University of Virginia Library

The Prince's Welcome to London.

Hail mighty Prince! this Poem on you waits
As the first Offering that celebrates
Your Welcome to the Town, almost destroy'd
By Priestcraft, and by You again reviv'd.
This glorious Day, in which all Triumphs live,
To Heav'n and You alone, Great Sir, we give.
You from the Dust have rais'd our grov'ling State,
Which hung upon the weakest Wheel of Fate.
An Act so high, and past Mankind's believing,
That none but You could e'er think of atchieving:
Yet more! all who this Nation would inthral,
Compleat your Triumph by their wretched Fall.
But what doth Heav'n portend, that they design
To act some thing that's Noble and Divine?
Prophetick Stars this happy time ne'er knew,
This Secret lodg'd in none but Heav'n and You.
Now clear'd from sullen Frowns our Realms are blest,
And in the Umbrage of your Laurels rest.
While Joy, like Lightning in tempestuous Storms,
Dazles the World, and fills it with Alarms.
Joy now to loudest Triumph make its way,
And we no diff'rence know 'tween Night and Day.
Our Souls transported, in strong Raptures move,
And yet united are in artless Love.
Joy now and Love so very well agree,
As if this Year were the Great Jubilee.
To Care and Bus'ness we'll no time allow,
Since deathless Laurels flourish on your Brow.
Go on, brave Prince! What cannot you effect,
Whom Heav'n with prosperous Stars does still protect?
Let France now feel the Fury of your Sword;
Rescue that Kingdom from its Tyrant Lord:
Pull down his haughty Pride, too long secure,
And with his impious Blood Lutetia's Plains manure.