A Congratulatory POEM On Occasion of His HIGHNESS The Prince of ORANGE HIS MARRIAGE.
HAil High and Mighty PRINCE! for Thou'rt no less,
By Birth, by Merit, and by great Success.
What is thy Birth and Merit all Men know,
Let then my Muse thy great Success now show:
'Tis great indeed, since some occult Decree
Exalts Thee still gainst seeming Destiny.
For when the Gallic Pow'rs without controul,
Swift as those Streams which bore them, down did roul,
And o're-whelm'd lofty Cities in their way,
Which thick upon the Belgic Shores lay:
When with their Swords they plow'd up Conquer'd ground,
And Rooting for their spreading Lillies found:
When home-bred Storms, Storms from abroad did joyn,
And all, to make a State-wreck, did combine;
When the United Arrows broke their stay,
And on their own rough Seas dispersed lay:
Thou didst by Miracle walk on those Waves,
And Mount where thousands sank into their Graves.
Thou, who in Calms hadst long neglected lain,
Wer't on fierce Billows Backs rais'd up again:
Nay, at the sight of such a Pilot, streight
Th [...] amaz'd Hostile Cohorts did retreat,
Even of themselves they back again did glide
More swift, than when they rush'd down with the Tide.
(Thou being restor'd) they quickly were dismay'd,
And fear'd the Conquests they themselves had made
Let others brag what their great Troops have done,
Thou perform'st Wonders by meer looking on:
Just so, great Perseus (tho' o're-power'd) won,
And pressing Numbers Vanquish'd all alone:
Thy Enemies, like his, Attack in vain,
Since by their Labours, Thou still seem'st to gain
The Cities which they Captive made, now Free
Remain as Monuments Re-built by Thee.
Nor do these Trophies but in part express,
How thou'rt (as 'twere) pursu'd with great Succes [...]
Seven Provinces cannot thy Merit Crown,
Tho' they could do seven times more than they've do [...]
Therefore we Welcome Thee to Britain's Shore,
And to enrich Thee, make our selves grow poor,
Not Gold, nor Gemms can purchase the fair Prize,
Which Thou thy self must now Monopolize;
A VIRGIN Princess 'tis, in whom alone,
More than the Gain of many Camps is won.
Hence forward Thou securely may'st disdain
Those who small Towns with great Expences gain
Their Conquests (tho' they Nations should subd [...]
Seem poor, when once compared unto you:
For Thou hast got what well may termed be
EƲROPA, Kingdoms in Epitome.
LONDON, Printed by T. D. for Henry Brome, at the Gun at the West-end of St. Pauls. 1678