University of Virginia Library

TO THE Most Illustrious Prince JAMES

Duke of Monmouth and Buckleugh and General of His Majesties Armies, Knight of the most Noble Order of the Garter, and One of His Majesties most honourable Privy Council, &c.

When Wars were rumour'd, or great Dangers near,
Mars then was sought, his Temples crowded were.
From You, great Sir, and from your Flaming Blade,
Our Eden boasts her Glory and her Aid;
Not Eden only with your beams you gild;
But like the Sun-shine upon ev'ry Field.
'Tis duty then our Lawrels we should bring
As Off'rings to the Pow'r that makes them spring.
They 'mplore, great Sir, your influence and your aid;
Lawrels themselves! of Thunder not afraid!
Were Muses mortal, Halters might 'em fright
From speaking truth, as some from acting right.
'Tis vain to fear th' effects of Jesuits rage,
If You, great Sir, vouchsafe your Patronage.
What Gen'ral e'r began with more renown,
At once to guard the Myter and the Crown;
Charls is our Jove, in's Conduct blest we are;
And Monmouth is his Thunderbolt of War.
Witness the French at Mastricht, who, with shame,
Kindled their Valours at his gen'rous Flame.
You were the ruling Genius of the Field;
Their empty veins your Spirits only fill'd.
You taught 'em how to Conquer, rais'd their Name,
'Twas You advanc't their Trophies, lent 'em Fame;
Which on a brave Design you did bestow;
That is, to make them fit to be your Foe.
Rais'd by your Acts at higher things they aim;
To follow Monmouth is the Road to Fame.
Europe, at their successful Arms, amaz'd
Lookt pale, and all its trembling Princes gaz'd.
On Brittain's mighty Monarch fixt their Eyes,
Whose greater puissance did 'em more surprize.
For English Conquests swiftly'r might advance;
Since England more than once had Conquer'd France.
But then rememb'ring Charls as Just, as Great,
His Help, as their last refuge, they intreat.
Mons is besieg'd and ready to be ta'n!
Monmouth being absent other hopes were vain.
At your approach the Gallic flame expires:
Thus does the Sun put out the weaker Fires.
Your very Name did weary'd Mons release,
Made the French fly, and truckle to a Peace;
Swift as the Lightning, and as piercing too!
Jove thus on's Eagle at the Gyants flew.
The Ancient, Romans did some fear betray
To pinion Victory, and force her stay:
She like their Conqu'ring Eagle courts your Hand,
And will kill surer by your Conduct mann'd.
What e'r she flies at must your Quarry be;
Who can resist Monmouth and Victory?
The fiery Mars is pow'rful in his Sphear,
Yet loses Virtue when concern'd elsewhere;
Our Mars a gen'ral influence can afford;
There is his Sphear, where e'r he draws his Sword.
In such exploits Cæsar was never skill'd,
First to teach France to Conquer, then to Yield.
Thus Æolus, with his impetuous Bands,
Charging the Lybian Desarts, drives the Sands
Into a Mountain, which his Trophy stands.
'Till changing sides, He rallies in the Air
His Troops, and then Commands to sound to War:
The lofty Pageant tumbles to the ground,
And's Trophy now is in it's ruines found.