Rhythmos basilikos By the honourable E.H. of Suffolk. Hickeringill, Edmund, 1631-1708. 1696 Approx. 13 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 6 1-bit group-IV TIFF page images. Text Creation Partnership, Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) : 2012-10 (EEBO-TCP Phase 2). B03668 Wing H22 ESTC R177769 52212025 ocm 52212025 175696

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 Early English books online. (EEBO-TCP ; phase 2, no. B03668) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 175696) Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English Books, 1641-1700 ; 2746:12) Rhythmos basilikos By the honourable E.H. of Suffolk. Hickeringill, Edmund, 1631-1708. [1], 10 p. Printed for Richard Baldwin, near the Oxford Arms Inn in VVorick Lane, London : 1696. First two words of title in Greek characters. Imperfect: cropped at foot with some loss of footnoted text. Reproduction of the original in the University of Texas, Austin Library.

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 eng William -- III, -- King of England, 1650-1702 -- Poetry. Grand Alliance, War of the, 1689-1697 -- Campaigns -- Poetry. Great Britain -- History -- William and Mary, 1689-1702 -- Poetry. 2020-09-21 Content of 'availability' element changed when EEBO Phase 2 texts came into the public domain 2008-09 Assigned for keying and markup 2008-11 Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2011-10 Sampled and proofread 2011-10 Text and markup reviewed and edited 2012-05 Batch review (QC) and XML conversion

Ρ̓ΥΘΜῸΣ ΒΑΣΙΛΙΚῸΣ:

Being an HEROICK POEM, Humbly Offered to His Moſt Sacred MAJESTY WILLIAM the III. KING OF Great Britain; Upon his Arrival from HOLLAND.

By the Honourable E. H. of Suffolk.

Arma Virumque cano— Virg. AEn. Lib. I.

LONDON, Printed for Richard Baldwin, near the Oxford Arms Inn in VVorick Lane, 1696.
Ρ̓ΥΘΜῸΣ ΒΑΣΙΛΙΚῸΣ: AN Heroick Poem, &c. HAil! Heaven-born Prince, o'th' Gods the chiefeſt Care; Mirror of Kings, the Life and Soul of War: Thy Num'rous Triumphs to the World proclaim, That Naſſaw's Deeds, are equal to his Name. Where e're the Hero moves, he fills the ſight, At once with Wonder, and a bleſs'd Delight. A Prince endu'd with more than mortal Fire, Whoſe Val'rous Acts, even Gods themſelves Admire. Flame to his Army Great Naſſaw does give, And weak'ned Troops by him Subdue, and live. Hail! Auguſt Sir, whoſe Mild, but Potent Arm, In Battle ſeems, the very Dead to warm. The Senate bends before your Radiant Throne, Where Seven great Lords bear to Naſſaw that Crown, Which He ſo Nobly to their Truſt lay down. As when bright Sol to ſome new Clime do's go, And there amidſt the ſhades his warmth beſtow; The unfrequented Groves to Deſerts turn, For whoſe bleſs'd Rays the Springs and Fountains Mourn: Flow'rs hang down their drooping Heads and fade; The trueſt Emblems of a Virgin Maid, Which oft by them are in their Boſoms laid. So, Glorious Sir, ſince you have left this Iſle, No Beauteous Nymph would e're vouchſafe to Smile; Becauſe Naſſaw ſhin'd not in Perſon here, Summer to us but faintly would appear: Yet now when you your Royal Beams diſplay, Times Circle ſeems but one continued Day, And the glad Hours in Bliſs diſſolve away. Long has Britannia wiſh'd her Lord's Return, Oft to the Gods would Holy Incenſe burn. Much the Nymph mus'd on Naſſaw's Noble Race, Pleas'd with each Feature of his God-like Face, His Gen'rous Meen, and ev'ry Martial Grace. William was All, which did her Thoughts employ, OEnone like, when Paris went to Troy, Albions Delight, and chaſt Britannia's Joy. To diſtant Waves many a Look ſhe made, Which from the Shore her Heavenly Prince convey'd. Hero † cou'd not Leander more bewaile That Night, when fore'd her longing Arms to fail: In vain ſhe call'd on Dear Leander's Name, When the Suns-beams put out the Taper's flame. Often the Nymph heav'd up her naked Breaſt, And to the Winds and Seas much care expreſt: Naſſaw by Day was ever in her ſight, Who bore his Image in ſoft Dreams by Night. Dido toVirg. Lib. 4. Anna weeping did impart Like Grief, when Love reign'd Monarch of her Heart: The Tyrian Queen could no free paſſage find, Thrô which to vent the Anguiſh of her Mind, The God as Cruel, as her Siſter, kind: Not that the ſhining Sword, or glitt'ring Spear, Rais'd in Britannia's Mind this Virgin fear. Wond'rous Naſſaw can of himſelf Alone Slay † Elephants, and throw ſtrong Caſtles down: But that which Rob'd this Beauteous Nymph of reſt, l Wounding with Tears and Sighs her Snowy Breaſt; Who on a Couch wou'd lean Oppreſs'd with Care, In look, than the bright Paphian Queen more fair; With Mantle looſe, diſchevell'd all her Hair: Were Thoughts the Pious Nymph did entertain, Leſt a Ravillac her lov'd Prince had ſlain. 'Twas not the Fate of War, or Villeroy's Fame, Which blew the Fuel of her inward Flame. Naſſaw in Arms, Superiour is to all, And at the Hero's Feet, whole Armies fall. Nought but vile Plots encreas'd Britannia's Pain, Working thrô all her Limbs and ev'ry Vein. Poyſon and Dagger are Rome's Inſtruments, By which She Blood thrô the wide Orb forments: Renown'd as much for her unbounded Luſt, As France more falſe than Carthage to her Truſt. Rome, Mother is of all the blackeſt Vice; Thô ſure St. Peter never taught Her this: Witneſs ye Gods, when Hell with Jeſuits joyn'd, And Him to Murder in cold Blood combin'd. Yet Heaven, Great Sir, indulgent to the Brave, Is fix'd in her Decrees your Life to ſave: Naſſaw, who has in War ſo often ſtood, With Angels Face, 'midſt Storms of Fire and Blood; Who Cannon-Balls Serenely does deſpiſe, Daſh'd on the Earth with Lightning from his Eyes. The Gods that from above, look down and ſee, Thy Brow adorn'd with Crowns of Victory, Will Guard your Sacred Breaſt from Treachery. By impious Hands William's too brave to Dye; Yea, Naſſaw may the Rage of Hell defie. Thoſe Lawrels which from Foreign Lands you've bore, Surpaſs what e're Old Romes fam'd Counſuls wore. The Wreaths which round Great William's Temples ſhine, Declare his Perſon, as his Soul, Divine. Urg'd by the matchleſs Trophies of Naſſaw, Who with his Conq'ring Sword keeps France in awe. Apollo now, Inſpire my Muſe with Verſe, That I once more, may William's Praiſe Rehearſe: Tune then Thalia thy Harmoninous Lyre; Raiſe thy low Voice, and mount to Heaven for Fire. I'th' Glorious Tracts of an Eternal ſpace, Where none Aſcend but of Angellick Race. Seraphs and Cherubs all about they fly, The Winged Powers o'th' Imperial Sky. Encircled with the Radiant Beams of Light, Where wakeful Day ſecludes the ſleepy Night; The Majeſty of Heaven Serenely ſat, Pond'ring which way a Hero to Create; Whoſe War-like Deeds all Aera's might ſurvive, And Sons of Mars in him be taught to live: Which Image we, in Great Naſſaw behold, Numbers too weak his Virtues to unfold; As Neſtor Sage, and as Achilles Bold. Sparta nor Thebes could ever Parallel His Acts, which even Demy-Gods excel. In Albions Prince kind Heaven is pleas'd to ſhew, What, at her Will, Infinity can do. The Beſt of Kings in whoſe mild Breaſt is All, That Man, or truely Brave, or Good can call: 'Gainſt Gallic Troops himſlelf Perſon goes, Who to his Captives Royal Pitty ſhews, And Generouſly treats the worſt of Foes. Juſtly might William Rule this Orb alone, VVhile Eaſtern Kings turn Vaſſals to his Throne, And him great Monarch of the VVorld do own. From the bleſs'd VVomb of a Coeleſtial Dame, Immenſe in all the Rudiments of Fame, Great Naſſaw Sprung: To whom all Homage's due; Kin to the Gods, and to his Country True. Bounded are Monarchs in their Soveraign Rule; Yet Naſſaw ſeems wide Europe to Controul: Upon his Sword vaſt Empires do depend, And Valiant Princes Court him for their Friend. William, when but a Youth, did Glory ſeek, As Marius brave, and as † Timoleon meek: Gallant Marcellus! who the Gauls o'rethrew, And with his Lance 〈…〉 the 〈…〉 Viridomarus ſlew, Unto Naſſaw in Arms inferiour was; His Deeds all humance Courage do ſurpaſs. 〈…〉 Emilius cou'd ne're ſuch Vict'ries boaſt; Nor he who overcame the Punic Hoſt. Agis, Numa, … ii … Furius, great Men they were, Thô they to William no Reſemblance bear. At Cannae Hannibal the Romans fought, And by his Sword Immortal Glory got. Emp'rours andColon … Tribunes fell by's ſingle Hard; Where he the Legions charg'd, there none durſt ſtand: Who e're with him in Battle did Engage, Was ſure to fall a Victim to his Rage: Yet cou'd this Chief, Life in himſelf Renew, Might his great Actions, ſee out-done in you. The Alexa •••• Surnam •• 〈◊〉 Great. Macedonian Prince, more Raſh than Brave, Countries Deſtroy'd; but You, whole Kingdoms ſave: Locuſts, which did of late this Land Infeſt, Working their Poyſon in the Infants Breaſt; Like Birds of Night, when you appear'd by Day, Fled to their Cells, nor wou'd no longer ſtay. Proud Caeſar who let the bravePomp … Pennus Pompey kneel, That he to Rome his † Slipper might Reveal: Like thine, his Breaſt could ne're ſuch Ardour feel; No, not when Caius ſat Enthron'd in State, And Haughtily Surviv'd his Captive's Fate. When All-Juſt Heav'n Naſſaw's large Soul did frame, Double the Portion of Coeleſtial Flame, Great Jove infus'd; in whom we clearly ſee, The bright Impreſſes of Divinity. On Earth, no Monarch can with him Compare, Like to the Gods, his Breaſt exempt from Fear. Ambitious Lewis * Holland did Invade,In the 〈…〉 72 And Cities all around in Aſhes lay'd; Temples Deſtroyd, nor wou'd the Altars ſpare, Thô to the Gods they Conſecrated were: War and Diſtreſs throughout the Land was ſpread; In every Place lay mighty heaps of Dead. Gray-headed Senators of Reverend Meen, A tropid Horrour in their Looks were ſeen; The tender Virgins, with Heart-rending Crys, And Sighs of Aged Matrons peirc'd the Skys. Naſſaw, then from his Throne of State aroſe, In Perſon went the Tyrant to Oppoſe; And reſcu'd weeping Belgia from her Foes. A Town in Holland, where his preſent Majeſty King William, with no more than two Hundred Burgers, and an hundred Gariſon Souldiers, twice Repulſed above Five Thouſand of the French, from before the Walls of Ardenburg; and beſides the Slain, took five Hundred Priſoners, with ſeveral Commanders and Perſons of Quality. This Great Action was perform'd in or about the Year, MDCLXXII. Bodegrave will e're Adore Great William's Name, And Altars raiſe to his Eternal Fame: When to their Troops, Naſſaw Advanced near, He ſtruck the Gallic Generals with Fear; Even Conde himſelf durſt not appear. Deſcend my Muſe, and leave Great William's Praiſe To them of skill in Sophoclean Layes: Him, who Prince Arthur Sings in lofty Strain; OrDorſet. he, who Lord of Wit, and Verſe does Raign.
FINIS.