University of Virginia Library

I.

Blest Soul, in Heaven expected long,
(And long in Heav'n mayst Thou expected be,
Who 'art cloath'd, not loaded with Humanity,
Like others, but more Resolute, and Strong,
Of God belove'd, those briny Paths to tread,
Which from our unjoyn'd World, unto his Kingdom lead)
Look how a Western Gale,
Do's on Thy Barques spred Canvass blow,
Loos'd from the Shore long since, with hoys'd up Sail,
A better Port than what Thou leav'st to know!
The Wind is to Thy Service prest,
And from this gloomy Vale, where we complain,
Both of our own, and others Wrongs in vain,
Of Thy first Innocence possest,
In a strait Line will drive Thee to Thy Rest,
And, whether now thou 'art bound, to the true East.

II.

'Twas, that or now the fervent Prayers
Of holy Men, re'inforced by their Tears,
Had on th' Eternal Goodness wrought;
Or if both Prayers, and Tears were weak,
And useless Arms to stop th' Almighty Justice thought,
Nor us'd, it may be, its fixt Course to break;
Twas that of His meer Love alone,
Heav'ns Sacred King, again deny'd,
Again by 'His Murdr'ous Enemies defi'd,
Ith' place where He in triumph Di'd,
In pity thither did at length look down.
He lookt, and in the generous Brest,
Of holy Charles revenge inspir'd;
Revenge, which was too long desir'd,
Revenge, whose lingring Europe did infest,
But only to be greater was a while deferr'd.
Thus would He help his Spouse belov'd,
And of a War just Heav'n approv'd,
The bare report found Babylon thoughtful, left her mov'd.

III.

All, who between the Alps and Garoone dwell,
Twixt Rhodanus, and Rhene, and the salt Sea,
The Christian Armies with their Banners swell;
Whole Spain, that Jealous ever us'd to be
Of others Honour, to the Camp does come,
Leaving the Pirenes behind, to guard its empty Home.
Britain, and all the Isles that lie,
From th' Orcades extremity,
To where the Straits do Afric bound,
With all where e're is found
But the first Traces of the Gospels sound,
Various in Garb, various in Arms and Speech,
Chari'ty does to th' high Impress provoke, or else beseech.
And worthier her, what could be ever done,
Or who has e're so just a War begun?
Not Menelaus for his Wife, nor Minos for his Son.

IV.

Up in the North midst Winter, and thick Snow,
Beyond the Suns auspicious Ray,
Where Clouds and Storms mete out the short liv'd Day,
Is bred a Nation, which did never know
Peace, and her Charms, or if it did, but as a Foe;
Who ne're were heard, or Wounds to flie, or Pain,
Or of Deaths Icy Fetters to complain,
That were their Country to upbraid, and Birth to stain.
These, more devout grown than of old,
With German rage, have of the Sword tane hold.
Turks, Arabs, Saracens, and the shame
They go against of Heathen Deities,
Only to know were to despise,
As fit but with their Blood, their bordring Sea anew to name.
A People naked, timo'rous, ignorant of War,
That ne're strook blow, but from a far,
And only with their Arrows wound the bloodless Air.

V.

Now is the time, from our too patient Neck,
That ancient Yoke, wherewith we' are gall'd, to break,
And from our Eyes the Vail to lay aside,
Which both the Ene'mies weakness, and our strength does hide.
And now, my Friend, is an occasion seen,
Wherein you may those Virtues show,
Which part from Heav'n you have, and part have gaind below;
The Trophies of your Tongue, and learned Pen
Nor will it longer any Wonder be,
Tho you of Orpheus, and Amphion read,
Whose Songs tam'd Beasts, and Stones did lead,
When of your own a greater Miracle you see,
And Men more Deaf, and Salvager than they,
Led by your Skill, go where you point the Way.
When Italy, awak'ned by the sound
Of your loud Voice, and all her Sons around,
Rise from their sleep, expecting that bright Day,
When they' may get him Laurels, who with Thorns was Crownd.
Ne're had that Aged Mother yet,
An opportunity so fair, her Sons a cause more great.

VI.

Thou, who to' enrich the Treasure of thy Brain,
Hast many a flying Roll turnd o're,
Of th' present Times, and those that went before,
And on those Wings to Heav'n aloft dost soar,
Seeing the Fates of Empires all beneath Thee plain;
Full well Thou knowst how in the Roman State,
From the first Day that Mars his Son,
In Blood laid its Foundation,
Till great Augustus, who thrice entred the triumphal Gate,
Rome of her Blood was ever free,
And for the Wrongs her Alleys bore,
Without regret that Sacrifice could see:
And shall she now more sparing be,
When stricter Bands, and sacred Piety,
Expect, and challenge more,
Her Saviour to revenge, and Sepul'cher to restore?
What help can Nature yield, or Art,
Or what faint hopes inforce the Enemies part,
When from Christ's Hand is thrown the first & fatal Dart?

VII.

Think of Proud Xerxes bold design,
Who to approach and tread our Shore
Europe and Asia, with a Bridg did joyn,
And Seas an Outrage bore,
Which Rivers only felt unwillingly before.
The Persian Dames, who thought to Greet
Their Husbands Victo'ries, and their Conquests meet,
At their o're-throw confounded stood,
In Black they Mourn'd, and th' Hellespont triumph'd in Blood.
Nor is't this Naval Victory alone,
Which like Success does promise you;
But the unlucky Marathon,
To th' Father so, as Thermopyle was to the Son,
When brave Leonidas, with but a few,
Maintain'd those Straits, and like a Lion flew,
Or Eagle on the Prey, and did more than Subdue.
With thousand Histories more,
Which you'my Friend, have heard and read, and treasur'd up in store.
Wherefore the least which you can do,
Devoutly is that God to Praise,
Who for such haypy Times, and hopes has cast your Days.