As whilft his cannon just prepar'd to breathe
Avenging anger and swift death,

In the tried metal the clofe dangers glow,

And now, too late, the dying foe

Perceives the flame, yet cannot ward the blow;
So whilst in William's breaft ripe, counfels lie,
Secret and fure as brooding Fate,

No more of his design appears, .
Than what awakens Gallia's fears;
And (though Guilt's eye can fharply penetrate)
Distracted Lewis can defcry

Only a long unmeasur'd ruin nigh..

IV.

On Norman coafts and banks of frighted Seino.
Lo the impending ftorms begin:
Britannia fafely through her master's sea,
Plows up her victorious way.

The French Salmoneus throws his bolts in vain,
Whilft the true Thunderer afferts the main :
'Tis done! to fhelves and rocks his fleets retire,
Swift victory in vengeful flames

Burns down the pride of their prefumptuous names
They run to shipwreck to avoid our fire,

And the torn veffels that regain their coaft
Are but fad marks to fhew the reft are loft:
All this the mild, the beauteous, Queen has done,
And William's fofter-half hakes Lewis' throne:

Maria does the fea command

Whilft Gallia flics her husband's arms by land.

So, the Sun abfent, with full fway the Moon
Governs the ifles, and rules the waves alone:
So Juno thunders when her Jove is gone.
Io Britannia! loose thy ocean's chains,

Whilft Ruffel strikes the blow thy queen ordains :
Thus refcued, thus rever'd, for ever stand,
And bless the counsel, and reward the hand,
Io Britannia! thy Maria reigns.

V.

From Mary's conquests, and the rescued main,
Let France look forth to Sambre's armed fhore,
And boast her joy for William's death no more.
He lives; let France confefs, the victor lives:
Her triumphs for his death were vain,
And spoke her terror of his life too plain.
The mighty years begin, the day draws nigh,
In which that one of Lewis' many wives,
Who, by the baleful force of guilty charms,
Has long enthrall'd him in her wither'd arms,
Shall o'er the plains, from distant towers on high,
Caft around her mournful eye,

And with prophetic forrow cry:

"Why does my ruin'd lord retard his flight?
Why does defpair provoke his age to fight?
As well the wolf may venture to engage
The angry lion's generous rage;

The ravenous vulture, and the bird of night,
As fafely tempt the ftooping eagle's flight;
As Lewis to unequal arms defy

Yon' hero, crown'd with blooming victory,

And

Juft triumphing o'er rebel-rage restrain'd,
yet unbreath'd from battles gain'd.
See all yon' dufty field's quite cover'd o'er
With hoftile troops, and Orange at their head
Orange, deftin'd to complete

The great defigns of labouring Fate;

Orange, the name that tyrants dread :
He comes; our ruin'd empire is no more;
Down, like the Perfian, goes the Gallic throne;
Darius flies, young Ammon urges on,"

VI.

Now from the dubious battle's mingled heat,
Let Fear look back, and stretch her hafty wing,
Impatient to fecure a base retreat :

Let the pale coward leave his wounded king,
For the vile privilege to breathe,

To live with fhame in dread of glorious death!
In vain for Fate has swifter wings than Fear,

:

She follows hard, and ftrikes him in the rear;
Dying and mad the traitor bites the ground,
His back transfix'd with a difhoneft wound;

Whilft through the fierceft troops, and thickest press, Virtue carries on fuccefs;

Whilft equal Heaven guards the diftinguish'd brave, And armies cannot hurt whom angels fave.

VII.

Virtue to verfe immortal luftre gives,

Each by the other's mutual friendship lives;
Eneas fuffer'd, and Achilles fought,
The Hero's acts enlarg'd the Poet's thought,

Or Virgil's majefty, and Homer's rage,
Had ne'er like lafting nature vanquish'd age.
Whilft Lewis then his rifing terror drowns

With drums' alarms, and trumpets' founds,
Whilft, hid in arm'd retreats and guarded towns,
From danger as from honour far,

He bribes clofe murder against open war:
In vain you Gallic Muses strive

raise

With labour'd verse to keep his fame alive :
Your mouldering monuments in vain ye
On the weak bafis of the tyrant's praise:
Your fongs are fold, your numbers are profane,
'Tis incenfe to an idol given,

Meat offer'd to Prometheus' man

That had no foul from Heaven.

Against his will, you chain your frighted king
On rapid Rhine's divided bed;

And mock your hero, whilt ye fing

The wounds for which he never bled;

Falfhood does poison on your praise diffuse,
And Lewis' fear gives death to Boileau's Mufe.

VIII.

On its own worth true majesty is rear'd,

And Virtue is her own reward;

With folid beams and native glory bright,
She neither darkness dreads, nor covets light;
True to herself, and fix'd to inborn laws,
Nor funk by fpite, nor lifted by applause,
She from her settled orb looks calmly down,
On life or death, a prifon or a crown.

When

1

When bound in double chains poor Belgia lay,
To foreign arms and inward strife a prey,
Whilst one good man buoy'd up her finking state,
And Virtue labour'd against Fate ;

When Fortune bafely with Ambition join'd,
And all was conquer'd but the Patriot's mind;
When ftorms let loose, and raging feas,
Juft ready the torn veffel to o'erwhelm,
Forc'd not the faithful pilot from his helm,
Nor all the Syren fongs of future peace,
And dazzling profpect of a promis'd crown,
Could lure his ftubborn virtue down;
But against charms, and threats, and hell, he ftood,
To that which was feverely good;

Then, had no trophies justified his fame,
No Poet bleft his fong with Naffau's name,
Virtue alone did all that honour bring,
And Heaven as plainly pointed out THE KING,
As when he at the altar ftood

In all his types and robes of power,
Whilft at his feet religious Britain bow'd,
And own'd him next to what we there adore.

IX.

Say, joyful Maefe, and Boyne's victorious flood,
(For each has mixt his waves with royal blood)
When William's armies paft, did he retire,
Or view from far the battle's diftant fire?
Could he believe his perfon was too dear?
Or ufe his greatnefs to conceal his fear?