PEACE TRIUMPHANT. OR, A Congratulatory Poem. To Celebrate the Unspeakable Benefits and Blessings of Peace, together with some Grateful Reflections upon King William the III. His Excellent Majesties first coming to the Crown, as a happy Instrument in the Hand of Divine Providence, to Settle the Affairs of the Nation, and with the Hazard of his own Life to deliver us from near Approaching Ruine.
Written by Tho. Cheeseman, A. M. And formerly of Pemb. Coll. Oxon. Preacher of the Gospel now in East-Ilsly, Bark-shire.
GIve me a Quill, snatch't from the Golden Wing
Of some bright Seraphim, that I may Sing
Loud Praises to the God of Israel,
Who doth in Heavens Starry Palace dwell:
Let the whole World his glorious Works declare,
And all adore his Majesty with fear.
The Seas proud Roaring Waves are in his Hand,
He chains them up with Fetters made of Sand:
The Sun that great resplendent King of Day,
Compar'd with him, is but a lump of Clay;
Yea if a thousand Suns in one could joyn
His dazling brightness would them all out-shine.
Hail, Lightning, Thunder, Winds that fiercely blow,
At his commanding Word both come and go;
The Nations of the Earth are in his Eyes
But as a poor despised swarm of Flies.
Their murmuring Tumults he can quickly still,
And crush the stoutest that shall cross his Will:
If he but hide his Face, the People mourn,
But when he Smiles, their Comforts all return:
The raging Storms of War are over blown,
And Peace appears Triumphant in her Throne:
Her Head with Olive-boughs is fairly crown'd,
Chaste Turtles flutter all about her round:
Her Garments made of Rain-bows to behold,
With greater Lustre shine than Cloth of Gold;
Her Breath perfumes the Air, where e're she comes,
Like costly Spices, or Arabian Gumms;
Her Eyes resemble Stars, that still dispence,
Heart-chearing Beams, and precious influence;
Her Lips with Balsam and rich Nectar flow,
Under her Feet sweet blushing Roses grow,
And painted Violets lift up their Heads,
As newly starting from their fragrant Beds:
Mirth, Joy and Gladness wait upon this Queen,
And youthful Pleasure cloathed all in Green;
An Adamantine Chain is in her Hand,
Binding the Hearts of Men at her Command:
Her charming Beauty sweetly does intice,
Her smile alone creates a Paradice.
Where ere she looks abroad or turns her Face,
Wrath and Contention flie away apace:
Weapons no more with purple Blood are stain'd,
Heart-conquering Love the Victory has gain'd;
No quarrels now, but harmless, free from Crime,
Such as may happen in the Summer-time;
When murmuring Streams of Water seem to chide,
To find our Fields dress'd up with too much Pride,
Or Flowers contend which shall the sweetest smell,
Or Birds in Musick, which can most excell:
Musick that Lulls the stubborn Winds asleep,
And gently strokes them till they silence keep.
The Stratagems of War are changed quite
Into Devices used for Delight,
To cheat the Feather'd Fowl, or Scalely Fish,
Which furnish Riot with some costly Dish:
And look what Skill the best Commanders show,
Ordering their Men, when they to Battle go;
The same must Cooks now use with greater Care,
Setting each Mess in Order to prepare
A Dinner for nice Gallants at some Feast,
So as to please the fancy of each Guest.
No Trumpets sound, no hollow rattling Drum,
Is heard to strike the neighbouring Eccho's dumb:
Nor thundring Canons groan, that so much Death
Should be accomplisht by their fatal Breath;
Bright Swords to Plow-shares turn'd, can only wound
By making Furrows in the fruitful Ground.
Armour hangs Rusty, by the naked Walls,
None for his idle Pike or Musket calls:
But rather take such Instruments in Hand
As serve to cut the Corn, or Till the Land:
No Warlike Troops the Traveller molest,
But Shepherds in the Shade lie down to rest
Their weary Limbs, and there in Safety sleep,
Or when they Watch their bleating Flocks of Sheep
They sound their Oaten-Pipes, and loudly sing,
Till winding Vallies with their Eccho ring:
The Trades-man in his Shop may live at Ease,
And Ships securely Sail upon the Seas;
No sad Alarm, or disturbing Noise
Of War-like Arms, shall spoil the Schollars Joys;
But in pursuit of Learning may go on,
Till he can climb the Top of Helicon.
Orpheus, they say, in Musick had such Skill,
That he could Tame fierce Tygers at his Will;
The Hound would Court the Hare, and Lyons play
With tender Lambs, forgetful of their Prey:
This witty Fiction does to us declare,
What Miracles by Peace performed are;
By which the hardest Hearts are mollifi'd,
Wrath reconcil'd, and Malice laid aside,
Oh! that these Halcyon Days might always last,
And no black Cloud our Sun should over-cast:
Let all grow Wise before it be too Late,
And prize Gods Mercies at a higher Rate;
Let Dove-like Meekness and Compassion Reign,
And tender-hearted Charity restrain
Bitter revengeful Thoughts, let every one
Weep for his Brothers Faults, and mend his own.
Let Moderation sad Divisions heal,
And cool the Heat of our mistaken Zeal;
Let none in Oyl and Butter steep his Words,
While spite within is sharper than drawn Swords;
Rather let us in weighty Truths Unite;
And not for painted Ceremonies Fight;
Let none be lifted up with swelling Pride,
As if he thought in Sol's bright Coach to Ride;
Forgetful of the dark and silent Grave
Where he e're long a Bed of Dust must have.
Let none his Soul for short-liv'd Pleasures sell,
Such as may cost him endless Pains in Hell;
Let Riot no more turn Men in to Swine,
Or Envy at his Neighbours Good repine:
Nor let the Covetous Worldling any more
That Death may prove him Rich, choose to live Poor,
Let all Repent of such provoking Crimes,
'Tis Reformation that must mend the Times.
So shall the Earth bring forth a large Increase,
And give us Plenty to maintain our Peace;
Both Hill and Vale, shall laugh with store of Corn,
And pleasant Fruits our loaded Trees adorn;
While People all with Health and Safety bless'd;
In the soft Bosom of sweet Concord rest:
The Name of Peace makes Musick, all Rejoice,
And wellcome that with one consenting Voice.
Loud Bells proclaim their Joy from Steeples high,
And Flaming Bonfires kiss the Starry Skie:
While Conduits flowing with rich sparkling Wine,
Of publick Gladness give a costly Sign.
But as when Morning, not yet fully dress'd,
Peeps from her Rosie Chamber in the East,
Those glist'ring Pearls of Dew that hang upon
The Blades of Grass, are melted soon and gone;
Though for a time they make a goodly show,
'Tis thus with all our Comforts here below:
The best Estate on Earth is like a Flower,
That flourishes and fadeth in an Hour:
Then let not present Joys too much intice,
Or make us fond to build upon the Ice;
Nor may such cheating Shadows us allure,
As if they were for ever to endure:
But let us set our Hearts on things above,
A Treasure there is worth our dearest Love;
Where Christ, the King of Saints, in Glory Reigns,
And for his Church Eternal Rest remains.
Amidst both Foreign and Domestick Foes,
Who can but wonder at our safe Repose?
That sounding Trumpets should no more awake
Blood-thirsty War, his Sword in hand to take;
But lovely Concord with heart-winning Charms,
Doth Silence every where the noise of Arms.
Next unto God, I boldly may conclude,
We owe the Tribute of our Gratitude,
For this Transcendent Gift, to Him alone,
Whom Providence has placed in the Throne.
Were I a Poet whose rich Fancy stood
Up to the Chin in the Castalian Flood;
Great Caesar! had I now an hundred Tongues,
A Throat of Brass, and Adamantine Lungs,
Yet could I not your Vertues all rehearse,
Much less contain them in this narrow Verse.
Your hatred of Prophaneness, flaming Zeal
For true Religion; nor may I conceal
Your Military Skill, and Courage bold,
Venturing through showers of Bullets to uphold
The Cause of God; your choice Fidelity,
Temperance, Justice, and sweet Clemency:
Those rare Perfections which divided shine
In other Men, and make them half Divine,
In the fair Temple of your Royal Breast,
They all con-center, and take up their rest.
That prudent Monarch in whose Nuptial Bed,
The White Rose grew united to the Red;
Or his Progenitors, which did advance
Victorious Ensigns in the Heart of France,
Never such Honour, nor such Glory wan,
As you in managing this War have done.
England oppressed with a load of Grief,
Not knowing where to find the least Relief,
Was like a Ship without a Pilot driven
By angry Winds and Waves; she cry'd to Heaven
And Earth for Succour, at a Time of Need,
You heard the cry, and pitying her with speed;
You but came over, and you over-came
Whole Armies with the Terrour of your Name;
You freed this Nation in a happy Hour,
From Popish Slavery, and lawless Power.
Our great Physician, Wise and Fortunate,
To heal the Bleeding Wounds of Church and State.
Most of those Conquerors which have such glory,
Both in the Roman and the Grecian Story,
Did but for Gold, or vain Ambition Fight,
But your just Arms do still maintain the Right
Of poor oppressed People, and the Blood
You shed, is but the Price of publick Good.
What Wonders have been wrought by Sea and Land
From time to time by the Almighty's Hand,
Your Sacred Person to Defend and Save,
From going down to an untimely Grave?
To strike at Heaven's Darling is but lost
Labour, Your Foes have found it to their cost:
The Lord of Hosts, great King, will be your Friend,
While you his Church, and Gospel-Truth Defend;
The Golden Shield of His Protecting Grace,
Will be your strongest Guard in every place.
Under the Wings of Mercy you shall dwell,
Secure from all the Plots of Rome and Hell:
Success shall never fail, then may your Hand
Exceed the Work perform'd in Ireland,
Upon that Day when Boyn's fair Silver Floud,
Did blush for shame, as stain'd with so much Blood;
Your Valour then gave such a fatal Blow
To self-exalting France, as brought her low:
Nor does your Matchless Bounty come behind
The high Heroic Courage of your Mind;
Those Banish'd ones in France by you restor'd,
How will they bless and magnifie the Lord,
For prosp'ring your just Arms! What Flouds of Tears
Have been dry'd up by you? what vexing Cares
And heavy loads of Life-consuming Grief,
Your Charitable Hand bringing Relief,
Has taken off from many, and so turn'd
The sad Complaints of those that long had mourn'd,
Into Triumphant Songs of joyful Praise,
Above the Stars this shall your Honour raise?
But must I strive in vain to count those Flowers,
That paint the pleasant Springs perfumed Bowers;
Or tell the Fish that swim in Crystal Flouds,
Or all the Leaves that grow in shady Woods;
That were an easier Task, than in this place
To reckon all your Works of Princely Grace:
You are the only Phoenix of this Age,
All other Princes coming on the Stage
Of Action, match'd with you, but Cyphers are,
You the great Figure both in Peace and War.
Happy the Royal Womb that brought you forth;
Happy the Country where you had your Birth:
You to that People bring a greater Joy,
And more Defence, than Hector did to Troy.
Carthage no more of Hanibal shall boast,
Nor Italy of Marius, though the Host
Of Fierce Invading Cymbrians slain by him,
Made Neighbouring Fields, with Streams of Blood to Swim:
Nor may bold Scipio with you compare,
Whom Virgil calls the Thunderbolt of War.
These must give place to you, your Praises still
The Silver Trumpet of loud Fame shall fill.
Without a bleeding Heart none can declare
What were the late Calamities of War;
Alecto Periwig'd with hissing Snakes,
And her Two Sisters from the Stygian Lakes,
Coming abroad, might Dance for Joy to see
Their Rage exceeded by French Cruelty.
When Towns in their own Ruines buried lay,
And Wealthy Provinces became a Prey
To proud, oppressing Lewis, whose desire
Was to fill all with Storms of Blood and Fire;
Pale-Visag'd Death might as in Triumph Ride;
Those which the Sword did spare, by Famine dy'd;
Both Young and Old went to the Grave as fast
As Leaves in Autumn from the Trees are cast:
But Your great Wisdom doth sweet Peace restore,
And call back Plenty banished before.
Instead of Battels, Banquets may abound,
Instead of Trumpets, Harp and Viol sound,
Instead of mournfull Cryes, soft Musick may
Charm list'ning Ears, and drive sad Care away.
Tyrants have dreadfull Desolations made,
While they their Neighbours by strong force invade;
All Law and Civil Justice, treading down,
But You have gotten a Resplendent Crown
By doing Good, and acts of Grace Divine,
Which make you like the Sun it self to shine.
WILLIAM the First by Arms his Throne did gain,
But You the Third, as King of Hearts shall Reign:
He by the Dint of Sword his Right did prove,
You Conquer by the Potent Charmes of Love.
Sworn Enemies of Piety and Peace,
They needs must be whose Heads can never cease
To hatch black Treason, and his Death conspire,
Whose Worth none can Express, all must Admire.
Atlas, as learned Poets us'd to fain,
Did the whole Weight of Heavens Frame sustain,
Thus as a Golden Pillar You now stand
Bearing up all our Hopes throughout the Land:
If Hellish Malice should procure your Fall,
'Twoud soon make way for Englands Funeral.
The Skie plow'd up shall yield large Crops of Corn,
And glistering Stars this dunghil Earth adorn:
Proteus his scalely Flocks shall all resort
To Flowery Meadows, there to play and sport.
Moist Streams of Water shall to Fire turn,
And the salt Sea like Aetna's Furnace burn.
All Nature's Statutes shall be changed quite,
The Night shall turn to Day, and Day to Night,
Sooner than your Renowned Works shall be
Lost or Forgotten by Posterity.
Your Royal Name shall make our Annals swell,
And in our thankful Minds for ever dwell.
Let then the King of Heaven on you pour
The choicest Blessings in a Fruitful Shower,
That Children yet unborn may Celebrate
The Day when first you wore the Crown in State:
Let all Success and Happiness attend
Your Peaceful Reign, and Prosper't to
THE END.
LONDON: Printed for Tho. Parkhurst, at the Bible and Three Crowns, in Cheap-side, 1697.