 | Poems on Affairs of State |  |
A Congratulatory Poem to his Royal Highness the Prince of Orange.
Welcome, Great Sir, unto a drooping Isle,
Whose Peace a slavish Thraldom did beguile:
Whose native and just Properties infring'd,
Whose Fundamental Laws are quite unhing'd;
Whose Rights are in unequal Ballance weigh'd,
Whose fainting Church cries out to you for Aid.
Welcome thou grand Supporter of her Cause;
Welcome thou great Restorer of our Laws!
Wise Heav'n thought fit that You alone should be
The Antidote against our Misery:
That all our Wishes should in You be crown'd,
That You alone should heal our bleeding Wound.
You are the Rock on whom we do rely,
With You we'll swim or sink, we'll live or die.
You gently rule us with your awful Nod;
You are our Standard, and almost our God.
The State and the declining Church invite
You, the vast Center of their chief Delight:
They beg that you their Darkness would expel,
And make a Heav'n e'en of their present Hell.
'Tis done! Rejoice, the rising Sun appears,
His splendid Rays dry up our falling Tears.
We'll hate the meager Looks of Sorrow now,
With Laurel Leaves true Joy shall crown each Brow.
Whose Peace a slavish Thraldom did beguile:
Whose native and just Properties infring'd,
Whose Fundamental Laws are quite unhing'd;
Whose Rights are in unequal Ballance weigh'd,
Whose fainting Church cries out to you for Aid.
Welcome thou grand Supporter of her Cause;
Welcome thou great Restorer of our Laws!
Wise Heav'n thought fit that You alone should be
The Antidote against our Misery:
That all our Wishes should in You be crown'd,
That You alone should heal our bleeding Wound.
You are the Rock on whom we do rely,
With You we'll swim or sink, we'll live or die.
You gently rule us with your awful Nod;
You are our Standard, and almost our God.
The State and the declining Church invite
You, the vast Center of their chief Delight:
They beg that you their Darkness would expel,
And make a Heav'n e'en of their present Hell.
'Tis done! Rejoice, the rising Sun appears,
His splendid Rays dry up our falling Tears.
248
With Laurel Leaves true Joy shall crown each Brow.
You, mighty Prince, our boasting Foes subdue,
And curb the Pride of all the Popish Crew.
With hazard of your Life our Chains you've broke,
And bravely freed us from the hated Yoke.
With vast Expence you have our Freedom bought;
From th'House of Bondage you our Church have brought.
And curb the Pride of all the Popish Crew.
With hazard of your Life our Chains you've broke,
And bravely freed us from the hated Yoke.
With vast Expence you have our Freedom bought;
From th'House of Bondage you our Church have brought.
Hence, Jesuits, ye Instruments of Hell!
Who fill with easy Souls the Devil's Cell.
To cheat and gull the Ignorant's your Trade:
You're subtle Devils all in Masquerade.
Wretches, be gone to some more sensless Land;
'Tis Sacred, hallow'd Ground, on which you stand,
And shall not be profan'd thus basely twice
By such a horrid Trumpery of Vice.
Hence Popery, thou Bane of all our Bliss,
Thou treach'rous Pois'ner of our Happiness.
Unfetter'd now, and free at last from pain,
We'll never reassume thy galling Chain.
Who fill with easy Souls the Devil's Cell.
To cheat and gull the Ignorant's your Trade:
You're subtle Devils all in Masquerade.
Wretches, be gone to some more sensless Land;
'Tis Sacred, hallow'd Ground, on which you stand,
And shall not be profan'd thus basely twice
By such a horrid Trumpery of Vice.
Hence Popery, thou Bane of all our Bliss,
Thou treach'rous Pois'ner of our Happiness.
Unfetter'd now, and free at last from pain,
We'll never reassume thy galling Chain.
Now Petre, die a Martyr for thy Church,
And leave not Holy Mother in the lurch.
Fly swiftly now to Heaven in a String!
But first absolve your poor deluded King.
And leave not Holy Mother in the lurch.
Fly swiftly now to Heaven in a String!
But first absolve your poor deluded King.
What Change is this? under a strange disguise,
The great Lord Wem's become George Jefferies.
This is his Fate: he'll dreaded Tyburn view,
And so bid Arbitrary Law adieu,
And make his long-expected Dream prove true.
The great Lord Wem's become George Jefferies.
This is his Fate: he'll dreaded Tyburn view,
And so bid Arbitrary Law adieu,
And make his long-expected Dream prove true.
Then Herbert, Wright, and Jenner steer their Course
The same broad way as you, poor George, did yours.
Then come the rest of the Fraternity,
Sworn, faithful Brothers in Iniquity:
For when their Captain has his Life resign'd,
They, gen'rous Souls, will scorn to lag behind.
The same broad way as you, poor George, did yours.
Then come the rest of the Fraternity,
Sworn, faithful Brothers in Iniquity:
For when their Captain has his Life resign'd,
They, gen'rous Souls, will scorn to lag behind.
249
Repent ye base Betrayers of your Trust,
To your reproaching Consciences unjust;
False to your Country, to your King untrue;
Religion's but an empty Name with you.
Hang now like Dogs, 'tis meet you should inherit
The full and due proportion of your Merit.
To your reproaching Consciences unjust;
False to your Country, to your King untrue;
Religion's but an empty Name with you.
Hang now like Dogs, 'tis meet you should inherit
The full and due proportion of your Merit.
Justice is done! I hear Great Orange come,
And with Concern pronounce your fatal Doom.
England rejoice! for now your only Care
Is, but the Burden of your Bliss to bear.
Strip ev'ry Laurel, ev'ry Myrtle Bough,
For Wreaths t'adorn and load his Sacred Brow.
Echo with chearful Shouts his glorious Name,
Th'amazing Wonder and Discourse of Fame.
Ring Bells; a waxen Pope in Fire destroy,
And shew all outward Acts of inward Joy.
The Lambs do play, the Birds by Instinct sing,
As if it were at the approach of Spring:
And ev'ry Creature makes a Melody;
Do all things else rejoice, and shall not I?
I'll be the first, and will in humble Verse
Your noble Deeds and glorious Acts rehearse.
And with Concern pronounce your fatal Doom.
England rejoice! for now your only Care
Is, but the Burden of your Bliss to bear.
Strip ev'ry Laurel, ev'ry Myrtle Bough,
For Wreaths t'adorn and load his Sacred Brow.
Echo with chearful Shouts his glorious Name,
Th'amazing Wonder and Discourse of Fame.
Ring Bells; a waxen Pope in Fire destroy,
And shew all outward Acts of inward Joy.
The Lambs do play, the Birds by Instinct sing,
As if it were at the approach of Spring:
And ev'ry Creature makes a Melody;
Do all things else rejoice, and shall not I?
I'll be the first, and will in humble Verse
Your noble Deeds and glorious Acts rehearse.
| Poems on Affairs of State | |