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The MONUMENT: A POEM Sacred to the IMMORTAL MEMORY of the Beſt and Greateſt of Kings, William the Third King of Great Britain, &c.
Quo nihil majus meliuſve Terris
Fata donavere, bonique Divi;
Nec dabunt, quamvis redeant in Aurum
Tempora Priſcum.
Horat. Carm. Lib. 4.
By Mr. DENNIS.
LONDON; Printed for D. Brown at the Black-Swan and Bible without Tem⯑ple-Bar, and A. Bell at the Croſs-Keys and Bible in Cornhil: MDCCII.
TO THE Moſt Noble and Mighty PRINCE, WILLIAM Duke of DEVONSHIRE, Lord STEWARD of Her Majeſty's Houſhold, AND Knight of the moſt Noble Order of the GARTER, &c.
[iii]MY LORD,
IF the following POEM had been written by a Perſon who had a Genius equal to the Subject, it would in a peculiar manner have belong'd to Your Grace: For to whom ſhould a Poet ſooner ad⯑dreſs the Praiſes of a King, who will be eternally Glo⯑rious for the Reſtoring and Maintaining our Liberties, [iv] and the common Liberties of Europe, than to Your Grace, who has always appear'd ſo Great a Defender of them, and has ventur'd, and done, and ſuffer'd for them more than any Subject in England? The ardent Love of Liberty and of Your Country, are ſome of the many Heroick Qualities which You have inherited from Your Noble Anceſtors, and ſome of the many which Your Grace has the Happineſs to ſee deriv'd from Your Noble Self by the other Hope of Your Auguſt Family. The Wiſdom, Foreſight, Reſolution, and Greatneſs of Soul that the Brave Lord Candiſh ſo conſtantly ſhew'd in the laſt Parliaments of K. Charles the Second, will never be forgotten as long as an Engliſhman remains alive. Ev'n then when it was eſteem'd by ſome an unpardon⯑able Crime to be thought one, even then Your Grace and that Illuſtrious Friend, whoſe Memory ſhall always be Dear to all the faithful Lovers of their Country, both of You heroically dar'd to appear at the Head of Engliſh⯑men reſolv'd to aſſert their Privileges. He gloriouſly ſeal'd the Love of his Country with his Blood; but even after the Loſs of the beſt of Friends, Your Grace perſe⯑ver'd with an undaunted Spirit in the Noble Cauſe of Liberty. Nor could the juſt Grief which You paid to his Memory, hinder You from paying that Duty which You ow'd to Your Country, which has always deſervedly been Your firſt Affection. If ſome other Perſons at that time would have entred into the Wiſdom [v] of both Your Counſels, You your ſelves had ſaved us without the Help of the King; Your Noble Friend, as Your Grace's Self, had been one of the living Orna⯑ments of Your delivered Country, and there had been no need of the Revolution, nor perhaps of the long War that ſucceeded it. It was neither His nor Your Grace's Fault that You were not then ſufficiently ſe⯑conded, and conſequently that You did not ſave theſe Nations all that Blood and Treaſure which the War has coſt them. But when afterwards things were brought to that Extremity that a Revolution was abſolutely ne⯑ceſſary, no Man did more than Your Grace towards the bringing it about, and working our Deliverance that way. Your Grace was then the moſt Glorious In⯑ſtrument of eſtabliſhing the beſt of Kings upon the Throne of England, and defending her preſent Majeſty at ſo dangerous a Juncture as that of the Revolution. She wiſely thought that She could have no where recourſe to a better Place for Her Safety, than where Your Grace was known to direct by Your Counſels, and to animate by Your Courage the Brave Aſſertors of Liberty.
I have a long time deſign'd to lay ſomething of mine at Your Grace's Feet, that it might live, and grow and flouriſh under ſo Illuſtrious a Patronage. But the Awe that I ſtood in of the Force of Your Judgment, and the Fineneſs of Your Diſcernment, made me wait for this Opportunity: For I know very well, that I ei⯑ther [vi] ought never to approach You this way at all or to do it when I can be moſt ſecure of my ſelf. And tho what I offer You now is far from meriting ſo High a Protection, yet I have leſs Miſtruſt of it than of any thing I have done in Poetry. Beſides, the Deſign and the Immortal Subject may ſupply in ſome meaſure the Weakneſs of my Performance: For I am confident that Your Grace will not refuſe to grant that Protection to the Vindication of the King's Memory, which the King at Your Grace's Requeſt granted to the Rights and Privileges of every Engliſhman. I am,
MY LORD,
Your Grace's moſt Humble; moſt Dutiful, and moſt Obedient Servant, John Dennis
THE PREFACE.
[vii]THE following Poem was writ without any manner of Deſign of obliging or offending a Party. For in all my Life-time I never deſigned either to pleaſe or of⯑fend any, and was always of Opinion that he who makes his Court to any, is ſure to do it to the wrong; for if all Men were for the Publick Good, there never could be any Party, becauſe a Patriot deſigns the Good of his Country, but one of a Party intends his own.
THE following Poem was writ with an Intention to do what Service I could to my Country at this Conjuncture; which, as Mr. Waller, has truly obſerved, is a Duty incumbent upon the Muſes Friend.
[viii]
THE Muſes Friend unto himſelf ſevere,
With ſilent Pity looks on all that err.
But if a great, a publick Action ſhines,
That he rewards with his▪ Immortal Lines.
Whether it be in Council or in Fight,
His Countries Honour is his chief Delight:
Praiſe of great Acts he ſcatters as a Seed,
Which may the like in coming Ages breed.
THIS is certain, that the late King delivered us from a de⯑plorable State. Now we who were once in a condition to want Deliverer, may hereafter be in ſuch a Condition again; for who has happened may happen. But ſince, as Mr. Waller obſerves moſt Heroes are incited to the noble Acts they perform by a De⯑ſire of Praiſe, who will be at the Trouble to ſave or defend People ſo ingrateful as to refuſe them that?
I DESIRE that the Reader would take two Cautions along with him: The one that he would not interpret that Love of Libe⯑ty which will be found in the following Poem, for an Averſion Monarchy; for Liberty is as conſiſtent with the Government [ix] of One as with that of a Thouſand. The other is, that he would by no means miſtake the Reflexions upon the Army which he Dutch had in 1672. for a Satyr upon the Nation in ge⯑neral. For I have a long time known the Dutch to be a Va⯑iant, a Wiſe and a Great People, and their Country to be one of the ſtrongeſt Bulwarks of the Liberties of Europe.
IF any one happens to wonder that I have employed ſo many Verſes in deſcribing the Battel of Seneffe, without dwelling afterwards upon any other of the Glorious Actions of the King, as the Battel of Mons, or that of the Boyn, or the Siege of Namur: I deſire him to conſider that in Deſcriptions of all Fights, there is ſomething reſembling; and by conſequence, that one ſuch Deſcription for ſo ſhort a work is enough; and that from among all the Actions of the King I choſe the Battel of Seneffe, becauſe of the Brave Army oppoſed to Him, and the Great Prince of Conde who headed them; and becauſe it is the greateſt of all the Actions in which the King, or per⯑haps any other Captain ever has been engaged; and above all▪ becauſe the Succeſs of the Allies was undeniably due to the King's Valour and Conduct.
THE following Poem was writ with a Deſign of ſhowing the King and not my ſelf, and written in the Language not of the Head but the Heart. 'Tis written in Blank Verſe, and not in Ryme, not only becauſe I thought that the former would [x] give me the more Liberty, but for ſeveral other Reaſons which will offer themſelves immediately to all who are Judges of Poetry, and which ſignify nothing to the reſt. I will only put the Reader in mind that Mr. Milton looked upon Ryme as a Bon⯑dage, and my Lord Roſcommon and Mr. Dryden as a Barbarity. Mr. Milton tells us in his Preface to Paradiſe loſt, that Ryme is trivial to Judicious Ears, and of no true Muſical Delight; and Mr. Dryden in his Verſes before the Eſſay upon tranſlated Verſe, that Poetry flouriſhed in Greece and Rome,
Till barbarous Nations and more barbarous Times,
Debas'd the Majeſty of Verſe to Rymes.
Mr. Dryden threw it off in Dramatick Poetry, as Mr. Mil⯑ton had done in Heroick, and as my Lord Roſcommon would have done, if he had lived to write any more; of which the following Lines in the Eſſay upon tranſlated Verſe, may be ſuffici⯑ent to ſatisfy us.
OF many Faults Ryme is perhaps the Cauſe,
Too true to Ryme we ſlight more uſeful Laws;
For that in Greece or Rome was never known,
Till by Barbarian Deluges o'erflown,
[xi] Subdu'd, undone, they did at laſt obey,
And change their own for their Invaders Way.
I GRANT that from ſome Moſſy Idol Oak,
In double Rymes our Thor and Woden ſpoke;
And by Succeſſion of unlearned Times,
As Bards began, ſo Monks rung on the Chimes.
BUT now that Phoebus and the Sacred Nine,
With all their Beams on our bleſt Iſland ſhine;
Why ſhould not we their antient Rites reſtore,
And be what Rome or Athens were before?
O MAY I live to Hail the Glorious Day,
And ſing loud Peans thro the crouded Way,
When in Triumphant State the Britiſh Muſe,
True to herſelf, ſhall barbarous Aid refuſe,
And in the Roman Majeſty appear,
Which none no better, and none come ſo near.
[] FROM what has been ſaid it is plain, that three of our Poets, who have been deſervedly celebrated for the Fineneſs of their Ears, have condemned and exploded Ryme, not only as an Ene⯑my to Art, and a Clog to Genius, and a Debaſer of the Majeſty of Verſe; but as a thing of barbarous Sound, and contrary to true Muſical Delight. And I am confident, that thoſe three Gentlemen, if they had been alive, would have been pleaſed to have ſeen in the following Poem, an attempt to ſecond that ge⯑nerous Deſign, which the firſt of them began, and which the two others approved of; a Deſign to ſhake off a barbarous Cuſ⯑tom, and to ſhew the Harmony of our Mother Tongue (con⯑trary to Vulgar received Opinion) above that of our Neigh⯑bours the French, which is utterly incapable of producing any thing like Poetical Muſick without the aſſiſtance of Ryme.
The MONUMENT: A POEM Sacred to the IMMORTAL MEMORY OF William the Third.
[1]VVHAT ſudden Damp has ſeiz'd upon my Soul?
Why are my Spirits chill'd, my Nerves unbent?
Why am I ſad, as is the mournful Grave?
As if I never ſhould know Comfort more.
Sure conſcious Nature gives Preſage that Death.
The Tyrant whom ſhe moſt abhors, draws near.
Ah woe! 'tis now too plain; for a worſe Death
[2] Has happen'd than alas thou fondly thought'ſt,
A Death in which the ruin'd World's concern'd,
A Death attended with the Fate of Nations.
Too plain, alas, I hear the doleful Sound,
The Good, the Great, the Godlike WILLIAM's dead.
Gone is his mighty Mind, for ever flown,
And nought but his Immortal Name remains:
Gone is Great Providence's Watchful Viceroy,
Gone the Great Soul that watch'd the Chriſtian World,
As the good faithful Shepherd does his Sheep
Againſt the Prowlings of the nightly Wolf.
Who ſhall now guard us from the bloody Foe?
Mourn then, my Soul, th' irreparable Loſs,
And with thee ſummon Human Kind to mourn,
With them too ſummon even th' Immortal Powers.
Thou firſt and chief, forlorn Britannia, mourn,
And with thee let thy faithful Sons keep time;
For thou and they, and all have loſt in him
A Champion, Benefactor, Father, Friend.
THOU next, Batavia, faln Batavia, mourn,
O let thy Eyes diſſolve into a Stream,
For thou haſt loſt—(O what haſt thou not loſt?)
Thy Bulwark, thy Defence, thy lofty Mound
That kept out lawleſs Arbitrary Pow'r,
Which, like the Ocean, now ſurrounds thy Tow'rs,
With dreadful Inundation threatn'ng all.
[3]
EVROP A Beautiful, in ſadneſs mourn!
Thy Father, thy Defender's from thee torn,
And now the Luſtful Beſtial God once more
Has loudly threaten'd thee with ſhameful Rape.
With thee let all thy Royal Sons lament,
Thoſe martial Sons that were with WILLIAM join'd
In the Great Cauſe of Godlike Liberty:
Who ſhall your ſeveral Intereſts now unite?
AND thou, Celeſtial Charmer, LIBERTY,
Daughter of Wiſdom, and of Supreme Jove!
Siſter of Reaſon, and of Sovereign Law;
Now Goddeſs beat thy beauteous Breaſts, and rend
The flowing Ringlets of thy golden Hair,
To mourn thy Mighty Benefactor's Fate;
For WILLIAM's Fate, O Liberty, was thine:
Thou and Religion here have room no more.
AND thou the darling Daughter of the Skies,
Divine RELIGION, thou whoſe melting Eyes
Have always like perpetual Fountains ſtream'd
To mourn th' Offences of a ſinful World,
O let them pour a Deluge now of Tears
To wail the diſmal Conſequence of Sin,
To mourn Great WILLIAM's and thy Flight to Heav'n.
He was thy Lover, and thy beſt belov'd,
[4] He was thy Champion, and thy ſole Defence
Againſt the Tyrants both of Earth and Hell.
His flaming Zeal, O Goddeſs, rouz'd thy Friends,
His charming Accents gain'd thy very Foes
To fight, O Goddeſs, and to die for thee,
AND ye, O ANGELS and ARCHANGELS all,
Guardians of mighty Kingdoms, and of Kings,
Who could your Cares on WILLIAM's Breaſt repoſe,
Who could your ſeveral Charges all to him
Reſign, while happily aloft ye tower'd,
And cut with golden Wings your bliſsful Heav'n;
Now mourn his Flight to the pure Realms of Day,
And mourn your own Return to a bad World;
For he is to your upper Regions flown,
Who equal to your ſelves your Cares below ſupply'd.
THEN mourn, O EARTH, and mourn, ye HEAVENS your Spheres
To Melting Airs y' Intelligences tune;
His Godlike Soul's for ever from us flown,
Whoſe Zeal could the divided Earth unite,
Whoſe wond'rous Zeal united Earth and Heav'n,
BUT let there be ſuch Lamentation here
As ne'er was known for any Fate before,
And let the Grief be general, as the Loſs;
[5] For Human Kind has loſt by WILLIAM's Death,
His People moſt, his firſt and chiefeſt Care.
He was the tender Father to his People,
A Friend and Brother to the reſt of Kings;
(Alas, few Kings are Friends, or meet with Friends)
A Benefactor to the Race of Men.
Sure 'twas ſome Angel who forſook the Skies,
And out of wondrous Love to wretched Men
Vouchſaf 'd to dwell in Human Shape below.
For all his Life-time, he from Place to Place
Remov'd, diſpenſing Benefits to all;
And from their Gates the grand Deſtroyer drove.
For that alone he mov'd, he ſpoke, he thought.
As if th' important Buſineſs of his Life
Had been to ſacrifice his own Felicity
To that of wretched Men, his Great Deſign
Extended to his moſt inveterate Foes:
He bleſt ev'n them, and would have done them good,
Becauſe his Foes were ſtill his Fellow Creatures,
From one Divine Original deriv'd.
His Foes his Juſtice and his Mercy knew;
And his inviolable Faith as firm
As are th' unchangeable Decrees of Fate.
For tho the wondrous Goodneſs of his Soul
Made him ſtill ſympathize in all our Joys,
And mourn and ſuffer in the Woes we feel;
Tho. He found ſomething in his godlike Mind,
[6] That anſwer'd to the Cries of the Diſtreſs'd,
And gave him Anguiſh, till they found Relief,
Which was the Source of all his wondrous Deeds,
And which diſtinguiſh'd his Heroick Life,
And ſet him far above all vulgar Heroes;
Yet was his Word ſo ſacred and ſo ſure,
He would not break it to preſerve a World.
BUT when your vulgar Heroes we ſurvey,
We find them the abhor'd Reverſe of this.
They, by the Fever of Ambition fir'd,
Run frantickly about the frighted World,
And think to grow by mighty Miſchiefs great,
While Horror marches in their dreadful Van,
And Death and Slaughter in their bloody Rear.
Whole Towns they plunder, lay whole Countries waſte,
With grinding Want they make vaſt Kingdoms pine,
But their own Kingdoms into Deſerts turn,
Where Famine lords it in its wild Domain:
For their own Kingdoms loudeſt cry to Heav'n,
And loudeſt under their Oppreſſion groan.
If they make doubtful Peace or hollow Truce,
'Tis but for time to wage more dangerous War,
To weaken and divide their thoughtleſs Foes,
And lull them by Security to Fate.
To Friends deceitful, faithleſs to Allies,
Perfidious, perjur'd to their in-born Slaves;
[7] Revengeful, cruel, bloody to Mankind:
A Sea of guiltleſs Blood they ſpill, a Sea
Of helpleſs Widows and of Orphans Tears,
Deſtroy their Enemies, their Subjects more:
Their Subjects chiefly feel their barbarous Hands;
For mad with Rage, their Enemies they tear,
But their poor Subjects coolly they deſtroy.
O fruitleſs Labour of fantaſtick Pride!
For while they thus would more than Men appear,
Their Breach of Faith, the Wrongs they do each Hour,
Their hateful Violences make them leſs;
Only by Fools and Impious Men admir'd,
Abhor'd by God, by all good Men deſpis'd.
Too faithful Copies of their proud Original,
The great Deſtroyer, and the Foe of Men,
The firſt and grand Artificer of Fraud;
The pow'rful Prince of all th' infernal Pow'rs;
Mighty to act, ſagacious to contrive,
Who with capacious comprehenſive thought
Sits brooding o'er his dark and damn'd Deſign
Of captivating all the Race of Men,
And fixing Univerſal Monarchy,
Which he ſometimes with Violence and Rage,
Sometimes with Lies and Hell-born Arts purſues:
His Foes ſometimes with open Force invades,
But moſt with ſecret Practice undermines,
And ſows Diſſenſions to divide their Strength.
[8] A dreadful and a dangerous Foe to all;
But ſure Perdition to his faſteſt Friends:
And his Allies are loſt, as are his Slaves;
Who in Infernal Pains for ever howl.
THUS earthly Heroes copy him of Hell,
Thoſe Tyrants whom the thoughtleſs World calls Heroes:
Such was not happy WILLIAM, but a Friend
To Men, and Servant of the moſt Supreme.
The chief and godlike Purpoſe of his Soul,
Was the reſtoring Quiet, Order, Peace,
And Univerſal Happineſs to Men;
And like a faithful Servant to advance
His Maſter's univerſal great Deſign.
His Maſter would have all his Creatures bleſt,
He loves the miſerable Sons of Men;
And with a Love ſo ardent and ſo high,
As never can be thought be finite Man.
Next his was WILLIAM's Love to all his Kind,
For Fiends and Tyrants only were his Foes;
And Tyrants he eſteem'd no longer Men,
As curſed Fiends are Angels now no more,
Fal'n from their Natures and their Names by Pride.
He hated both, to both a mortal Foe,
Becauſe they dar'd t' impeach his godlike Purpoſe.
For they make wretched all whom they make Slaves;
For what can be ſo diſmal as to ſee▪
[9] Our Lives, our Fortunes, nay our ev'ry Action,
Nay ev'n our Virtue and Divine Religion,
All in a feveriſh frantick Tyrant's pow'r,
And to his boundleſs Paſſions all expos'd.
He look'd with Indignation and Diſdain
Upon th' aſpiring, vain, preſumptuous Wretch,
Who thought it great t'enſlave his Fellow-Creatures:
Dogs were not made to be control'd by Dogs.
Nor Horſes over Horſes to inſult,
They rule not one another; nor ought Man
To controul Man; but God is to command,
Who governs ſtill by Reaſon and by Law.
He loves the Sons of Men, and leaves them free,
As free as is his own Almighty Power.
For he himſelf makes Reaſon ſtill his Guide,
And ſwerves not from his own Eternal Laws.
Since our Great Maker then has left us free,
On whom we ſo immediately depend,
In whom we live, and move, and ev'n exiſt,
Kings who are God's Vice-gerents too muſt leave
Thoſe who are under their Subjection, free;
And govern them by Reaſon and by Law.
For tho like Gods they'r honour'd, they are Men,
And they muſt die like Men: So WILLIAM rul'd,
And look'd with Anger and with juſt Diſdain
Upon the vain, the mortal, dying Wretch,
Who dares to make them Slaves whom God makes free;
[10] Who by his lawleſs boundleſs Paſſions ſways,
And ſacrifices to his Luſt of Power
A thouſand greater worthier than Himſelf.
(For ſuch are all the Good and truly Wiſe)
Which is renouncing Reaſon's ſacred Rule,
Subverting th' Awful Government of God,
Depoſing ev'n the World's Perpetual King,
As far as lies within a Mortal's Power,
T' aſſert the direful Government of Hell.
For if good Kings are God's Vicegerents, ſure.
A Tyrant is Hell's Viceroy, and as ſuch
A Chriſtian's bound by his Baptiſmal Vow
Againſt him to denounce perpetual War.
So WILLIAM did, and ſeem'd deſign'd by Fate
T' aſſert the awful Government of God,
And Liberty of Man; and ne're did Heav'n
Nor Fate do more for mortal Man than Him,
In giving him the Will to undertake,
And Power to execute the vaſt Deſign.
AND never was it known that mortal Man
More Noble, more Heroick Deeds perform'd,
Than WILLIAM in the Cauſe of God and Liberty▪
The glaring Actions which the World calls Great,
From Paſſion chiefly, not from Virtue flow;
And of all Paſſions from Ambition moſt.
Pride which ſuch dangerous Ravage wrought in Heaven
[11] Among th' Immortal Spirits of the Bleſt,
May well deſtroy our frail Felicity,
May well cauſe dreadful Revolutions here.
To Pride th' Illuſtrious Romans ow'd their Fame,
Their Quarrels ſtill were ſpecious, ſeldom juſt;
Yet not the greateſt, firſt of Romans, Caeſar,
Darling of Story, Paramour of Fame,
Of whom ſhe doting talks and ne're is tir'd,
To ſatisfy Ambition e're perform'd
Deeds which diſplay'd ſuch Greatneſs in the Man,
As what Great WILLIAM did for Liberty.
METHINKS, ye Friends to Arbitrary Sway,
At this great Paradox I ſee you ſmile;
But hear, ye wretched Slaves t' Opinion, hear,
And then determine this important Cauſe.
CAESAR acquir'd his greateſt Share of Fame
Againſt the Gauls, who were our WILLIAM's Foes:
But Caeſar fought with them divided, weak,
Doubtful in Counſel, and in Action ſlow,
Falſe to each other, Traitors to themſelves,
And the great Cauſe of dying Liberty.
No Captain at their Head like mighty Coeſar,
Vers'd in the Noble Science of the Field,
The dexterous Art of Fortifying Camps,
Or Ranging numerous Armies in Array;
[10] [...][11] [...][12]No brave experienc'd Officers to form
Their Troops, undiſciplin'd and rude to War;
Their Soldiers and Commanders all grown faint,
Dejected, ſpiritleſs with frequent Routs;
All dead and ſenſeleſs to that Noble Fire
That to Illuſtrious Acts inflames the Brave.
UNDER theſe Diſadvantages lay France,
In what Condition was great Caeſar then?
Mature in Years, by long Experience Wiſe,
Awful for Eloquence and Martial Deeds;
Leading the Flow'r of Rome's Victorious Legions,
Back'd and ſupported by the Conquer'd World;
Valiant his Soldiers, Skilful, Diſciplin'd;
Experienc'd their Commanders, Wiſe and Brave;
And Soldiers and Commanders, Romans all:
Inur'd to Dangers, made by Cuſtom bold,
Exalted, ſpirited with long Succeſs,
All eager in the burning Chaſe of Fame,
All faithful and united under Caeſar,
And He Supreme and Abſolute o're all.
Yet with all theſe Advantages Great Caeſar
Ten tedious Years conſum'd in Conquering France;
And now the Glory of his Conqueſt ſhares,
If the Diſtributors of Fame are juſt,
With his Wiſe, Valiant, his Victorious Friends,
Nay and with Fortune, with his very Foes.
[13] For Falſe and Traitors to the Common Cauſe,
Their Country baſely they betray'd and ſold.
WE 've ſhewn what Caeſar did for Pride, behold
What VVILLIAM for Fair Liberty perform'd,
And th' Actions in an equal Balance lay.
'TWAS in the fatal and recorded Year,
In which Batavia, the Defence and Mound▪
Of Faith, of Right, of ſinking Liberty;
Batavia like the native Land of Jove,
Proud of a hundred Formidable Towns,
Whoſe Lofty Bulwarks, and whoſe Stately Tow'rs
Are to the Storms of Arbitrary Pow'r,
What its Digues are to the Tempeſtuous Main:
For the wild roaring Torrent they reſtrain,
Which elſe would deluge all the Chriſtian World,
And leave the Earth depopulate and bare:
'Twas in the Year in which forlorn Batavia
Invaded was, defenceleſs and ſurpriz'd,
And by two potent Enemies attack'd,
Britannia thundring on them from the Main,
And faithleſs Gallia lightning on the Shore;
While at the Horror of the Noiſe and Sight,
The Belgick Lion trembling and aghaſt,
Faint in his Roar, and with unſinew'd Paws,
Flew for Protection to the ſtormy Main,
[14] Whoſe unrelenting Rage he moſt abhors:
'Twas in that fatal Year in which the States
(Their Country loſt to the inſulting French,
Their ſtrongeſt Bulwarks forc'd, or elſe betray'd)
Were turn'd irreſolute, diſtracted, wild;
The Croud deſponding all, divided, faint,
Aſtoniſh'd and amaz'd, and ſtupid grown,
In dreadful expectation of their Fate.
'Twas at this fatal Juncture that the Prince,
Like th' Offspring of the Gods, a Hero born,
Without th' advantage of a long Experience,
Without the influence of an awful Fame,
Without courageous or inſtructed Troops;
With nought on which he could depend but Heav'n;
His vaſt Capacity and dauntleſs Soul,
Magnanimouſly undertook to ſave
His ſinking Country and expiring Liberty.
HERE I'm in Rapture and Amazement loſt!
What ſhall I firſt admire, his dauntleſs Soul
In that amazing Hurricane of Fate,
E'er ſcarce the Bloom of Youth proclaim'd him Man,
When all the Heav'ns look'd black, and all the Main
Look'd diſmal, when the frantick Billows rag'd,
The Tempeſt roar'd, the forky Thunder roll'd,
And loudly bellow'd o'er the dreadful▪ Deep;
The skilful'ſt Mariners confounded, foil'd,
[15] The boldeſt trembling, dying with the Fright;
The ſinking Veſſel motionleſs and dead,
Thoſe at the Helm deſponding, deſperate,
Abandoning to Winds and Waves their Care;
He who had never plough'd the Deep before
Alone unterrify'd, and undiſmay'd,
And dauntleſs in that dangerous Extreme,
As is a God by deſtiny ſecur'd;
As is the God of the tempeſtuous Deep,
When in ſome Storm that threatens general Wrack;
He lifts above the Waves his ſacred Head
To calm his troubled Empire of the Main,
And give the lab'ring Univerſe Repoſe?
OR his great Conduct ſhall I firſt admire,
Without th' advantage of Experience, wiſe,
Exact, profound, unfathomably deep,
Deſign'd him by Foreknowledg, giv'n by Fate
To countermine the dark Deſigns of Hell?
CAN ye behold Him, ye ungenerous Foes
To his Great Memory, his Deathleſs Name,
Without extolling to the Stars his Fame,
When ye diſcern him in that dreadful Hour,
Appearing at the Head of ſhameful Troops,
A wretched Handful, antiquated moſt,
Ruſty with Peace, and liſtleſs with Diſuſe,
[16] The reſt a vile tumultuous Crowd, in haſte,
By ſad Neceſſity, not Choice, enroll'd,
Rude and untaught, and barbarous to War,
Unfit by Nature, and untrain'd by Art;
By num'rous ill Succeſſes abject made,
Dejected, drooping, infamouſly baſe,
The mere Reverſe of all that's Great and Brave:
Their Leaders the baſe Scum of all the reſt,
And for that only reaſon uppermoſt;
Rais'd by the boiling Ferment of the State,
Only for factious Diſcontent advanc'd,
And inbred Hatred to their Great Defender?
Can you behold him at the Head of theſe,
Informing, moving, animating all,
Changing their very Natures like a God;
His Bravery kindling thouſands with its Fire,
His Spirit working like the World's Great Soul,
And ſpreading beauteous Order thro them, where
Trouble, Confuſion, Chaos reign'd before?
Can you ſee this, and not be wrapt with Wonder?
Can you behold the conqu'ring Gauls at Bay
Already on his firſt Appearance ſtopt
In their precipitated wild Career,
Already meditating their Retreat?
Can ev'n his moſt inveterate Foes ſee this,
And not exalt ſuch wond'rous Worth to Heav'n?
[17] WHAT a Man is to hearten fainting Hounds,
To rouze their Vigour on the lifeleſs Chaſe,
And guide them through the Mazes of the Field,
That to his drooping Countrymen was He;
Something between Divinity and them;
A more Exalted, a Superiour Being;
Their Guardian Genius, and their God of War.
His vaſt Capacity ſupply'd their Heads,
His martial Bravery inflam'd their Hearts,
And rais'd their abject and their grov'ling Souls
To Noble Thoughts, and to Immortal Deeds,
Above the Fear of Death, or foul Retreat.
So Pallas to the fainting Greeks appear'd,
Shook her invincible, her dreadful Shield,
And ſpread Celeſtial Vigour thro the Field.
BEHOLD him by a Conduct, which ſurpriz'd
The moſt Illuſtrious and the Oldeſt Chiefs,
The moſt experienc'd in the Art of War;
Like the young Roman Hero ſo renown'd,
Forſaking his poor Country to preſerve it,
And ſave the ſinking Freedom of the World.
Behold upon fair Bona's lofty Tow'rs
The Guardian Angels of a hundred Forts,
A hundred Towns, ſit gazing to receive,
And with loud Welcomes hail their Great Defender:
For Bona taken ſet Batavia free,
[18] And rent in twain th' opprobrious Bonds, prepar'd
To bind the Chriſtian World; yet, under Heav'n,
That favour'd him with ſuch peculiar Grace,
He ows th' Immortal Glory to Himſelf,
Not to the Valour of his fainting Troops,
Nor to the Skill of their unwarlike Leaders.
Their Bravery was his, for he inſpir'd it,
And his their Conduct, which from him they drew:
Nor ows his Fame to Weakneſs of his Foes,
Or their Diviſions, or their Want of Skill;
But the Profoundneſs of his vaſt Deſigns,
And his High Courage rais'd above Compare.
THE Gauls had all th' advantage o'er Naſſau
That Ceſar manifeſtly had o'er Gaul.
Behold them ſtrong, united, numberleſs;
Their warlike Chiefs experienc'd and renown'd;
Their well-provided Squadrons, skilful, brave,
All fluſh'd and ſpirited with long Succeſs,
All eager in the burning Chaſe of Glory.
Yet WILLIAM at the Head of wretched Troops,
Wretched at leaſt, till rais'd and fir'd by Him,
In little more than one revolving Year
Forc'd his dread Foes to leave his Country free:
When Caeſar with the Flow'r of Roman Legions,
In the large Compaſs of Ten rolling Years,
Scarce conquer'd barbarous divided Gaul.
[19]
EV'N Fortune claims no ſhare in his Renown,
Fortune that bears ſo viſible a part
In Human Actions, ruling all below,
Which Providence has wiſely order'd, leſt
Frail Duſt ſhould grow intolerably vain,
And cry, upon Succeſs, 'Tis due to me.
But he ſo highly favour'd was of Heav'n,
That ſtill He brought about his vaſt Deſigns,
While ſhe was known t' aſſiſt his mortal Foes.
The great Diſcerner of all Human Hearts
Knew that his Noble Soul was truly Great,
As far above preſumptuous Pride as Fear;
So conſcious of its Origin Divine,
It ne'er could ought but its Great Maker fear,
Ne'er own a Man ſuperior to it ſelf.
But then ſo mindful of its frail Condition,
And its Creator's high Omnipotence,
That its Dependance it could ne'er forget,
That him it would with trembling ſtill approach,
And with profound Humility adore,
And by that Lowlineſs and aweful Fear
Confirm its Greatneſs, and its dauntleſs Courage.
THUS Fortune and the Gauls were WILLIAM's Foes,
Both He reſiſted, and He conquer'd both,
And brought about his great and juſt Deſigns;
But cruel was the Conflict firſt, and long,
[20] And oft the Goddeſs ſeemingly prevail'd,
And oft at once collecting her whole Might,
Took all Advantages of Time and Place,
Prepar'd to cruſh him at a blow, when He
With wondrous Art eludes that dreadful Blow,
And with freſh Force diſputes the doubtful Day:
While Heav'n ſerene look'd down with all its Eyes,
Charm'd with the greateſt, nobleſt Sight that Earth
Can offer to the Skies; and that's a Man,
A mortal Man, a Match for Fortune's Pow'r.
Her Pow'r, great Arbitreſs of all below,
Till his Invincible, unſhaken Soul,
With Wiſdom, Patience, Reſignation arm'd,
And with a thouſand Virtues that have Force
To conquer Gods, compell'd her to ſubmit,
And own her glorious Conqueror at the laſt.
NOR were her Smiles more pow'rful o'er his Soul:
For upon him the faithleſs Goddeſs ſmil'd
Ev'n in the worſt of Times, that dreadful Hour,
When raving as a Bacchanal, and wild,
She to new Slaughter laſh'd on limping Fate,
And led the Gauls t' extirpate loſt Batavia.
She offer'd him a Kingdom for a Bribe,
A Kingdom with a hundred pow'rful Towns,
In Wealth exhauſtleſs, numberleſs in Men;
Which he rejected with a Brave Diſdain,
[21] And choſe to periſh with his Country free,
Rather than found an Empire on its Bonds.
O Greatneſs, to be found on Earth no more!
Exalted far above all Royalty,
And far above the Rule of Fortune's Pow'r.
For when long after he embrac'd a Crown,
Juſtly confer'd by free Conſent of thoſe
O'er whom He was to reign; th' Acceptance them
Was neceſſary for the World, not Him,
And for the World H' embrac'd it, not himſelf.
To him 'twas all Increaſe of Toil and Care:
He wanted not a Crown to make him Great;
His Soul poſſeſs'd a Greatneſs of its own,
Not like the ſhort-liv'd Pomp of Fortunes Pow'r,
But durable, Immortal as it ſelf;
Plac'd like it ſelf above the Force of Fate.
His Towring Soul it ſelf was Greatneſs all,
All vaſt Intelligence and ſolid Virtue,
The things which make ev'n God and Angels Great.
A FALSE and borrow'd Luſtre He deſpis'd,
Deriv'd from Scepters and Imperial Crowns,
His Soul with native Luſtre, native Flame
Shone out, as glorious as th' Eternal Fire,
Which rolls his Sovereign Globe along the Sphere,
Rapid, yet firm in the Refulgent Courſe,
That the Great Mover taught him at the firſt,
[22]
And whoſe Exceſs of Glory darkens all
The reſt of God's Vicegerents in the Skies.
Thus while vain Pomp and tinſel Glory ſerve
T' amuſe the gazing and inconſtant Crowd,
He charm'd the braveſt, wiſeſt Men on Earth;
Angels look'd wondring on his Virtue down,
And the Great Maker pleas'd, his Maſter-Piece ſurvey'd.
THUS He, deſpiſing Royalty, acquir'd
A more extended and a Nobler Power.
Imperial Crowns, who ſaw to what a Height
Above all Human Greatneſs He was rais'd,
How far above all little ſelfiſh Thoughts,
Acting as if he thought he had been born
For all the World except himſelf alone;
Anxious about the Safety of the World,
But utterly regardleſs of his own;
And hazarding his own for that of all.
Imperial Crowns convinc'd of this, confeſt
An Excellence ſuperior to their own;
And Kings themſelves grew ſubject to his Sway.
Him with Eſteem and Wonder they beheld,
Champion of God and his moſt Sacred Truth,
Defender of the Liberties of Men,
And Great Protector of the Rights of Kings:
And they who gave to mighty Nations Laws,
Receiv'd them firſt from him, and juſtly thought
[23] That only He who of Mankind took care,
By Nature was deſign'd the Lord of All.
What but the Head takes care of every Part?
What but the Soul? What but th' informing Soul,
What runs thro all, that animates them all,
And in continuous Union all maintains;
Union, their Cauſe of Spirit, Health, and Force,
And which diſſolv'd, to all brings Fate or Woe?
NOW He the Councils of thoſe Kings collects,
And all their different Intereſts reconciles;
Of all their thwarting, ſelfiſh, low Deſigns,
One Common, Noble, Vaſt Deſign he makes,
That ſeem'd impoſſible to all but Him.
But his rare Genius ſure Expedients finds
To calm their Jealouſies, and ſooth their Pride;
And all at leaſt are ſatisfied in him,
The Tie and Bond of Union to them all.
And now behold him marching at the Head
Of all their Squadrons, German, Spaniſh, Dutch;
Now ſee them filing thro thy narrow Ways,
Till then inglorious and obſcure Seneffe,
Now ſhining in the bright Records of Fame▪
Among the Glories of th' Eternal Roll:
And lo the Germans and the Dutch have paſs'd,
And the Proud Spaniard now prepares to paſs,
When lo Great Conde with his headlong Troops
[24] Comes pouring on them like a ſounding Flood,
That by Deſtruction makes its noiſy Way.
Upon the Wings of Fear the Spaniards fly,
And many a Furlong leave their Pride behind;
For Conde's Image haunts them in their Flight,
His awful Form ſtill urging on their Speed,
More dreadful to them than his Numerous Hoſt;
His awful Form preſented to their View,
To their Remembrance calls his glorious Acts,
Their Friends defeated, and Themſelves o'rethrown.
When e're Great Conde's Image they behold,
The bloody Plains of Lens are in their View;
And thou, O Friburg, with thy diſmal Cliffs,
And the dire Fields of Norlingue and Rocroy,
A thouſand Victories and High Exploits
Encompaſs him with dreadful Glory round;
About him like a Guard of Terrors march,
And arm him with Eternal Majeſty.
Theſe Fantoms goad the Spaniards in their Flight,
And now the Fury of that ſhameful Flight
Proves fatal to the Forces of their Friends,
And the Battalions breaks and overwhelms.
That WILLIAM ſwiftly ſends to their Relief,
The French drive on and no Reſiſtance find,
Or elſe Triumphant force their way through all:
Outragious as a Flame that's driv'n by Winds,
And fiercer, ſtronger by Obſtruction grown.
[25] But now Heroick WILLIAM thund'ring comes
To turn the Fortune of the bloody Day;
Behold with what a Noble-Rage h' attempts
T' arreſt his Squadrons in their headlong Flight:
For his own Squadrons firſt He's ſorc'd t' attack.
With what a matchleſs Bravery he meets
Routed Battalions panting or'e the Plain!
Then with his flaming Sword in their Career
He ſtands, his Perſon to them all expos'd,
His Thundring Arm oppoſing to them all.
Now by the Torrent overborn, o'erwhelm'd,
Now ſtemming with a dauntleſs Breaſt the Tide,
And now with deſperate Vehemence turning all,
The Baſe with Blows corrects, with Words the Brave;
And ſome the ſparkling Glories of his Eye,
And ſome his Looks, and ſome his Voice inflames;
O whither run ye? O return, return!
O ye who had the Looks of Soldiers once,
I ſee ye always had the Hearts of Slaves,
The worſt of Slaves, from Slaves themſelves ye run;
You Cowards in defending Liberty,
They in augmenting their own Thraldom Brave.
For me my own right Hand, or elſe my Foes,
My Freedom and my Glory ſhall ſecure;
For Death or Victory bring both alike.
Ye few Great Souls, who Liberty and Fame
Prefer to wretched, ſhameful, ſlaviſh Life.
[26] Come on, be Death or Victory the Word.
THIS ſaid, he breathing an Heroick Air,
As great as if Eternal Fame appear'd,
And to High Actions call'd her darling Sons.
And now their Shame prevails upon their Fear,
And now he leads them furious to the Charge,
Firmly reſolv'd to die a thouſand Deaths,
And to forſake the World e'er ſuch a Leader.
Now at their Head with a reſiſtleſs Rage
He thro the firmeſt French Battalions breaks,
And charging thro and thro their Squadrons mows,
Their Squadrons now conceal'd in ſmoaky Clouds,
And now reveal'd in blazing Sheets of Fire,
And now the French grow fiercer by Deſpair:
And with redoubled Voice Bellona raves,
With ſhriller Notes the Cornets vex the Air,
Death's Bugles in the diſmal Chaſe of Blood,
The Trumpets kindle Mars with fiercer Sounds,
And the tempeſtuous Drums with thicker Stroaks
Alarm the Foe of Nature. All the Heavens,
And all the Air appears conflicting Fire,
And now the joining Squadrons rend the Skies,
And riding at full Stretch upon the Plain,
With hideous Outcries on each other ruſh,
And make one ghaſtful Charnel of the Field;
The ratling Plain with murdring Vollies rings,
[27] And to the thundring Cannons mortal roar,
The Hills rebellow with a dreadful Sound,
That the dire Conſort ſeems to deaf the World.
WILLIAM, the glorious Spirit of the War,
Is every where where Danger moſt prevails,
Correcting Fortune, and confronting Fate.
Like Mars himſelf, Fierce, Valiant, Raging, Young,
Among the thickeſt Foes his thundring Steed
He ſpurs, then brandiſhes his fatal Sword;
Terror ſeverely ſparkling in his Eyes,
Death like a Faulcon perch'd upon his Arm,
Watching the certain Signal of his Blow,
And then like Lightning darting at his Prey.
WILLIAM the deſperat'ſt Champion of the Field,
In Feats of Arms and mortal Rage excels,
Surpaſſing in amazing Actions all
Whom Glory urges, or whom dire Deſpair,
The meaneſt Sentry leſs expos'd than he.
Frequent amidſt the hotteſt of the Fire,
And oft ſurrounded, cover'd o're with Flames;
And yet in Conduct oldeſt Chiefs excels,
To beſt Advantage ev'ry Motion makes,
Always exactly preſent to himſelf,
Spite of his furious executing Arm,
Spite of the Smoak, the Tumult, and the Noiſe:
The raging Trumpet and the ſtorming Drum,
The Muſquets Din, and thundring Cannons Roar;
[28] Nay ſpite of Death, whom all his dreadful Guard
Of purple Terrors through the Field attends,
Who painting hideouſly his ghaſtful Face
With Duſt and Blood, and leaping his pale Steed
O're ſlaughter'd Heaps, rides diſmal thro the Plain.
THUS all the Day the God of Battel rag'd;
And the Sun ſat in Horror and in Blood;
And then the lab'ring Moon beheld a Sight
That troubled her above Theſſalian Charms,
And made old Night look hideous to her View.
NOW in their turns the mangled French recoil,
And doubt the Fortune of the dreadful Day;
And well they may recoil, and well may doubt;
When their Great Chief th' Heroick Conde doubts.
Now Rage, Diſdain, and Grief to Madneſs wrought,
And the tormenting Conſcience of his Worth,
Diſturb his Generous Breaſt, and wrack his Soul:
He raves, He cannot bear the ſtabbing Thought
Of yielding to a beardleſs Chief the Field.
But this is what torments and ſtings him moſt,
That He, who now for thirty Glorious Years
Has with ſucceſſive Victories been crown'd,
Been us'd to all the Wonders of the Field;
Himſelf the Nobleſt Wonder of them all,
Should ſee this Godlike Youth perform ſuch things;
[29] As force ev'n him t' admire; O mortal Shame!
He crys aloud, O Death to my Renown!
'Twas He, 'tis manifeſt, 'twas none but He
That turn'd the Fortune of the Wondrous Day.
Thou my Divinity, Eternal Fame,
And Victory, thou Darling of my Soul:
My Miſtreſs, that for Thirty Glorious Years
Haſt ſtill been conſtant to my Noble Fire!
Will ye deſert me for a Boy at laſt?
Is not my Deathleſs Paſſion ſtill the ſame?
Is not my Great Aſpiring Soul the ſame?
The ſame my Conduct, and my Nervous Arm?
Have I for Naſſau courted you thus long?
For him were all the deſperate Fields I fought,
For him my accumulated Triumphs all;
Which with my Loſs of Quiet, and of Blood,
With Reſtleſs Days, and Sleepleſs Nights I won?
O never, never let it be pronounc'd!
Firſt let me periſh, let me periſh all!
The very Name of Conde be forgot;
Be the curſt Syllables ne're mention'd more;
And ye vain Monuments of my Renown,
Lens, Norlingue, Friburg, St. Antoine, Rocroy!
O let Seneffe compleat th' Illuſtrious Liſt;
Or may ye all neglected be by Fame,
And never ſhine in her Eternal Roll!
[30]
THIS ſaid, He leads the French to certain Fate,
For now th' Allies Invincible are grown,
Dauntleſs their Minds, Impregnable their Poſts,
Such is their Hero's Conduct and his Fire:
And now they pour a Storm of Iron Hail,
Whoſe Fury makes whole Squadrons fall, while they
Cover'd with Duſt, and horrid all with Blood;
The ſlaughter'd French in Ghaſtful Heaps behold,
And take new Spirit from that diſmal Sight.
Conde reſolves his Men ſhall periſh all,
Reſolves himſelf to periſh at their Head;
And all had fal'n a Victim to Deſpair,
If the deſcending Goddeſs of the Night
Had not juſt then withdrawn her Sickly Beams,
And Night her blackeſt Mantle o're them thrown.
And now the Rage and Din of Battel ceaſe,
Nor Noiſe nor Silence in the Field prevails,
But a low, hoarſe and undiſtinguiſh'd Sound,
A ſullen hollow grumbling ſtrikes their Ears;
The dreadful Murmurs of declining Rage,
And the laſt doleful Accents of Deſpair.
And now the Freneh conceal'd in Night retire,
And to Victorious WILLIAM leave the Field;
And in the Height of Anguiſh and Deſpair
Praiſe his great Conduct and his matchleſs Fire.
[31]
HERE meanly his ungenerous Foes enquire,
Were all his Battels thus with Conqueſt crown'd?
What if they were not? they deſerv'd it all,
And that was more than Victory to him:
He nobly choſe to merit Victory,
Rather than have it poorly undeſerv'd:
And from the Height of his exalted Soul.
Deſcend to Triumph by inglorious Ways:
Greater and more exalted in Diſtreſs
Than the great Monarch in his happier Hours,
Looking with Scorn on Fortune and his Foes,
And all who proſper'd by ignoble Arts.
His Conqueſts all were Glorious, all were Juſt,
All fairly gain'd in the broad Eye of Heav'n,
And gain'd while Heav'n and Earth look'd wondring on.
Conqueſts indeed, not Robberies nor Fraud,
Nor Purchaſes nor Thefts, a Conqueror he!
No Trafficker for Countries and for Towns,
Nor double Dealer in the Trade of War,
Nor ſordid Turner of his Gold for Gain.
He conquer'd at Seneffe, had 'ere his Foes
A braver Army, or a nobler Chief?
A Chief with ſuch Experience, ſuch Renown,
And ſo much Conduct join'd with ſo much Fire;
So wondrous when the God of Battel rag'd?
He who againſt great Conde found Succeſs,
[32] Could ne're have miſs'd it againſt meaner Chiefs;
Had he not by their Numbers been oppreſt,
Or by the Falſeneſs of his own betray'd;
For to himſelf he always ow'd Succeſs,
To his high Conduct, and his great Example,
His Loſſes to the Falſhood, or the Sloth,
Or Impotence, or Factions of his Friends.
But yet whene're he loſt th' incertain Day,
He loſt but what was Fortune's, not his own.
The towring Greatneſs of his Soul was His,
And that he never loſt, that was Himſelf;
His very ſelf; his Troops have been ſubdu'd,
But never He, He gain'd by their Defeat.
Since adverſe Fortune ſhew'd him more himſelf
Of deeper Conduct, and more towring Mind,
More watchful Care, and more unwearied Toil;
Of Reſolution never to be broke,
Of Conſtancy that triumph'd over Fate,
And kept Proud Fortune in ſevereſt Awe.
'Twas this that terrify'd his happier Foes,
Made Lewis in the Fields of Valenciennes
Poorly the Glorious proffer'd Fight refuſe,
Afraid to truſt his far more numerous Troops,
More Skilful, more Victorious, more Renown'd;
Doubting if they with Fortune's ſtronger Power
Could guard him all from WILLIAM's great Revenge.
This made the Proud and Haughty Monarch ſtoop,
[33] And after all th' Advantages he gain'd,
With Prudence doubt the laſt Event of War,
And in our Hero's Country ſue for Peace.
AND now the World in faithleſs Peace lies lul'd,
Which more than War advances boundleſs Sway;
Fair Liberty ſleeps on, and never dreams
That to her Heart her Murderer's Hand's ſo near,
Till 'tis too late to fear, too late to dream:
For now they ſeize and bind Her ſtrongeſt Friend,
That they may ſurely give the fatal Blow.
Now the Crowns totter on a hundred Heads,
And Europe's nodding Powers expect to fall;
For lo where bound forlorn Britannia lies,
Pinion'd her Arms that once the Balance held,
And in due Poiſe ſuſtain'd the pond'rous World.
Bound to her Rocks like Andromede ſhe lies;
Fair Liberty ſhreeks out aloud for Aid;
When WILLIAM on the Wings of all the Winds,
Like Perſeus, nobly to their Reſcue flies;
While the admiring World attentive ſtands,
Trembling in Expectation of th' Event,
For WILLIAM's Fate the General Fate decides:
When with Succeſs above what Caeſar found,
(But Caeſar came t' enſlave, and He to free)
The Happy Hero came, and conquer'd e're he ſaw.
[34]
O CONQUEST worthy Men and Angels praiſe!
How poor's the Triumph for extended Sway,
Compar'd to this? This Conqueſt over Hearts,
This Triumph over Souls, which leaves them free,
And makes the Vanquiſh'd happier than the Victors.
The Britons who were wretched Slaves before,
Who 'ad loſt ev'n Hope, and who expected nought
But Life in Miſeries, or Death in Flames,
When he approach'd grew Happy, Free, Secure:
So Happy that their Raptures knew no Bounds!
For hark how their tumultuous Joy grows loud!
Hark how their ſtormy Shouts aſcend the Skies
To unknown Worlds, tranſporting VVILLIAM's Fame!
Still, ſtill the Sounds are in my raviſh'd Ears,
And ſtill methinks I hear the Nation's cry,
Hail thou Defender of unſpotted Faith!
Renown'd Reſtorer of loſt Freedom, hail!
Great Patron of the Chriſtian World, all hail!
At thy Approach fierce Arbitrary Power,
And bloody Superſtition diſappear.
At thy Approach fair Liberty returns,
And ſmiling darts a lovely Glance ſo ſweet,
As charms at once the Hearts of Gods and Men:
While Piety looks modeſtly aſſur'd,
And lifts its moving melting Eyes to Heaven;
O Happy, Happy above Millions, Thou,
[35] Who haſt made Millions bleſt; Thee Times to come,
Thee Nations yet unborn ſhall Happy call:
For the diffuſive Good which flows from Thee
To ev'ry Age and Nation muſt extend.
But we th' ungrateful'ſt and the worſt of Men,
Should we e'er ceaſe to celebrate thy Praiſe,
Should we forget the boundleſs Debt we owe.
Then raiſe thy Voice, O Happy Iſland, raiſe,
Let thy tempeſtuous Raptures tow'r to Heaven,
Till Angels catch our Great Deliverer's Praiſe;
Tune it, ye Angels, to your deathleſs Lyres,
And let all Heaven attend th' enchanting Song,
For ye have Voices for the lofty Theme.
Ye Angels, an Immortal Glorious Crown
To recompenſe th' Immortal Act, prepare!
But may he wear it late, and long be ours,
May ye impatiently expect him long,
Long may he deign to wear this earthly Crown,
Which now we place upon his Sacred Head,
A poor and mean Return for what we owe.
THIS was th' aſſembled Nation's general Senſe,
In theſe warm Sounds they 'xpreſs'd their Gratitude,
And pleas'd the Godlike Hero with their Joy.
Yet ſcarce the inconſtant Moon renew'd her Orb
(O may it never mention'd be by Fame,
Or never be believ'd by Times to come!)
[36] Before they chang'd their more inconſtant Minds,
And murmur'd at their Great Deliverer.
Some envied ev'n the Crown they had beſtow'd,
And ſome, regretting their old Thraldom, cry'd
For Egypt and its Vegetable Gods.
Others would be preſerv'd, but not by Him;
Alas unfortunate, miſtaken Men!
Who could preſerve you poſſibly but He?
Hark how Hibernia rends with Shreeks the Air,
And to Britannia cries aloud for Help.
In vain Great Schomberg marches to her Aid,
With his Brave Officers, his dauntleſs Troops,
With his own wondrous Skill in Feats of Arms;
For Superſtition and wild lawleſs Power,
Stood both inſulting by, and ſaw thoſe Troops
Conſum'd inſenſibly without a Blow.
But VVILLIAM's Preſence on the wondring Boyn,
Made his Foes tremble, cheer'd his fainting Friends,
Reviv'd them like their Univerſal Soul,
And quickly chang'd that hapleſs Iſland's Fate;
As when the Sun above th' Horizon mounts,
And with his Blaze of Glory fills the World:
Goblins, and Ghoſts obſcene, and Spirits damn'd,
That revel'd by the Stars uncertain Light;
Or the pale Glimpſes of the Silver Moon,
Revere th' Effulgence of the Lord of Day,
And diſappearing take their Flight to Hell,
[37] So when the Light of all the Chriſtian World
Mounted in Glory o'er the Banks of Boyn,
Unbounded Pow'r ſoon took its headlong Flight,
And frighted Superſtition quickly ſhrunk
Its hated Head within its gloomy Cell.
Hibernia reſcued by her Martial King,
Made thee, Britannia, more ſecurely free.
Why doſt thou murmur then, ungrateful Iſle?
What, doſt thou envy to the Beſt of Kings
That Happineſs which waits upon a Crown
That thou thy ſelf ſo freely haſt beſtow'd,
So juſtly fix'd upon his Sacred Head?
Is that thy Cauſe of envious Diſcontent?
Alas, the Happineſs is all for Thee,
And all the Toil and Miſery for him!
For thee, and not Himſelf He wears that Crown.
The very beſt of Fathers and of Kings
Contentedly ſupports a wretched Life,
That He may make his much-lov'd Children bleſt:
For William in his Kingdoms is Himſelf
The only Man whom his Auſpicious Reign
Conſtrains to bear intolerable Care.
Not all the Rolls of Fame can ſhew a King
Who labour'd under ſuch a Weight before.
Abroad behold a formidable Foe!
Surpaſſing in his Numbers and his Strength
The whole Alliance which our Hero form'd;
[38] Then that Alliance difficult to form,
And wondrous difficult to be maintain'd;
Some Weak, ſome Slow, ſome Jealous, Factious all,
And thwarting in their contrary Deſigns.
He was the only Man upon the Globe
Who could at once reſiſt the Common Foe,
And could enforce the Weakneſs of his Friends,
Quicken their Sloth, enrich their Poverty,
Cool their Miſtruſts, their Factions reconcile.
At the ſame time at home, amongſt his own
Lurk'd his moſt mortal and moſt dangerous Foes,
Thoſe Sons of Darkneſs, who conceal'd in Night,
Sat brooding o'er their damnable Deſign
To take away the very Life of Liberty.
In the mean while his faithful'ſt Friends at home,
His loyal'ſt Subjects too divided were,
Too factious grown to take juſt care of Him,
More eager moſt each other to deſtroy,
Than Him their common Safety to defend.
How few, alas, he found entirely true!
How few in whom he could entirely truſt,
Upon whoſe faithful Breaſts he could diſcharge
Some part of his intolerable Load!
For ſome had groundleſs Jealouſies conceiv'd,
And others of themſelves had too much care
To be ſollicitous about their King.
Never had Prince ſuch Hardſhips to ſurpaſs;
[39] For in eternal Toil He paſt his Hours,
Waſted with Action, or conſum'd with Thought,
And twenty times He paſt the Stormy Main,
While We in Peace ſecurely ſlept at home;
Paſt it againſt his Health, againſt his Life,
Paſt it for Us againſt his very Self:
'Tis what his tender Body ne'r could bear;
In ev'ry Paſſage he almoſt expir'd,
Profuſe of his ineſtimable Life,
To ſave and to defend ungrateful Men.
And when the wearying Toils of hard Campagns
Were overcome, alas He came not home,
Like other Conqu'rors, t' indulge Himſelf
In ſoft repoſe, or to enjoy the Fame,
Or the fair Conſcience of his Noble Acts.
For always He return'd to endure new Toils,
And bear almoſt inſufferable Pains;
Contending with the envious Rage of ſome,
The cauſeleſs, groundleſs Jealouſies of more,
And with the fierce Diviſions of us all.
And when with Godlike Patience he had born,
Beyond what Nature ſuffer'd him to bear,
The weary Marches, and the hard Fatigues
Of a laborious and a long Campagn,
At his return he always ſomething found
More difficult and grievous to be born,
Unjuſt Reproaches, undeſerv'd Affronts
[40] From thoſe whom with the hazard of his Life,
Whom with the loſs of Reſt and Health he ſerv'd;
And yet with Patience He ſupported all,
Becauſe He knew his Juſt Reſentment ſhewn
Would have confounded all his Great Deſigns.
Therefore that juſt Reſentment pent within,
Like a devouring Flame that wants a Vent,
Conſum'd and prey'd upon his Noble Heart,
Exhauſting the beſt Spirits of his Blood,
And richeſt Purple of the Royal Flood.
BEHOLD Him (and then murmur, if thou canſt
O thou Repining and Ungrateful Tribe!)
Lab'ring beneath this Weight, this World of Care,
Which his frail Body could endure no more:
He knew it, yet undauntedly went on,
Devoting his Ineſtimable Life,
And off'ring his Hearts-blood a Sacrifice
For the Felicity of wretched Men;
Firmly reſolv'd, as far as fleeting Life
Would give him leave, in ſpite of e'en our ſelves
And all our fooliſh and our factious Rage,
To finiſh the great Work He had begun.
IN this the Roman Decii He ſurpaſs'd;
They for their Country too themſelves devov'd,
But what they did was probably th' effect
[41] Of wild Enthuſiaſm and of frantick Rage,
And ſudden the Reſolve, and ſhort the Pain.
But WILLIAM's Action was th' effect of Thought,
Of a deliberate and long Deſign;
For ſenſibly his Life conſum'd away,
And ſunk beneath the Preſſure of Affairs;
Yet He with indefatigable Soul,
And with almoſt Divine Reſolve, went on,
And knowing He or Liberty muſt die,
By his eternal Care, eternal Toil,
To ſupport that exhauſted his Beſt Blood,
And ſav'd it at th' expence of ev'n his Life.
AND if Succeſs (O fond miſtaken Men,
That judg of Human Actions by Succeſs!)
Was ſometimes wanting to his Great Deſigns;
Yet he deſerv'd it ſtill, and that's enough,
And greateſt, when he miſs'd it, ſtill was found;
For then his firm and comprehenſive Soul
In all the Luſtre of its Virtue ſhone.
Yet he's unjuſtly ſaid to want Succeſs,
Who by his matchleſs Conduct, in deſpite
Of Fortune's Favour, ruin'd his great Foe,
And near Perfection brought his own Deſigns;
In ſpite of Loſſes made his Kingdom thrive,
While France with all its Fortune was undone:
For by Himſelf, and not by Fortune Great,
[42] Great WILLIAM found us wretched, left us bleſt
In ſpite of all her Malice, all her Rage:
But ill that King deſerves the Name of Great,
Who found his Subjects wealthy, eaſy, bleſt,
And will be ſure to leave them poor, ſtarv'd, curſt,
In ſpite of falſe Succeſs and falſe Renown.
AND thus to bleſs Mankind our Hero liv'd,
'Twas the ſole Buſineſs of his Godlike Life,
And great Employment of his dying Hours.
He knew he ne'er could better die imploy'd
Than He had liv'd; he knew the very Beſt,
The Greateſt, Holieſt of Mankind were they
Who of their Maker moſt reſemblance bear;
And that they beſt reſemble the moſt High,
Who to Mankind do moſt diffuſive good,
And who for future Ages beſt provide.
Nor could the King of Terror's awful Face
Turn his Attention from his Grand Deſign:
The grizly King no Terrors had for Him;
Calmly they met, and kindly they embrac'd,
As friendly Monarchs on their Frontiers meet.
His mighty Soul was ſo remote from Fear,
That He ſhew'd nothing like what's falſely Brave,
And nothing like what's falſely Good He ſhow'd,
No earneſt vehement Devotion paid,
Th' effect of Terror and Aſtoniſhment;
[43] But calm, reſign'd, and charitably meek,
Briefly and mildly offer'd up that Soul
To the Great Judg of Kings who knew his Heart,
And the main Spring of all his Actions ſaw.
That done, again he of the World took care;
For his Religion in his Actions lay,
And not in fruitleſs Words and empty Sounds:
He look'd upon himſelf as ſent by God
T' advance the Happineſs of Human Kind;
And as He paſt his whole Heroick Life,
He dy'd performing his Great Maſter's Will;
And as He knew no Fear, ſo Pain it ſelf
Could not divert him from his Great Deſign.
If we give Credit to the Sons of Art,
His lateſt Hours in ſharpeſt Pains were ſpent,
And yet he ſhew'd no ſmalleſt Sign of Pain,
Utter'd no loud Complaint, nor piercing Groan;
No Mark of Torment on his Face appear'd,
Only a more compaſſionating Look
For his lov'd People whom he left behind,
The beſt of Fathers for his Children felt,
But for himſelf appear'd inſenſible.
Yet his no fruitleſs vain Compaſſion was,
But made him eager to compleat thoſe Acts
That dire impending Miſchiefs might prevent,
And might our future Happineſs ſecure.
[44]
O GREATNESS, never known to Man before!
Too great to be conceiv'd by Human Thought!
Behold a Man, who dies in ſharpeſt Pain,
In his own Height of Miſery intent
Upon providing Happineſs for all,
Which makes the ſole Imployment of a God,
In perfect Eaſe and full Felicity:
As much concern'd for the World's Liberty,
As if his Buſineſs ceas'd not with his Life,
As if our Guardian Angel had aſſum'd
That Royal Shape, and would not leave his Charge,
But only diſappear to Mortal Eyes.
NOT the leaſt Trouble or Concern He ſhew'd,
That his Great Maker call'd him at a Time,
When the expecting World had all its Eyes
Intent on Him, the Darling Theme of Fame;
When all his vaſt Deſigns were juſt reduc'd
Within a certain Proſpect of Succeſs;
When humbled Gaul, and the deliver'd World
Had all advanc'd his Fame to ſuch a height,
As never Human Glory roſe before.
Not in the leaſt concern'd at being ſnatch'd
From the tranſporting Joy, the vaſt Applauſe▪
Of all the Nations happy made by Him.
The Hero meekly bore it, tho He knew
That the World judges by the laſt Event;
But the World's Praiſe was what he could contemn.
[45] He like a faithful Servant had perform'd
What his Great Maſter deſtin'd him to do;
And ſo dy'd, pleas'd with this Heroick Thought,
That had that Maſter's abſolute Decree
Allotted him a thouſand times as much,
He would with Cheerfulneſs have done it all.
OF all about him in that dreadful Hour
He was alone ſerene, the mournful reſt
Felt all the fierceſt Pangs of Grief and Fear,
Of ghaſtful Horror, and of wild Deſpair;
Their bloodſhot Eyes, and their diſtracted Looks
Declar'd the inward Torments of their Souls;
They all like Wretches on the Rack appear'd,
Like the compaſſionate Spectator He.
At laſt one hearty Sigh he gives for all,
A Sigh that ended his Heroick Toils,
And brought that Reſt which Virtue could not bring.
And now in loud and lamentable Wails
They vent their lawleſs Grief that knows no Bounds:
Some for their Royal Patron wring their Hands,
Their Benefactor ſome aloud deplore;
Some their Wiſe, Brave, Undaunted General;
Their Great Deliverer and Defender ſome;
Their Father, like poor helpleſs Orphans, all.
But turn thy View, my Soul, from that vaſt Grief,
Whoſe mortal Proſpect is enough to blaſt
[46] Thy ſtrongeſt and thy nobleſt Faculties.
Yet whither muſt I fly t' avoid that Grief?
All Europe catches the contagious Woe:
The Greateſt Men on Earth his Fate deplore,
Thoſe dauntleſs Souls who always ſcorn'd their own
Kings for that Loſs not only grieve, but die.
But ceaſe your Lamentations, O ye Kings;
Your loud Laments, y' afflicted Nations ceaſe;
'Tis for your ſelves this vaſt Exceſs of Woe,
And not for Him, for He is ſurely bleſt.
Never a greater Subject was of Woe;
But ſtill exceſſive Grief ſome Weakneſs ſhews,
But lofty Praiſe declares a Noble Mind,
The beſt Return for mighty Benefits,
And worthy to be offer'd up to Gods,
And to good Kings, who moſt reſemble Gods.
Then change your Voices all with one accord,
Y' afflicted Nations, change your mournful Notes,
And praiſe your mighty Benefactor's Name;
Lift up your Voices all with one accord,
For the Great Theme requires your nobleſt Flights.
WILLIAM the Great, the Good, the Juſt is gone;
Yet never, never ſhall He die entire,
But his Immortal Memory ſhall laſt
As long as Gratitude remains in Men,
As long as lovely Liberty remains.
For WILLIAM was the Greateſt, Beſt of Kings,
[47] That e'er was ſent from Heaven to rule the Earth,
Or will be ſent when Golden Times return:
Who, perſecuted and oppreſt by Fate,
Outpower'd, outnumber'd by the common Foe,
Deſerted by ſome Friends, betray'd by ſome,
Ill ſeconded by more, almoſt alone,
Did by a Conduct Matchleſs and Divine
Deliver loſt Batavia, Belgia ſave,
New imp'd the Roman Eagles ſoaring Wings,
To take a ſtronger and a nobler Flight;
Britannia he reſtor'd, Hibernia He reduc'd;
He Superſtition's bloody Progreſs ſtopt,
And check'd the Rage of Arbitrary Sway;
Religion re-eſtabliſh'd, Right maintain'd,
Supported Freedom, Property ſecur'd,
And made Oppreſſion tremble when he frown'd;
Was born and liv'd for the World's Happineſs:
In ev'ry Part of his unequal'd Life
A Hero ſtill confeſt to all the World,
And died at laſt as greatly as he liv'd;
Whoſe dying Arm for Liberty did more
Than if the nobleſt Conqueſt he had gain'd:
And who, to ſum all Praiſes up in one,
Maintains ev'n dead the Freedom of the World,
Both by his Conduct, which Confederate Powers,
By Him combin'd in mutual League, perſue;
And by the Wiſdom of that Mighty Queen,
[48] Who now adds Luſtre to th' Imperial Crown:
Her Wiſdom and her Virtues are the Gifts,
Which He upon theſe Happy Realms beſtow'd.
Had it not been for his Heroick Toils,
The Golden Scepter She ſo mildly ſways,
Had been in bloody Hands an Iron Rod.
And can we owe this Happineſs to Him,
And yet refuſe our Benefactor's Praiſe?
Where is our Honour? Where our Gratitude?
And where our boaſted Loyalty to Her?
Can we be Foes to his Immortal Name,
Who gave us Her, who all his wondrous Steps
Perſues, and ſeconds all his vaſt Deſigns?
And may ſhe ſecond all, till ſhe attains
The Happy Glorious End which He propos'd.
FINIS.
- Zitationsvorschlag für dieses Objekt
- TextGrid Repository (2020). TEI. 5195 The monument a poem sacred to the immortal memory of the best and greatest of kings William the Third By Mr Dennis. University of Oxford Text Archive. . https://hdl.handle.net/21.T11991/0000-001A-5ADD-7