University of Virginia Library

To the French King.

See, thou Disturber of the World's Repose,
Your rotting Brother warns you of your Close.
Your British Friend too moulders in his Tomb,
And wasted Armies call you to your Doom.
VVhat Shoals of Gallick Ghosts from Eugene's Sword,
(Eugene, by whom our dying Hope's restor'd)
Fled thro th'Italian Air, and curs'd their Lord?
But you must go, the Leveller of Kings
Draws nigh Versailes, and the late Summons brings:
While Worms, unkinder than your Maintenon,
Wait for that Head swell'd with a double Crown;
Impatiently expect the destin'd Skull
Of Schemes and Thrones, and injur'd Treaties full.
Methinks I see 'em revel in his Brain,
Where midnight Projects of dire Conclaves reign;
Mazes of Mischiefs to involve the Earth
In Blood and Woe, which thence derive their Birth.
Methinks I see 'em skirmish for Le Grand,
Each Royal Vein's by eager Reptiles drain'd,
Confus'dly roving, like his Soldiers Flight
Thro their Cremona in the German Night.
But O! This Scene creates a Sacred Awe,
Makes the Muse tremble, while she strives to draw
Our Nature levell'd to that dreaded Law.
But if that Grand Destroyer would make haste,
And spight of Fagon, make him breath his last,
The World from thence would find a time to breath,
That's only hop'd for from that Stroke of Death.
Nations would thank him for that grateful Blow,
And rescu'd Armies with their Standards bow:
The British, Belgic, Neapolitan,
The German, Spaniard, and the Mantuan.
Cou'd we but see him safe within his Tomb,
And France in Mourning for their Monarch's Doom,
The Sight would please beyond the Pomp of Rome:
While Groves of Cypress, and the Baneful Yew
Europe would send, its Sentiments to shew,
And heap 'em on him for a Grand Adieu.