The works of Sir William Mure of Rowallan :: :: University of Virginia Library

Thy countrey's heart doth bleed, her grieves are great,
Both fraud and force conspire against her State.
Her native liberties encroach'd on are,
Which, gain'd with honour, honourably were
From time to time maintain'd, against the pride,
And power, of all that durst against her side.
Her violated Lawes; the civill Right
Of Subjects shaken; Justice, mar'd by might;
Religion vex'd and wrong'd; (that sacred Band
Of Amitie, and Union of the Land,
The solide Pillar which the State sustaines,
By which cemented, firme each piece remains;)
Christ's cause, yea Crowne, in question; by the bands
Of duetie, by the pow'r put in thy hands,
(The regall Scepter, Diadem, and Sword,
In Faith's defence, entrusted by thy LORD)
Conjure Thee, while the lowring Skies portend
A Tempest, to the danger to attend,
And wisely to His interest to advert,
Who count will crave how acted is thy part.

Those, whom eclipses, more than Sun-light please,
(The birds of prey, which gape for gaine), Those flies

Which feed upon infection and stinke,
Our Camels, which but troubled streames can drinke,
Division's Cataracts would open keep,
And kindle quarrels which lye buried deep,
That Brethren, Pillars of the royall Throne,
By God, and Nature, under Thee, made one,
One bundell of united shafts; a Band
Not easie to be brash'd by stranger's hand,
May (thus) be weakened, and receive a wound,
Endangering both, which shall not soone be sound.

But ah! to thinke, that Thou whose aide wee call,
The people's Parent; Watch-man on our wall:
The Geometrick point, with eaven Aspect,
Bound all thy bounding Borders to respect;
The Head, the Heart of the Republicke, made
A God, a Judge, set over good and bade;
That Thou thy royall Banners shouldst display,
By Justice' Sword, to make thy passion way,
Against a Nation from defection free,
Who heavens dare face, for their integritie;
O depth of woe! O hight of passing griefe!
That Thine, who supplicate by Thee reliefe,
Must arme: and at uncertaine bloud's expense,
Bee forc'd unto an innocent defence.

Dread Soveraigne, Son of Mars, if arme thou wilt,
No drop of bloud let bee in Britaine spilt.
March, and all Europe shall be put in fray,
The Alpes, the Perinees, shall make Thee way.
Thy neighbouring state, with Olives shall attend,
Thy right's decision while thou dost suspend.
The Rhine, whose streams are swolne with tears shall smile
And fears of longer servitude exile.
Rome's wals shall tremble, proud Madrid shall quaik,
When with joynt-forces thou the fields shall take
With warriours, more then men, thy Britanies bold
Attended; who for feare nor force will fold.

Thy sea-wall'd world huge colonies shall spair,
For peopling kingdomes which usurped are
By Tyrants bold and blinde, the foes of Truth.
Yea, Thou shall lead, with Albion's choicest youth,
(The worthies and the wits of either land)
Our Archimeds, who with industrious hand
Reach Nature's depths, reviving Dedal's arts.
Thy Scots, with Gyants' hands and Lyons' hearts,
Shall gallantly go on, who whiles they arme,
Shall give at once the stroke and the alarme,
And undismaid, at danger, death, or blows,
Shall fall, like fire and lightning on thy foes.
Thus shalt thou wing thy fame, and with skill'd hand,
Divert the wakened humours of the land;
And, to amazed Europ's terror, lead
A mighty body, moving with their head.