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Britannia Triumphans

In Four Parts ... Sacred to XXVIII May; The Anniversary of the High and Mighty Prince's Birth, George Lewis, by the Grace of God, and Laws of Heaven and Earth, King of Great Britain, France and Ireland ... By Alexander Pennecuik
 

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MAGNALIA,
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9

MAGNALIA,

A STATE POEM.

By the same Hand.
O were my Muse, inspir'd with sacred Flame,
To sing the Race from whence our Monarch came,
But how shall I perform the wondrous Task,
Which doth a Salust, or Buchanan ask;
Shall I turn publick Herauld, and proclaim
His Syres's Deeds, and his unspotted Fame,
Born in a Land, not honour'd with his Birth,
Blazon his Coat, display it to the Earth:
What Pen, his noble Ancestors can trace,
The Normand Gwelph, and the Fergusian Race,
His Families were ancient, great and good,
From him the noblest Kings derive their Blood;
As well might I describe, for where's the odds,
The Rise of Jupiter, and remnant Gods:
Elder than Records, as by all confest,
Like Gods, they were known, by their Blessings best.
One thousand and three hundred Years ago,
As Documents and Antiquaries show;

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Our Monarch's Royal Ancestors did spring,
As learned Baptista proves from Volcis King,
Who did, as Vicar o're the Italian Empire reign.
Baptista Pigna, faithfully exprest,
The Rise and Progress of the House of Est',
From whence ev'n Actius's Loins great Alba's King,
Azo, his Progenitor did spring.
No! my weak Pen can't tell his Pedegree,
Baptista, I must leave the Theme to thee:
Do you relate the Actions of the dead,
From whom our mighty Monarch doth proceed.
Whilst I go on, his Greatness to relate,
Whom God hath sent to rule the British State.
Proceed my Muse, resume the lofty Theme,
Sing Him who wears the British Diadem,
Th' astonish'd World beheld him mount the Throne,
With Tears the Jacks, and Jesuits look'd on:
No Arm durst lend its Strength to tot'ring Babylon.
Proud Pharaoh fell, who did Design t'oppose,
Silence, and Palsie, seiz'd surviving Foes,
Winds wast o're peaceful Seas the royal Barque,
Proud of the Trust, to bear the sacred Ark:
Waves smoothly roll him to his Albion's Shore,
As they their Adm'ral, Nassau, did before;
The Floods, with awful Nod, take their farewel,
And haste to Neptun's Courts, the News to tell,
To the great God, their welcome Tidings bring,
Greenwich from us receiv'd Britannia's King:
We wisht him happy on his English Ground,
And all the Hopes of Jacobites we drown'd;
Neptune approv'd, Commands, and they obey,
Go, and proclaim him Sovereign of the Sea.
This is my Royal Law, Let it be done,
Acquaint the rising and the setting Sun;
First visit Clyde, and tell Dumbartoun this,
Is not the Clyde as well as Aller his?

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No moe than Two, upon the Sea shall reign,
Neptune shall be its God, and George its King;
Publish my Edict the old World through,
And when that's done, go tell it to the new;
East and west Indies, where his Subjects Trade,
Let ev'ry Soul and Colony be glade.
Ye faithful Vassals listen unto me,
Thro' the wide Ocean publish the Decree,
I'm with my Brother Eolus combin'd,
(As I the Waters rule, so he the Wind.)
That no fierce Blast, with angry Billow meet,
T' endanger England's Merchant on the Deep,
Or fatal prove to brave Britannia's Fleet.
Smooth be your Brow, let no bold Billow rore,
Bring them with Smiles and Safety to the Shore,
See that your violent Fury you restrain,
For Eolus will keep back his Hurricane,
Spend all your Strength on Britain's Enemy,
Your Bosom be their Grave, and Shame their Elegy.
Thus spoke the mighty God with awful Voice,
The flinty Rock split with the thundring Noise;
The loyal Waves with reverence kiss'd the Sand,
And said Amen, unto the God's Command.
'Twas not the Sea alone express'd its Mirth,
Loud Acclamations ecchoed from the Earth;
For Joy. Britannia and Hibernia sung,
Thro' all the Belgian Plain loud Anthems rung,
Smiles dimpled ev'ry Cheek, Mirth sat on ev'ry Brow,
The Harp play'd sweet, its free of Discord now.
The Thistle, which 'mongst Weeds no longer grows,
Newly united to the fragrant Rose,
To smart the Hand which would its Sister pluck,
More beautiful than Fleur de Lis doth look:
With ruddy Cheeks, and odorif'rous Smell,
The Rose doth joy in silent Language tell,
Lifts up her painted Face unto the Sky,
And shews her Scarlets of the Tyrian Dy:

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Each Flower grew gayer, when it heard the Tale,
Only the Lily wore a deeper Pale:
Truth in the Field, her Standart did display,
Religion glister'd, in a rich Array;
The Sacred Tribe, bliss Heav'n with open Face,
All loyal Souls croud to the holy Place,
Adore th' unfathom'd Riches of its Grace.
Joy reign'd triumphant thro' the Halcyon Plain,
Until a viprous Monster spoil'd the Scene,
Then War broke out, and dash'd the Joy again.
'Twas on Dumblana's Heaths, near the meandring Forth,
Fierce Rebels from the North,
The Chevalier to crown,
And God-like George pull down,
With impious Arms broke forth,
Fond to sluce their Blood they are,
Follow their Leader, Proteous Mar
Factious in Peace, unskill'd in Fates of War.
But Heav'n defeated all the Plots of Hell,
King George's Arms did all their Strength repell,
Infatuated Fools, they either fled or fell.