Iberia Liberata :: :: University of Virginia Library

Iberia Liberata

A Poem. Occasion'd By the Success of Her Majesties Arms in Catalonia, Valentia, &c. Under the Command of The Right Honourable Charles, Earl of Peterborough and Monmouth, General of Her Majesties Forces in Spain, and Joynt Admiral of the Royal Fleet [by John Oldmixon]

(1673-1742)

[epigraph]

[section]

TO THE Right Honourable THE COUNTESS OF PETERBOROUGH.

IBERIA LIBERATA: A POEM, &c.

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TO THE Right Honourable THE COUNTESS OF PETERBOROUGH.

Madam,

The Muse at awful Distance lays
This Off'ring at your Feet, a Hymn of Praise;
To whom but you can she present her Song,
To whom the Subject does entire belong.

'Tis yours, 'tis Mordaunt, who is all your own,
His Heart, his Fortune, and his high renown:
For Heav'n who form'd you so divinely fair,
Decreed that you shou'd all the Hero share.

Beauty and Wit the Mighty Maker gave
To Woman to reward the Great and Brave,
To wing their Winter Hours, and sooth their Cares,
And sweeten the Fatigues of Camps and Wars.
Beauty and Wit and ev'ry charming Grace
Which brightens and adorns the Mind & Face,
The Pow'r creating, has in you exprest,
And Him with ev'ry Manly Virtue blest.

The Pleasure Beauty gives is an excess,
And nothing in excess can always please;
Things exquisitively fine will soonest cloy,
And Man's too apt to surfeit e'en of Joy:
But then the Rapture's lasting when 'tis joyn'd,
With Wit, the winning Beauty of the Mind,
Wit warms Society by pleasing Strife,
And quickens, and refines the sweets of Life;
Wit's always gay, agreeable and new,
And pleases when it bites and when it flatters too.
Their mutual aid they to each other lend,
Beauty is Wit's and Wit is Beauty's Friend,

But when with Virtue, as in you, they shine,
The Transport is Eternal and Divine.

Love the first Passion that the Soul desires,
That every Great and Gallant Act inspires,
Without Ambition is the boast of Fools,
But when it serves and Glory only rules,
It gives the Hero's Character a Grace,
Which Fortune cannot wrong, nor Time deface.

The Love of Beauty and the Love of Fame
United, kindle an Immortal Flame,

Fierce as the Fires that light the Starry Skies,
Fierce as the Fires that sparkle in your Eyes,
Yet pure as those which in the Vestal Urns
Were kept, or in your purer Bosom burns.

Fame, Conquest and the various pomp of War
Are Trophies for the Triumphs of the Fair.
Forth when the Hero to the Battle goes,
To Love, the Fortune of the Field he vows:
The smiling Image of some Charming Dame
Lives in his Breast, and lights his Martial Flame,
And all the Glory to his Valour due
Reflects on her, as Mordaunt's does on You.

Valour the Noblest Virtue of the Mind
Is Brutal, when with Wit it is not joyn'd,
Wit tames the fierceness of the Warriours Fire,
Corrects his Fury and creates Desire.

Oh matchless Pair! above all Mortals blest,
Of ev'ry Grace, and ev'ry Good possest,
Long may your Stars with friendly Aspect shine,
And shed their happy Influence on your Line,
May Mordaunt, your Illustrious Image, share
His Sire's Renown, and be his Son in War.

Early he Fought for Liberty and Ann,
And grew a Hero sooner than a Man;
If in his Dawn his Glory shines so bright,
What Eyes will bear his full Meridian Light,
When his great Father's mighty Acts enflame
His Spirit in the burning Chace of Fame.

Madam,

The forward Muse presumes too far,
She knows her Crime and yet she can't forbear:
With Pride, from you she will her Doom receive,
But cannot more offend than you forgive,

As plain her Words, her meaning is sincere,
Warm is her Wish and Hearty is her Pray'r:
May Mordaunt ever Conquer, and his Son
The same Career with equal Glory run,
May ev'ry Year your mutual Joys renew.
And you be blest in them and they in you.

Madam, Your Ladyships most Humble and most Obedient Servant, J. Oldmixon.

IBERIA LIBERATA: A POEM, &c.

Again, my Muse! for Lofty Flights prepare
To Sing the Triumphs of th'Iberian War,
Far to the South the flying Gauls pursue,
And a New Scene of Anna's Glory view;
Far as the Bounds of Africk's burning Shoar,
New Realms the British Arms New Toils explore,
New Labours for the willing Bards they bring,
But Conquer faster than the Muse can Sing,
Let their Great Acts thy weaker Soul inspire
With Fancy Bright as their Ætherial Fire,

Let Mordaunt's Mighty Deeds and Matchles Flame
Raise the Low Voice and give thy Songs a Name,
Begin and with extended Pinions soar
Beyond where Scylla and Charybdis roar,

The Poets feign'd the former to be turn'd into a Rock, lying near the Town and Promontory of Sciglio in the Kingdom of Naples, and the latter to be Metamorphos'd into a Gulph over against it, in the Capo-di-Faro of Messina in Sicily.

Or Britains e're their Hostile Ensigns bore.
The Pious Queens Imperial Fleet conveys
Her Conquering Legions to the Mid-Land Seas,

or Mediterranean.

With wonder Neptune from his Liquid Throne,
Beholds a Pow'r superiour to his Own.
Scarce can the Waves the pondrous Load sustain,
And the Winds beat their Canvas Wings in vain,
Huge Castles on the Deep a Moving Wood
He Spies, and Trembles for his Native Flood,
Nereids and Tritons in their Oazy Cells,

So call'd because Saturn the Father, and Jupiter the Brother of Neptune are said to have Reign'd in Crete, an Island in the Mediterranean Sea, known in Modern Story by the Name of Candia.

Hang up their Coral Lyres and Vocal Shells,
The Nymphs to Sing, the Dolphins cease to Play
While Neptune to Britannia yields the Sway;
Shovel asserts her Empire on the Main,
And Anne o're all the Watry World shall reign.

Anna, the first of Monarchs and the best,
Who Wars for Peace, who blesses and is blest,
VVho rules Her Kingdoms with such equal care,
That Jarring Sects are reconcil'd in Her,
Ev'n Discords Sons their Lewd Divisions cease,
Curse their rude Clamours and submit to Peace;
And those whom Duty could not tame nor Fear
Obey the Royal Virtues they revere.
Revenge, their Fury, flags her Balefull Wings,
And the whole Hydra hides her hundred Stings.
No Hearts to Pray, nor Hands refuse to Fight
For Her, but all in Anna's Praise Unite,
Virtue to Her will never Kneel in vain,
Nor Want nor Worth with fruitless Tears complain:
Kings wrong'd by Tyranny and States opprest
For Succour fly to Her and are redrest;
Thus Her whole Life, Her Pow'r she thus employs,
And scatters the vast Blessings She enjoys:

Diffusive of Her Glories, like the Day,
She breaks through Night and drives the Clouds away.
Fain wou'd she give the Warring World repose,
That Vice and Virtue might be only Foes,
For this her Fleets, her Armies she employs,
Not like the Gaul who what he Wins destroys,
Not to extend Her Empire, or maintain,
Like Him, an Arbitrary Impious Reign;
She Wars the Freedom of the World to save
And humble Him who would the whole enslave.
Heav'n smiles upon Her Great, Her Glorious Aim,
Approves her Cause, and Crowns her Arms with Fame.
But, as with bloody Purpose he prepares
His Host, and meditates Unrighteous Wars,
So Heav'n defeats his Insolent Designs,
And Vindicates his oft affronted Shrines;
When with false Fires he makes his Temples blaze,
And Lewdly turns Devotion to Grimace,
When Hymns of Mimick Joy he Sings to hide
His balkt Ambition and his baffled Pride.

But Anna no dissembled Incense burns,
For real Conquests, real Praise returns,
And for the Victors Joys and for the Vanquish'd mourns.
Anne, the True Guardian Angel of our Isle,
From Blood defends us and secures from Spoyl.
Were She what other Conqu'ring Pow'rs have been,
We soon might see Her Universal Queen:
Above such vain Dominion she rejects
The Sway, and leaves it to the Tyrant Sex,
To Man a Savage with a thoughtful Soul,
Greedy of Rule, and raging to Controul,
Who boundless Pow'r with Brutal Hunger craves,
And Lusts to see the Subject World his Slaves;
Worse than the Fell destroyers of the Wood
Whose rav'nous Maws are often gorg'd with Blood.
But Man, insatiate in his thirst of Sway,
Treats all like Slaves that won't his Will Obey,
His Will, tho' Wild and Changing as the Wind,
For Justice he imposes on Mankind;

The Measure of his Actions is his Might,
And what he pleases to Usurp is Right:
Thus, when by sudden Force or secret Fraud
His Pride triumphs, he stiles Himself a God,
Swells with a series of successful Wars,
And Mounts and Seats himself among the Stars,
There with malignant Aspect views the World,
Till down like Lewis to the Deep he's hurl'd:
For Heav'ns dread Vengeance tho its Pace is slow,
Strikes Home and brings the proud Aspirer Low.
Man was by Gods Immutable Decree
Form'd in his own eternal Likeness Free,
Free in his Person like his mighty Mind,
By Reason to be rul'd, by Law confin'd,
And Law and Reason are in Anna joyn'd.
Less for Herself than for the General Good,
She greatly has Tyrannick Rage withstood,
Asserting in the Field and on the Main
The glorious Charter that asserts her Reign;

For though to Native Freedom we pretend
That Freedom does in due Obedience end:
Since Liberty were Licence, were the Crowd
In all the Madness of their Ways allow'd.
One Sovereign Ruler must o're all preside,
And one anointed Head the Many guide;
And who and what this Mighty One shou'd be,
In Anne with Wonder and Delight we see.

In Anna Liberty has lost her Name,
But though the Sound is chang'd, the Sense is still the same.
Who Fought for Freedom will for Anna Fight,
And with their own defend their Sov'reigns right,
Whose Glory and whose Interest are theirs,
Her People's is the Joy, the Trouble Hers;
For them she often breaks her Downy rest,
And loads with anxious Cares Her Sacred Breast,

For them the softness of her Sex Foregoes,
To bid the Battel, and Chastise their Foes.
Oh Virtue! perfect, and from Error free,
As Virtue in an Erring VVorld can be:
Oh Heavenly Excellence! ye Slaves forbear

There are some Persons of a certain Party so very Civil, that they think it ill manners to call a Common Cheat a Rascal, or a Highway-man a Rogue; these nice Gentlemen will not excuse the Author, for that Juvenal and our own Oldham have been more free in their Expressions. Indeed he agrees with them so far as to confess, that in Private Satyr fine Raillery is more decent and effectual than courser Language, but in Publick, where the Poet has to deal with the disturbers of the Peace and wellfare of the Kingdom, Tenderness and Complaisance would be as much out of season, as if one Man should hold his Hat under his Arm while another was about to cut his Throat. Villany can come from my Body but Villains, nor Slavery, from any but Slaves, and tho' 'tis a little too severe to give so hard Words to private Persons for private Offences, yet none can be bad enough, nor publick enough, to mark such who make it their business to distract their Country with groundless Jealousies, and shew a tendency to betray her Liberty to a foreign Tyrant.

To vex with Discords vile her Royal Ear;
Forbear ye Rout, Ungrateful and Obscene!
To Sin against so Good so Great a Queen;
Nor by your Murmurs like the Damn'd destroy
The fullness of the Bliss You might enjoy;
Around ye hear! the Nations shout her Praise,
Hear the glad Crowds their chearful Voices raise
To wish her Length of Joy and Length of Days,
VVhile you alone are Silent or Blaspheme
VVith Rage Infernal, when they bless her Name
Horrid Impiety! whose Front defies
The Fiery Storms and Thunders of the Skies;
VVith Anna you offend th'Eternal Pow'rs,
And France and Hell ally'd are only yours.

VVhat wou'd Ye? You who for the Publick Good
VVere once so clamorous and spoke so loud.
Nassau, the British Moses is no more,
Yet Faction's still as rampant as before;
Nassau by whom you were from Bondage freed,
You Living hated, and you hate him Dead.
As Descord in the Desert long prevail'd
O're Israel's Race, as they at Moses rail'd:
So you your Great Deliverer Blasphem'd,
So Sin'd, and may you ne're be so condemn'd.
In Anna's Happy Reign you sit at ease
Beneath your Vines, and see your Stores increase;
With equal Hand her Favour she bestows,
And first among your Selves her Rulers chose;
A thousand Errors she with Patience bore,
And still wou'd have excus'd a thousand more;
Had you to Penitence and Peace inclin'd,
And been as Dutiful as she was Kind;

Had you the Folly or the Fraud confest,
With Favour you had still, with Pow'r been blest
But giddy with the Pow'r you held, she saw
Your Leaders were too mad to rule by Law,
And as the Law's the Measure of her Reign,
She heard your wicked Councils with Disdain.
Some with extravagant affected Zeal,
Disturb'd the Publick Peace and Publick Weal,
Religion was the Cant, the Common Cry,
As if, Stupidity! the Foe was nigh;
Some, of their Preference Establish'd Proud,
Were Angry with the Peace to differing Sects allow'd.
Absurd Hypocrisy! the thin Disguise,
Discovers the Deceit to Vulgar Eyes;
Ev'n Boys and Dotards, what you mean perceive,
And none but Idiots the pretence believe.
'Tis boundless Lust of Arbitrary Pow'r,
That those you can't controul you might devour.

For this your Doctors insolently Preach,
And old exploded Passive Tenets teach,
False Doctrine, to corrupt their Flocks, revive,
And keep Division by their Heat alive;
For this your Poets paltry Satyrs Write,
Your Sophists Argue, and your Bullies Fight,
For this the flowing Goblet's often Crown'd,
With vigorous Juice, and wicked Healths go round,
The Rural Mansion rings with Drunken Zeal,
And round the spacious Hall the Roaring Bigots reel;
Loud Oaths and Imprecations reach the Sky,
The Temple is their Care, the Temple is their Cry,

This part of the Poem was written before our most Gracious Sovereign, and Truly Noble English Senate, now Sitting, had declar'd so solemnly, that those Malecontents who pretend the Church is in Danger, are Enemies to the Government and the Establish'd Religion. This being the Sense of the Queen, the Parliament, all good Subjects and good Englishmen, and the real truth of the Matter, there needs no Apology for the Authors plainness here. However the Publick Authority having taken such notice of their evil Practices, he should have left 'em to the Publick Resentment, as Persons that deserve a severer Lash than that of Satyr, had the late Declarations been put forth when he wrote these Verses.

The Temple—So with horrid Yell the Jews
Of Levy's Lordly Tribe, did God accuse,
God, who a form of Human Flesh assum'd,
To save a World to Death Eternal Doom'd,
This hated Race with horrid Treasons charg'd,
And slew the Saviour, and the Thief enlarg'd.

Thus you the Heads of your Religion curse,
And Vipers in her Breast to wound her Nurse.
What can this Bustle, these Reproaches mean?
Can any of You fear to trust your Queen?
Who's most concern'd in Love and Duty too,
The Queen, the Fathers of the Church, or You?
Are Her best Sons, Her Pious Sage Divines,
And those who visit oft Her Holy Shrines,
Such as with Charity and Meekness pay
Their Vows, or Such as rather Rail than Pray,
Afraid of Her approaching Fate and Fall,
And only would prevent it. Monstrous All!
Wou'd L---y, or the Lewdest of the Fry
Allarm us if an Enemy was Nigh?
Are only Mad Sachev---l and his Crew,
St---bs, Til---y, and the vile Apostate True;
Can those who wou'd their Countries Cause betray
Plead Hearty for that Church with whom they will not Pray;

Have none rich Livings and warm Seats to loose,
But the Proud Prophets on the C---m and O---se?

The Sophists of the Faction exclaim'd against Insinuate, that the Cry against the Corruption of the Univ---ties is carry'd on by such as are Enemies to Virtue and Learning; this is as false as the pretence of an Infamous Writer of Dis-affected Principles, that the design of those who speak against the Sedition and Lewdness of too many of the Inferiour Clergy, is to expose the Church. His own bad Qualities are a sufficient proof that Learning may be abus'd, and that every Priest is not a Divine. If the Univ---ties encourage the Animosities in the Kingdom; if they oppose the Union so often recommended from the Throne; if upon all occasions they shew a bitterness of Spirit, which very ill agrees with the Character of Christian Teachers; if they breed up their Pupils in Notions destructive to the Publick Peace and Safety; if they are gentle in their Disciplince to gain upon them the more, and tollerate any Immorality; in short, if they are the Head of a Faction, which the Government declares to be Carrying on Designs they dare not own, by pretending the Establish'd Religion is in Danger, when they know 'twas never safer than now, 'twere better we should have no Learning at all, than have it from such Hands. But Learning is no more in Danger than the Church; and as the Piety of the Reverend Clergy of this City, and the Sober Part of the Ministry through the whole Kingdom, is enough to support the Church of England against all her Enemies; so their Learning, and the Learning of many worthy Englishmen without Orders, are enough to keep it in a flourishing Condition, were L---y and his whole Party silenc'd for ever.

Full of Themselves, and swelling with conceit,
They talk as if a Coll---dge was a State,
And every Principal as fit to Rule
A Mighty Kingdom as a Country School:
When Ease and Plenty is not grac'd with Pow'r,
Their Souls grow Sullen and their Sermons sour;
Ill Keepers these of Learnings Sacred Spring,
From whence the generous Youth shou'd virtuous Precepts bring;
If with the Arts they learnt the Love of Peace,
Dissention soon and Civil Jars would cease,
The Church as on a Rock would stand secure,
And Liberty as long as Time endure:
No more let Discord spread her Magick Charms,
Nor raise among the Britains false Allarms,
The Best of Queens; the Best of Senates shew,
What we, for whom is all their Care, shou'd do,

Like them let every Loyal Heart Unite,
And every Loyal Hand like Mordaunt Fight,
Till Anna Triumphs o're the Faithless Gaul,
And France at England's Feet for Peace shall fall,
Till by her Arms the Christian VVorld is Free,
And Happy both in Church and State as we.
Oh that my Muse with steady VVings could fly,
Thro' yon blew Space and reach the Upper Sky,
Amidst the VVorlds of Light I shou'd survey,
Above the lower Orbs and distant Day,
Some Radiant Luminary might appear,
Bright without spot and never changing clear,
The Regent of some Happy Clime who spreads
Her Beams around and kindly Influence sheds
VVith Gracious Aspect on the Subject Sphere,
And Crowns with everlasting Spring the Year,
Like Eden at the Young Creation Fair,
Till ruin'd by the First Offending Pair:

I'd Sing the new discover'd Star to shew
By that above what we enjoy below,
For Natures known Effects are all too mean,
All that our Ears have heard or that our Eyes have seen,
To give a Just Idea of the Queen.
Nor Homer's Fire, nor Virgil's Artful strein,
Can Paint with equal Force the VVonders of her Reign,
No Shades to guide us thro' the Starry VVay,
To give our Eyes repose and break the Day,
'Tis all Meridian Lustre, all so Bright.
It blinds us with a blaze of flowing Light.
Forbear, my Muse, and be content to View
The Golden Tract the Laurell'd Bards persue,
Leave thou the Sacred Subject to the Man,
VVho Sung in Lofty Numbers the Campaign,
VVhose Genius to the Theam can tune his Song,

Mr. Addison's Poem on the Victory at Bleinheim, so call'd.

VVith Harmony as Sweet and yet as strong,

Or him whose Lyre like David's Harp was strung,
And Bleinheim's Field with Heavenly raptures sung,
Thy VVing's too weak to try the dang'rous flight,

Mr. Dennis in his Poem on the same Subject, has endeavour'd to restore Poetry to its Primitive Use, to Sing the Creators Praise, and Adore his Mercy in his wonderful Providences for the good of his Creation.

Or reach a Lower, tho' a daring Height,
Of Fleets and Armies and their Chiefs to Sing,
And Spain subjected to her Rightful King.

By British Help the Austrian Eagle soars,
Sublimely and his Airy Realms explores,
Thro' gloomy Clouds he cuts his ready VVay,
And views with steady Eyes the burning Day,
Aloft inspir'd by Mordaunt's Name he flies,
And reaches in his Flight his Native Skies,
Lowly the Rebel Rout before him fall,
The Proud Iberian and Confederate Gaul,

Anne's Glory now the British Arms convey,
Where the Fierce Alans fix'd their barbarous Sway,

The Alans in the fifth Century broke into Spain, and the Goths also invaded it soon after. The Alans drove out the Romans, and the Goths drove both Romans and Alans out of Barcelona, where they seated themselves, and Astaulfus their King was murder'd: from the Invasions of the Goths and Alans, the whole Province took the Name of Gothalania by Corruption Catalonia.

And where in elder Times the Gothick Pow'rs
Plac'd their red Ensigns on the Roman Tow'rs.
Behold Britannia, Mistress of the Main,
Revenge Her Injur'd Friends on France and Spain.
Hark, how aloud Her awfull Lyon roars,
While her dread Navy rends th'Iberian Shoars,
Verst in the Art of Death Her Sons prepare
The gapeing Engines of the Brazen War;
And now her Troops descending seek the Gauls
Behind their Ditehes, and within their Walls.
For Barcelona, the disputed Prize,
They March, and to his Works the frighted Spaniard flies:
His Pride as ancient as his vaunted Race,
He in his Fear forgets, and solemn Pace,
No Majesty is in his Motion found,
But nimbly as the Gaul he skims the Ground.

To Mountjuich, which in vain obstructs their Way,

or Monjovi. The Fort before which the Prince of Hesse Darmstadt was kill'd.

The British Host advance in fair Array;
No Difficulties baulk their vast Designs,
They Mounds to Mounds oppose, and Mines to Mines;
Arms, Art, and every Martial Wile they try,
But most on their resistless Force rely:
For Mordaunt's Fire is of Ætherial Kind,
Active and Fierce, and not to be confin'd;
His Thoughts, struck out with judgment at a heat,
Are in the first conception Just and Great;
While other Hero's, who suspect their Pow'r,
By too much Caution loose the glorious Hour,
We often call their want of Courage, Care,
And for deep Policy mistake their Fear;

Such Councels are for Mordaunt's Flame too cold,
None suit his Genius but the Swift and Bold,
For Him when Victory suspends her Choice,
He strikes, and by surprize compells her Voice,
The Goddess, like a Young, a Willing Fair,
Will always for her forward Friend declare,
Like Her, she to the Bashful Lover's coy,
But yields to Him that dares to seize the Joy:
Thus Mordaunt like a blast of Lightning flew,
As Swift as Terrible to Mortal view,
Rush't on the Dame, and caught her to his Arms,
Constrain'd her to be kind, and rifled all her Charms,
Pleas'd with the Rape, she perch'd upon his Plume,
The Gaul's beheld her, and confest their Doom,
The Haughty Spaniards trembled at the sight,
Grew Loyal in their Fear, and own'd their Sovereigns Right,
But their New Friends forbad 'em to comply,
Tho' dreadful was the Choice, to Yield or Die,

Their King, their Laws and Liberty at once,

The Taijo or Tagus. The most noted River in Spain, fabled by the Poets to run on Golden Sands, but the Poverty of the present Inhabitants bordering upon it has fully destroy'd that Fiction.

These Slaves to Lewis and his Race, renounce.
Now to the Warriours view the Ramparts rise,
And Stony Towers that mate the Nether-Skies,
Dykes spacious as the Taijo's boasted Flood,
Full of foul Streams and suffocating Mud;
And treach'rous Ground, whose sulphrous Womb beneath,
Is stor'd with latent Fire and hidden Death,
Defend their destin'd Way. But see the Gauls
Fly to their Mountain Works and double Walls,
Before the dauntless Britains they retire,
And wish their Mounds did to the Clouds aspire,
Tho' Clouds for Mordaunt's Rage will be too low,
When his just Vengeance seeks the common Foe,
When Liberty and Anne, and deathless Fame
Light and enlarge his animating Flame.

Fair Liberty, the Goddess of his Vow,
He succour'd in Despair, and serves her now.
When the vile Partizans of Lawless Sway
In evil Times compell'd her to Obey,
To Him the Bright Divinity addrest
Her Plaint, and fir'd with Active Zeal his Breast,
Her Royal Champion to her Aid he brought,
And Bravely as he own'd her Cause he fought,
His Arms, his Eloquence alike prevail'd,
And all the Wicked Arts of Discord fail'd,
In vain the Fury rav'd and roar'd around,
She gnasht her Teeth in vain, and lasht the Ground,
She saw Britannia to her Rights restor'd,
And rag'd to see the beauteous Isle embrace her welcome Lord;

On Thee with Haggard Eyes aghast she lookt,
And mutt'ring hollow Sounds Infernal Aid invok't.
Hell heard her call, yet no relief could send,
While Britain had Nassau and Thee to Friend.
Thou Mordaunt! dost thy generous Toils renew,
In Foreign Fields her Impious Race persue,
And what for William thou didst then, for Charles thou now wouldst do,
But Spain so long has been a Slave, she's loath
To leave her Infamy and wonted Sloth,
Her drowsy Genius must be rous'd by War,
To look on Liberty and court the Fair,
Or rather like a Coy, a Tim'rous Maid,
Tho' feign she wou'd be Happy, she's afraid,
When the brisk Lover summons her to yield,
She struggles, but in hopes to be compell'd;
Rouse Mordaunt! Rouse her Genius by the Noise
Of Arms around, and Mars's dreadful Voice,

Her Soul with Terror and Amazement fill,
And force her to be blest against her Will.

Hark, how at Land his bellowing Cannon roar,
While Shovel with his Thunders shakes the Shoar,
The Furies spread amain their Horrors round,
The Batter'd Fort, and all within Confound:
Here Balls like Meteors hissing thro' the Air,
Descend, and hark! an Iron Volley there;
By the rude Shock the mouldring Mounds are raz'd,
And the fair form of Artful War defac'd,
Behind their levell'd Walls the Britains reach
The Foe, and Darmstadt leads 'em to the Breach.

A Foreign Captain, who in search of Fame,
His Country left, and found the Charming Dame,
Brave as the ancient Hero's of the Main,

We read in Cæsars Commentaries that the People who dwell in that part of Germany, now the Circle of Franconia, which includes the Landgrave of Hesse's Dominions, the County of Nassau, and other Provinces on the Mein, were the most resolute Enemies of the Romans.

Whom Cæsar and his Legions fought in vain:
The generous Nation by their Arms were free,
When half the World had lost their Liberty:
Darmstadt a Friend profest to Charles and Spain,
Asserted and enlarg'd her injur'd Monarchs Reign,
Thus firmly for the Second Charles he fought,

The Prince of Hesse Darmstadt was Vice-Roy of Catalonia for Charles II. King of Spain, and defended Barcelona with a handful of Men against the Duke of Vendosme with an Army of 30000 French.

And Wonders in his Wars with Lewis wrought,
When o're the Catalans with easy sway,
He rul'd, and Him they wou'd again Obey,
Him, when he Landed on the Friendly Coast,
The joyfull People meet and joyn his Host,

The Catalans are said to have corresponded with the Prince of Darmstadt, and when he Landed in the late Expedition, all the open Country declar'd for King Charles, the Cities soon following the Example.

The Crowded Shoars with hearty Shoutings ring,
To welcome their Defender and their King;
From Hill and Dale the Loyal Cry rebounds,
And the whole Province catch the chearful Sounds,
Still in their Minds his glorious Acts they bear,
When singly he sustain'd the Gallick War.
Fearless of Fate and hopeless of Relief
He held the Town against a Mighty Chief:
The Fight continu'd with unequal Force,
While three revolving Moons perform'd their Course:
That Town which, when the British Youth begin
The Storm, as few without as they within,
Shall Mercy at the Conqu'rors Feet implore,
Throw wide the Gates, and give the Combat o're:
Oh Darmstadt! why so prodigal of Life,
To Lives less worthy leave the bloody Strife;
Th'Eternal Pow'rs to Mordaunt's care and thine
The Fate of Spain and of her King consign,

Thy Worth, thy Victories enough declare
At Barcelona and at Gibraltar.
Restrain the transports of thy rage in time,
'Tis Virtue to be bold, but to be rash a Crime;
Ah trust not to the false Iberians Smiles,
Instructed in the Fraud of Gallick Wiles,
Their feign'd Submission's a deceitful Lure,
To make thee in the face of Death secure:
For Liberty they are not yet prepar'd,
Ah! stop, and let thy Caution be thy Guard.

The French and Spaniards to deceive him, cry'd King Charles, when the Prince advanc'd towards the Fort, and seeing him approach boldly, thinking they would revolt, they chang'd their tone to King Philip, shot at him, and kill'd him.

So speaks his Genius, but the Fates have spun
His Life's last Thread, and all his Sands are run;
Still forward to the Fort he moves, and now
Lowly the Traytors to Salute him Bow,
He grows more credulous the more Carest,
And offers to their Fire his open Breast,
Against him as their common Mark they aim,
And let the Volley fly in Phillip's Name,

Lewd Curses on his King and Him they breath,
And in his Bowels lodge the Leaden Death.
Ah Prince! whose Fate the weeping World deplores,
From Eber's to the Rhine's remoter Shoars;
For Thee, the German and Batavian Mourn,
And Monarchs wet with Royal Dew thy Urn,
For Thee, the Queen amidst her Triumphs wears
The Face of Woe, and sheds Imperial Tears;
For Thee, the Soldier hangs his drooping Head,
And every British Heart with Pity bleeds.
Ah Darmstadt, as our Native Heroes Dear,

Eber, the principal River of the Province of Catalonia, and the Rhine runs thro' part of the Country of Hesse.

If thy great Shade our loud Laments can hear,
'Twill please thee in thy Happy State on High,
To think that thou didst Live so Lov'd, and so Lamented Die:
But Weeping with the Britains will not do,
Their Vengeance shall to Death the Gauls persue;
Whole Hecatombs shall Bleed, and Seas of Blood,
O'rewhelm their Empire like a Winter Flood.

To Fury Mordaunt's Manly Sorrow turns,
Flames in his Eyes and in his Bosom burns,
Come on, my Friends, methinks I hear him cry,
Yon Troop of Cowards shall for Darmstadt Die,
With you the common Danger let me share,
Your Leader's Murder'd and the Murd'rer there.
He said, and on Revenge severely bent
He climbs before 'em up the sharp Ascent,
O're Rivers, Rocks and Mounds he makes his Way,
Thro' Darkness that obscures Meridian Day,
Thro' Clouds of Smoke and Floods of sulph'rous Fire,
And all the Terrors that can Fear inspire;
Fearless he rushes on his frighted Foes,
And scatters Death and Ruin as he goes,
Confounded and aghast the Rebels Cry,
He comes, and to resist him is to Die:
The Fort is His, so Providence ordains,
Nor is it shame to wear a Britains Chains:

Away the Croud their useless Weapons fling,
And Charles is by their Chiefs saluted King.

These Laurels, Mordaunt, but prepare for more,
For Victory has other Wreaths in store,
The City's next the business of thy Sword,
From Thee impatient she expects her Lord,
From Thee a hundred Towns demand their King,
And the vast Blessings that thy Conquests bring,
But Words are vain, thy forward Soul requires
No Fuel to maintain her Genial Fires,
Glory's in view, and when thy greedy Eyes
Can reach, thy Hands will quickly seize the Prize,
Thy Valour to the Race with vigour springs,
And Conquest foremost to the Goal her Fav'rite Captain brings.

The firm Battalions to the Town advance,
Defended by the Chosen Force of France,
And Bands selected from th'Iberian Host,
Whose Chiefs a long Descent of Hero's boast,
But Names and Numbers must to Mordaunt yield,
The Master of the Fort and of the Field;
And Shovel threatens from the Shoar to rend
Her Works and Walls, to vindicate his Friend,
The willing People wou'd with Joy comply,
Weary of Phillip and French Tyranny.
The Rebel Spaniards and the Gauls alone
Defend the Ramparts and detain the Town;
Tho' Fierce and Obstinate in their Despair,
With impotent Efforts they try the VVar,
To Mordaunt, Fate the Victory decrees,
And Barcelona shall her King confess,
From yon refulgent Tow'rs and Golden Spires
The Pride and Safety of her Gothick Sires;

VVhere the pale Lilly shines with feeble Light,
The Austrian Eagle soon shall take her Flight
O're France and Spain, and on her lofty Fanes
The British Lyons shake their dreadful Manes.
For Lo! the Battle is begun. The Sky
Grows Dark, and Clouds of Sulphur upwards fly,
Huge Globes of Fire descend like falling Spheres,
And fill the fiercest Soul with chilling Fears;
Like VVinds in Subterranean Caverns pent,
They roll along the Ground and roar for vent,
Then bursting, in ten thousand pieces tear
The Earth below, and rend the Dusky Air:
The scatter'd Atoms all around are cast,
And lay the City bare with horrid VVast.
Lo! from the British Camp the Comets rise,
And brighten with their blaze the darken'd Skies.
An Artist from his Mortars Brazen VVomb,
Flings out with fatal Aim the destin'd Bomb,

it fell on the Magazine in the place, blew up the Powder and hasten'd the surrender of the City.

It glides with ghastful aspect to the Town,
And on the Magazine of Death comes down.
Oh Horror! who the Hurricane can bear?
It shakes the Globe of Earth, and Sea, and Air,
A gloomy Cloud as thick as Ancient Night
Ascends, and baleful Lightnings blast the Sight,
The Darkness gone, a hideous Scene's disclos'd,
And Naked to the Foe the City stands expos'd:
Her Stores of Sulphur are in Æther lost,
And Mordaunt to the Combat leads his Host.
VVhere now Ye Spaniards is your Pride? And where
Ye French? Your Vanity and Gallant Air.
Meer Vapour all, and like your ruin'd Stores,
They vanish when the British Thunder roars.
Pity and Pardon now are all your Cry,
Hard Fate! You dare not fight, and cannot flie.
The generous King too ready to forgive,
Looks gracious on his Slaves, and bids 'em live.

And Mordaunt, as Compassionate as Brave,
Delights not more to Conquer than to Save:
The Fires that in his Eyes in Battel burn'd,
To Smiles are on the vanquish't Supply'nt turn'd;
To Smiles so winning that it charms 'em more
Than his dread Fury frightned 'em before;
He gives 'em Peace, and at their humble Pray'r,
Permits 'em to depart, and to their Prince repair.
But now the Crowds tumultuous Vengeance falls

The People of Barcelona when the English were in possession of the Town, fell upon the Vice-Roy Don Pedro de Velasco and his French Mercenaries, and would have destroy'd them had not the Earl of Peterborough interpos'd, and protected them, most of the Garrison revolted to King Charles.

From ev'ry Quarter on the Cruel Gauls;
The Loyal Citizens revenge their wrongs,
And wound them with their Weapons and their Tongues,
Till Mordaunt as he Swore, asserts the Peace,
And at his Nod the Rout the Tumult cease:
Not thus the French—who ev'n their Friends forsake,
And break as many Treaties as they make,
Who as they're Enemies to all Mankind,
The same rude Treatment o're the World wou'd find.

If once the Nations shou'd their Errors see,
Grow Wise and Bold, and struggle to be Free:
For Tyrants, like the Prince of Hell's Divan,
And their whole Ministry, are Foes to Man;
So Lewis and his hated Race, declare
With Right and Liberty eternal War,
And long to Punish a Corrupted Age,
The Pow'rs permitted his destructive Rage;
Not William, tho' the Darling Son of Fame,
Cou'd Free the World, and his Ambition Tame
For Anne alone the Glory was decreed,
And as her Councels, so her Arms succeed.

Churchill, the first that started to the Race,
First reach'd the Goal, and claims the foremost place;
Like a new Sun among the British Spheres
He shines, and by his Labours marks the Years,
As Just, as Rapid in his Course and Bright,
He breaks upon our Orb with chearful Light,
From Clime to Clime he travels and foregoes,
Both Ease and Rest to give the World repose;
His teeming Genius with new Wonders big,
No Danger shuns, and starts at no Fatigue.
Oh Bleinheim! see, the Muse is on the Wing,
She catches at the Sound and strives again to Sing,
Bleinheim, will ever be the boast of Fame,
The Heroes Envy, and the Poets Theam,

Bleinheim, shall grace the Records of our Isle,
Like Agincourt, or Cressy, or Vernoyle.

three famous Battels won by the English in France, in the Days of Edward III, and Henry V.

Thou Churchill! wilt the shining Page adorn,
Like our Third Edward or his Eldest Born,

Edward the Black Prince, whose Fame still lives in both Kingdoms to the Terror of France, and the Glory of England.

Like He, who kept the Conquer'd Gauls in aw,
Like Harry still Victorious, or Nassau.
By Thee, the Danube and the Dyle are grown,

The Danube will ever make a Figure in our Englsh Histories, for the Victory obtain'd by his Grace the Duke of Marlborough at Bleinheim near that River, and the Dyle in Brabant will be as long remembred for that Princes eagerness to engage the Enemy the last Campaign, when he had forc'd their Lines.

As Famous as the Boyne or Rubicon.
A Richer Harvest for thy Sword remains,
Proceed—and reap it in the Gallick Plains,
Go on Propitious—to the Seine advance,
And fix again the British Pow'r in France.
Another Churchill, like a Friendly Star,
Attends, and under him directs the War:
Thee Gallway! bravest of thy Native Gaul,

Marquess of Ruvigny, a very ancient Family in France; he left the Posts and Honours his Birth and Merit might have expected, to live Free and a Protestant in England, after Lewis XIV. had revok'd the Edict of Nantz.

Heav'n has ordain'd to finish Phillip's Fall,
Thy Wounds prolong'd the growing Tyrants Reign,
Or sooner thou hadst fixt the Fate of Spain;

Tho' Born where Slaves with shameful Bonds are pleas'd,
Nor wou'd they of the Load they bear be eas'd,
Where Lewis with an Iron Scepter Rules
Ten Millions of impov'risht passive Fools;
Thou ne're before his Idol Gods wouldst fall,
Nor ever bow thy Christian Knee to Baal:
But all that Men of common Make admire,
That Pow'r cou'd offer or thy Soul desire,
Thy Country, dear as she deserv'd to be,
Thou left'st to live in Foreign Regions Free,
Britain her Friend with open Arms embrac'd,
And high among her Sons the Fav'rite Stranger plac'd,
Nor ill does he requite her generous Trust,
True to her Prince, and to her Interests Just.
Foremost among her Champions he appears,
Nor spares his Blood, nor saves his elder Years,
But vigorous as Youth, her Battles Fights,
Her Wrongs Revenges, and defends her Rights.

A Crowd of lesser Lights their Beams display,
And stand so thick they make a Milky Way.

But see two Glories at a distance rise,
That shoot along, and gild the Southern Skies,
One on the Main his radiant Lustre spreads,
And t'other on the Land his happy Influence sheds,
Thee Mordaunt, Thee, the subject of my Song,
The Joy of ev'ry Heart and Pride of ev'ry Tongue,
The Nine shall Celebrate with lofty Lays,
And pay the grateful Tribute of their Praise.
For Thee, the Muse shall tune her Golden Lyre,
And strive in vain to paint thy Heavenly Fire;
She flies like Icarus with Waxen Wings,
Yet fearless of her Fall, she soars and Sings.

Thee Shovel, shall the Sacred Nymph proclaim
The Son of Neptune, and record thy Fame,
Behold with swelling Sails he seeks the Gauls,
And rends their Cities from his Wooden Walls;
Toulouse, who hears his Thunders from afar,
Hides in his Havens, and avoids the War,
He trembles at the roar of ev'ry blast,
Which shakes the Solid World, and Liquid Wast.
Thy Labours, Mighty Shovel, and thy Cares
Loose their full Lustre by the Cowards Fears;
Safe in his Harbours he'l the Battel shun,
Nor venture where there's too much risk to run,
When e're he Sallies out, 'twill be to meet
A kinder Captain, and a lighter Fleet.

Thy Force and Faith, the fraudful Gaul has prov'd,
As firm as Fate and as a Rock unmov'd:
O're France and Spain they mortal Terrors spread,
Nor do they fear thy Virtue less than they thy Valour dread
Their Arms, their wicked Arts alike are vain,
When Shovel has the Flag and rules the Main,
He scorns to flatter or to spare his Foes,
Nor in the Combat deals dissembled blows,
But terribly Serene he plows his way,
Full fraught with Death, and sweeps the subject Sea.
Fierce as a Tempest when the Surges rise,
And the white Billows beat against the Skies,
When Boreas in the North lets loose the Winds,
Exerts his Fury, and the Storm unbinds:
Yet then, ev'n then, the Tempest is within,
And all without him easy and serene,
As gentle as a Calm or Spicy Breeze,
That fans the Eastern Groves and softly swells the Seas.

With freindly Speeches and with pleasing Smiles
He sweetens and assists the Seaman's Toils:
Dear to his Host, and high in their Esteem,
With him they War with Joy, and he with them
Chearful their various Labours they perform,
Or in the Battel or the Winter Storm,
Nor go unwilling to the Fight, like those
Who hate as much their Leader as their Foes.
So Blake Triumphant o're the Waters rode,

Tho' his Principles, being a Republican, have been a prejudice to his Reputation, he was certainly the best Sea-Officer, a Man of the most Honour, Courage and Experience of any that ever commanded the English Fleet before his time at least.

So lov'd his Soldiers, and was so belov'd:
By him Britannia on the Deep enthron'd,
Was Sovereign of the spacious Ocean own'd:
A series of Inglorious Chiefs ensu'd,
Vile Instruments of Tyranny and Blood.
Ev'n Sprague, yet Envy must allow him Brave,

Sir Edward Sprague was a very brave Man, but unhappily engag'd in an Interest, which every one now agrees was not the Interest of England.

To Lawless Pow'r and Faction was a Slave.
Britannia Empire on the Main was sold
To Lewis, and her Glory truckt for Gold;

Bare were her Forrests for his Builders laid,
Her Stores were empty'd, and her Fleets betray'd
Her Ensigns of Dominion were no more
The Dread of Nations, nor her Naval Pow'r;
Her Blood, her Wealth were wasted to advance
The hated Tyranny of Rome and France:
The fierce Batavian with his Flags abroad,
Victorious o're her Watry Regions rode,
Her Coasts insulted, and, Eternal Shame!
Set, in her Ports, her Navies in a Flame,

The Baron Van Ghent burnt the English Ships at Chatham in the first Dutch War which happen'd after the Restauration.

Those Navies that had lately giv'n the Law
To Land and Main, and kept the World in aw,
Those Navies to the Vanquish'd now are Spoils,
And Britain is no more the Queen of Isles.
Till Torrington and Orford plow'd the Deep,
And the rich Harvest left for thee to reap.
Thee Shovel, shall the grateful Island bless,
Her Hero, her Defender, thee confess;

Her Annals with thy glorious Acts shall shine,
And Bards Immortalize their Names by thine.
To Mordaunt, and to Thee, the Lord of Spain
Owes the fair prospect of his future Reign;
All that of Empire he enjoys, of You
He holds, and all the Realms he has in view,
Two Worlds he claims, and on your help alone
Depends to Master 'em, and mount the Throne;
Two Worlds his Right, the Old one and the New,
The Mines of Mexico, and Treasures of Peru,
He reas'nably expects from Anne and You.
Enough her Friendship and your Force suffice,
To raise him High as he aspires to rise,
Nor Charles in vain upon your Aid relies:
Young Charles, whom Providence has sent to save
The People whom young Phillip wou'd enslave:
Ripe Wisdom in his every Act appears,
With the full Beauty of his blooming Years,

Happy, if thou thy Happyness couldst see,
In him, Oh Spain! thou might'st for ever be:
The French will to the Britains quit the Feild,
And Phillip shall like Maximilian yield,

Duke of Anjou, and Maximilian Elector of Bavaria, the latter was driv'n out of his Territories by the Arms of England for his Tyranny and Rebellion in the Empire.

Too cautious for his Youth with prudent care,
Like Lewis he directs a distant War;
By his old Sires consummate fraud he gain'd,
An Empire gotten ill and ill maintain'd,
With shame he from his height shall tumble down,
And quit to Charles superiour Worth the Crown.

For now—the Muse the noble Clangor hears
Of other Arms and new triumphant Wars,
Mordaunt like Mars the swift Tempestuous God,
Commands his Active Ministers abroad,

Born on the Wings of all the Winds, they fly
To bid the Realms, who at their Call comply:
New Kingdoms to the Conqu'rors Troops submit,
New Towns receive them and new Ports his Fleet.
For ev'ry Nation must the French abhor,
Who knows their Treason or have felt their Pow'r.
Tho' France and Spain with their united Force,
Wou'd strive in vain to stop the Britains Course,
Yet Charles and Mordaunt, his Defence, wou'd feign
A Bloodless Vict'ry o're the Tyrant gain,
And feign the Spaniards wou'd with sweet accord,
Embrace the Britains, and confess their Lord,
If France, as God would have his Image be,
Once left 'em to their VVill's Election Free.
See! Celtiberia to her Arms Invites

The Kingdoms of Valentia and Arragon were the Celtiberi of the Ancients. Part of Arragon and all Valentia have submitted to King Charles.

Her King, and to his Legal Sway submits.
Valentia, more than all Iberia, blest
More than all other Regions of the VVest,

Or aw'd by Mordaunt's Mighty Name, or charm'd
By Charles's, is no more against him Arm'd,
For him her Cities all their Pomp prepare,
To make his Entrance, as 'tis VVelcome, Fair,
For him she Plants, for him she prunes her Vines,
And all her Beauties to his Youth resigns,
For him the Xucar's winding Current flows,

The Xucar is the principal River in the Kingdom of Valentia, it falls into the Mediterranean between that City and Xativa.

Her Citrons bloom, and peaceful Olive grows,

This description of the Country is justify'd by Monsieur Robbe's Relation, Du Royaume de Valence, in his Geography, which in English is thus. The Air is mild and temperate, 'tis every where shaded with Trees, and seems to enjoy a perpetual Spring, Fruits and Flowers are to be seen there at all times of the Year, it abounds in Rice, Vines, Olives, Sugar, Silk, Linnen, Citrons, Pomgranates, &c. There are also Silver Mines.

For him her VVomb a Silver Product yields,
And curious Nature paints her flow'ry Fields,
For him her feather'd Quires incessant Sing,

Murcia is a little Kingdom bordering on Valentia. Next to Murcia nearer the Ocean is Granada, which borders Westward on Andalousia, in which Kingdom, as 'tis called by Geographers, stands Gibraltar at the Streights Mouth, a few Leagues from the Ocean.

Her Groves are ever Green, and all her Year is Spring.
Go on Illustrious Mordaunt! force thy VVay
Thro' Murcia and Granada to the Sea;
At Gibraltar thy brave Companions joyn,
And Charles shall all his Glory owe to thine,
In Heav'n, in Ann and Britains Name Go on,
The VVorks near finish'd that's so well begun.

Thee Britain! Fairest and the First of Isles,
On whom kind Heav'n with gracious Aspect smiles
Envy'd of Nations! who alone art Free,
And Happy in a Prince, and she in thee,
Long may the Pow'rs in Anna's Empire bless,
And with thy rowling Years thy Joys encrease:
Sure to be Great, alike in Peace and VVar,
By Churchill's Courage and Godolphin's Care.
VVhile Marlborough the British Name maintains,
In far Bavaria or the Belgick Plains,
Godolphin happily at Home controuls,
The Rage of Faction, and the Zeal of Fools.
By steady Councels he conducts the State,
And Step by Step he calmly walks with Fate

The troubled VVorld, Himself like Jove serene,
He rules, and in his Country serves his Queen,
As an old Pilot steers a dangerous Course
VVith ease, and stems the raging Tempests Force,
The Winds from every Quarter round him roar,
And the rude Surges lash the trembling Shoar,
All Elements at War, thro' all he guides
His Bark, and at the Helm in Peace presides,
Fearless he struggles with the Seas and VVind,
Cuts the white VVaves, and leaves the Storm behind,
He brings the Vessel to her destin'd Port,
And in the Haven sees secure the distant Furies sport.
So you, Godolphin, as in Peace profound,
VVhile Mars with hideous uproar bellows all around,
Direct her Empire by the Queens Command,
And guide us with a strong a steady Hand;
You fill, like Joseph with Prophetick Care
Her Stores, and furnish an Expensive VVar,

Her wants abroad with Plenty you supply,
And calm Debate when Factious Feuds run high.
Ah Britain! while the World around thee mourns,
Rejoyce, to Thee the Golden Age returns;
Conquest and Glory on thy Armies wait,
And Union pours her Od'rous Balm to heal the wounded State.
Ah Union! sweetest of the Heav'nly Quire,
Raise thy melodious Voice and tune thy Lyre:
Envy and Pride thy num'rous Song disarms,
And Discord's Sons confess thy potent Charms.
The Fury grins malicious, and a while
Suspends her Spite, and gives an awkard Smile,
Yet hating to be pleas'd, she calls her Train,
Sinks down, and o're the Damn'd renews her Reign.
Thou Union! from the first of Times hast been
The Joy of Gods, and the Delight of Men:
Thee, to Godolphin's Providence we owe,
And all the Sweets that from thy Blessings flow,

Those Sweets that comfort and compose our Cares,
And hush the horrid Din of Neighb'ring Wars,
Far from our Gates the Spoyler Gaul he keeps,
Fast on our Coasts the Loyal Britain Sleeps,
And Sows in safety, and in safety Reaps:
Thus only we by Conquest truly gain,
Who all the Pleasure have without the Pain;
No Scenes of slaughter'd Hosts our Sight annoy,
Nor Terrors mingle with the general Joy,
No noise of Arms disturb the Lab'ring Swain,
Nor Groans of Dying Men in Battle slain;
No Cries of Matrons, nor affrighted Maids,
Nor Sons complaining to their Fathers Shades;
No Cities sack't, nor Towns by force compell'd,
Nor glorious Tumult in the Fighting Field:
But all is Calm, and we alone possess
The Joys of Triumph with the sweets of Peace.

Ah! how shall we return our grateful Praise,
To him to whom we owe these Halcyon Days,
These Blessings from thy Conduct we receive,
Godolphin! and to thee the Thanks shou'd give.

Nor ought we to forget the Stars which run
Like faithful Satellites about the Sun;
Bright Names that fill the hundred Mouths of Fame,
And the first Pages in her Records claim;
Various their Labours, but they all persue
One End, and have but one Reward in view:
All aim the common Tyrant to repell,
And all wou'd have the Praise of doing well,

Thou Cooper! Guardian of the British Laws,
Didst early own, and warmly plead their Cause.
Much to thy Eloquence and Truth is due,
For thou in Times most difficult was't True.
As Tully in the Roman Senate shone,
Thou like an Oracle was't in our Own:
So talk't, and so the listning Nation heard
Thy Words with equal Pleasure and Regard;
Not He with finer Argument than thine
Could urge the Doom of Guilty Cataline:
As great the Cause, thy Reason was as Great,

Not He with greater Eloquence than Thine Could urge the Doom of guilty Catiline. Cataline was one of the most famous Conspirators that ever made attempts upon the Liberty of Old Rome. He was a Senator, and had Friends ev'n in the Senate, who when he was accus'd, endeavour'd to extenuate his Guilt, but Cicero and all True Romans charg'd him with great Force of Reason and Eloquence, and carry'd it to have him Condemn'd. A Knight, much talkt of some Years ago, endeavour'd to make a Parallel between Sir John Fenwick's Case and Cataline's, but as that Worthy Person is no more famous for Learning than for Integrity, so his Comparison did more hurt than good to his bad Cause. Justice prevail'd, and none did her more Service than the Great Man to whom this part of the Poem is addrest.

Rome's Fortune was not more than William's Fate,
Nor he whom twice Ten Centuries allow
The Wonder of the Bar, more Fam'd than thou.

No Mean, no Mercenary Interest sways
Thy generous Soul, above all Gifts but Praise.
The Goddess that to Heav'n had wing'd her Flight
Again shall visit Earth, and wrong submit to right,
Lo, by thy Seat the Proud Impartial Fair
Attends, and Ministers when thou art there,
The Golden Ballance in her Hand depends,
And at thy Nod it rises or descends.
So Somers did her friendly Succour find,
So Charming was his Tongue, so equal was his Mind,
So fairly he Pronounc'd the firm Decree,
The Loosers prais'd him as they speak of thee.

Forbear, my Muse, thou soar'st too near the Day,
And travell'st in a new Untrodden Way,
The Flight's too bold to be supported long,
Be cautious and restrain thy daring Song.

But as young Sailors who'd the Deep explore,
In vain look back on the departing Shoar,
So I too late the lower Regions view,
I'm Launch'd too far, and must my Course persue,
A shining Course, for forward as she flies,
New Tracts of Light the Muse around her spies,
Men Great alike in Council and Fight,
Of matchless Wisdom all and matchless Might,
True to their Queen, and to their Country dear,
In Senates warm, and in their warmth sincere,
Nor cool'd by Interest nor chill'd by Fear.

Thee, Somerset, eternal Truth inspires
With Ardor equal to thy Godlike Sires.
For Liberty, Religion and thy Queen,
Not Edward could be more than thou hast been,

Not Faction he with firmer Soul withstood,
And yet he seal'd his Virtue with his Blood.

Edward Seymour Duke of Somerset, Lord Protector of the King and Kingdom in the Reign of Edward VI. was persecuted to Death by a violent Party then predominant.

Illustrious Candish in his greener Age,
Oppos'd the Monsters all devouring Rage,
Tho' then she rov'd Licentious o're the Plain,
Loaden with Spoyls, and glutted with the Slain;
The partial Prince her impious Sons Carest,
And lodg'd the grisly Fury in his Breast,
Warm'd with his heat, and wanton with her Pow'r
Down all the Fences of the Law she bore,
In vain, fair Liberty her Fate bemoans,
And cries for succour to her helpless Sons,
She beats her Breasts, she tears her Golden Hair
In vain, for her Laments are lost in Air;
Curses and cruel Threats assault her Ears,
And every Minute horrid Rape she fears;

The Monarch frown'd upon the Sacred Maid,
Her Friends renounc'd her, and her Chiefs betray'd,
Candish alone th'Impetuous Torrent stem'd,
The Frowns of Faction and her Smiles contemn'd,
He spoke, he fought, and for her Cause had Dy'd,
Had William staid, or Heav'n his help deny'd.

Thy Virtue, Pembroke! and thy Wisdom raise
Thy Worth above the weak efforts of Praise,
No Words to match thy Merit can we find,
Nor speak the wonders of thy Lab'ring Mind;
For others good thou travell'st like the Sun,
Unweary'd, and thy Task is never done,
Never the Labours of thy Wisdom cease,
For Anna's Glory and her Empires Ease;
The little Quiet that we lately knew,
Was thine, was sweet, and had been lasting too,

Hadst thou been only heard; but Fate decreed
The World again for other Crimes shou'd Bleed.
Discord has gorg'd her filthy Maw with Blood,
And Europe's delug'd with a Crimson Flood.
Ah! when will the Destroying Angel sheath
His brandish'd Sword, and hold the Arm of Death?
When Herbert, like the Dove of Old, is sent

The Right Honourable the Earl of Pembroke was the first English Plenipotentiary at the Treaty of Reswick, when the last Peace was concluded with France, which, though short, was at that time desir'd. And the Nation is as much indebted to this Noble Lords Conduct, as if it had lasted as many Ages as it did Years.

To view the ruin'd World, as once he went,
The Welcome Olive he again shall bring,
And Songs of Peace the Joyful Muses Sing,
As with their Songs of Triumph now they make the Welkin ring.

Thee Spencer, Mountague and Wharton Thee,
Devoted all to Godlike Liberty:
And you ye Loyal and Illustrious Peers!

'Tis the Happyness of England that there are so many young Lords in the House of Peers, who delight in doing their Duty in that August Assembly, who are Hearty in the True Interest of their Queen and Country, even in those Years, when in late Reigns, Persons of their Fortune would have been tempted to give up their Days to Sloth, and their Nights to Pleasure, But the War and the State have all their Youth and all their Cares. And from such generous Spirits we may expect every thing that is Great and Good, without fear of being disappointed in our Expectations.

Who load your youthful Breasts with Publick Cares,

Who Fight with Faction, and with warm Debate
Resist the Lewd Disturbers of the State.
You Britains Hopes! the willing Muse aspires
To Sing, but wants your own Immortal Fires,
To pay the Homage to your Merit due,
In Numbers worthy of your Cause and You.

W---s---ly.

FINIS.