lasting Shine must hold:
'Tis Brass that cankers; there's no Rust in Gold.
Hold then the Albion Thunder in that Hand:
Beneath the JOVE let the Young MARS command.
To peaceful Fields lead forth His glittering Arms,
With all that Port, and all those Graceful Charms.
[Page 5] And if again some Foreign Cloud once more
Shall ruffle to new Storms our Halcyon Shore:
When War, the Martial Britain's well-play'd Game,
Shall call her Heroes to new Fields of Fame;
Then ALBEMARLE, (an Arm so Early try'd)
A Leading CHIEF, by the Great WILLIAM's Side,
Shall plume in Full-blown Glory's noblest Pride.
With all His Native Heat, His Inborn Fire,
Warm'd in that Cause, shall t'all those Heights aspire,
That fix Great Names above the Pow'r to die.
The HERO founds His own proud Immortality.
But how can my poor Muse attempt to sing
The Glorious Harvest such Ripe Hopes shall bring?
It is enough, Great ALBEMARLE all o'er,
He'll be HIMSELF—The World can ask no more.
Let not mistaken Vulgar Ignorance
(Blind-sighted all) at ALBEMARLE's Advance,
To see Exalted Worth thus nobly rise,
Attend his Triumphs with Malignant Eyes;
[Page 6] As if these Blessings his kind Stars shour'd down
From the too fond Profuseness of a Crown.
No; the Great CAESAR, that deckt Brow to raise,
First pois'd the Scales, before he wove the Bays:
His Smiles to ALBEMARLE not Gives, but Pays.
For that Rewarded Head this Chaplet found,
Albion's the Hand, but 'twas Astraea crownd.
Well he remembers that Rich WORTH he nurst:
VALOƲR he cherishes, but tried it first.
Early he led him forth to HONOƲR's Race,
Early he shew'd him Death's and Danger's Face:
All Fronted, like the Eaglet to the Sun,
When loos'd at Blood the glorious Hunter run.
Thus try'd he saw Him on the Belgick Plain:
In all the Virtues, in His Bosom reign,
Saw Godlike COƲRAGE lead th'Angelical Train.
A Posting Mercury more swift ne're rod
To bear the Mandates of an Angry God,
[Page 7] Wings on his Feet, and Duty in his Eyes,
Then ALBEMARLE with WILLIAM's Vengeance flies.
War was His first-lov'd Mistress, His first Aim;
Eager He push'd, and Young to th'Lists He came.
Through His fir'd Veins did the warm Hero rise;
Glow'd in His Cheeks, and sparkled in His Eyes.
Ev'n with a Strength unequal to His Will,
When wanting Years His Wishes to fulfil,
Oft would He murmur at the Lazy Sun,
And bid the tedious Charioteer drive on.
Tir'd with His Youth, in Nature's Face He flew:
Curst her slow Architect; and envious grew,
At that quick Blood in our first Parent ran,
Who at a Word created, stept out, MAN.
Let fainter Virtue, from a Chiller Root,
Bear only a slow Later Autumn Fruit:
Such Riper Veins more forward Harvests bring:
GLORY was here the First Fruits of His Spring.
His Truth, Trust, Honour, all together try'd,
The very Inland of His Heart descry'd;
Such fair Deserts, the vast Rich Treasure shine.
And if the Grateful Crown, in a Return
To such known MERITS, does that Brow adorn,
So near the Royal Heart the Darling Amu'let worn;
His own the Jewel, all true sparkling Mold,
Kind WILLIAM only sets the JEM in Gold.
What, though, perhaps Court-spight (Pride's natural Defect of Reason, English Frailty all!)
To see, by the Indulgent Smiles of Pow'r,
From some Rich Foreign Bed, some Lovely Flow'r,
Translated to the Royal Garden, spread
Its fragrant Sweets, and raise its Beauteous Head;
Too oft with a cold Look, and murm'ring Thought,
Views the fair Plant with blooming Glories fraught—
The Mounting ALBEMARLE (His Rise more kind,)
Sets forth, and Leaves the Rival Crowd behind:
Throws out the Lagging Racers of the Chace;
So plumes in Fame, out-strips with such a Grace;
[Page 9] That here ev'n Smiling Envy, to admire
Such Trophies, joins the Universal Choir:
Without one Hissing Snake, one single Sting,
Does, pleas'd and charm'd, His Io Paeans sing.
Nor does such Radiant Greatness only bear
So fair a Light, in His own Higher Sphere;
In the Court-Galaxy that Leading Star.
From that Rich Soil does all that Goodness flow;
That as He Shines Above, He Warms Below.
To His Command thus his Great Entry makes,
Whilst not so much a Martial Charge He takes;
But ev'n a Nursery of Arms: So dear
The cherisht Sons of Mars, His Care so near;
Already has His kind Protecting Smile
Fatten'd their Glebe, and all enricht their Soil.
As if Resolv'd, by such Endearing Charms,
Not to Lead only, but Inspire their Arms;
Not Hands but Hearts his own: So warm a Sway,
Like the Promethean Fire, would ev'n give Souls to Clay.
[Page 10] That Animating Goodness in their Head,
Where shall not such Commanding HONOUR Lead?
Whilst this all pow'rful Influence sits above,
Life of their Arms, shall His Great Genius move:
So the High Spheres their vast tuned Measures go,
Whilst Seasons, Days, and Years, Dance after 'em below.
The Helm of Glory in such Steering Hands,
Tis thus the Truly-Noble Chief commands:
He Marches his Battalions to the Field,
In War their Leading Fire, in Peace their Shield.
'Twas thus of Old, did the Celestial Hand,
Guide his Lov'd Israel to the Promis'd Land.
One while, in a kind Cloud's refreshing Shade,
He Health and Shelter, ev'n in Desarts, made.
Another, did his brighter Beams display;
In his own Native, and more Heav'nly Ray,
Above 'em like a Fiery Pillar rod:
Their Light, or Ʋmbrage; and in both a GOD.
But were His Shining Trophies infinite;
Not their whole Blaze one Spark of Pride can light.
His Wreaths not Noblier won, but worn as well:
Never such Height was so accessible.
Glory His Breast can Fill, but never Swell.
No Greatness so familiar; and so free
No Temple to the Humblest Votary.
Here the Bent Knees that open Ear obtain;
Desert ne're Pleads, nor Justice Sues in vain.
That Genuine Sweetness, all that Smiling Air—
Sure, the whole Graces Throne is founded There.
Here, Muse, His Praise like thy Pernassus frame:
On two Twin Mounts of Greatness build His Fame:
VIRTUES to lead a Court, as well as Camp;
And teach 'em HONOUR of the Noblest Stamp.
FINIS.