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Eft-ce Apollon et Neptune,
Qui fur ces rocs fourcilleux
Ont, compagnons de Fortune,
Bafti ces murs orgueilleux ?
De leur enceinte fameufe
La Sambre unie à la Meuse,
Defend le fatal abord;

Et par cens bouches horribles
L'airain fur ces monts terribles

Vomit le fer, & la mort.


Dix mille vaillans Alcides
Les bordant de toutes parts,.
D' éclairs au loin homicides
Font petiller leurs remparts :
Et dans fon fein infidele
Par toute la terre y recele
Un feu prêt à s'élancer,
Qui foudain

perçant fon goufre,

Ouvre un fepulchre de soufre,
A quiconque ofe avancer.


Namur, devant tes murailles
Jadis la Grece eût vingt ans
Sans fruit veu les funerailles
De fes plus fiers combattans.
Quelle effroyable puiffance
Aujourd'hui pourtant s'avance,



Neptune and Sol came from above,

Shap'd like Megrigny and Vauban :
They arm'd these rocks; then fhew'd old Jove
Of Marli wood the wondrous plan.

Such walls, thefe three wife Gods agreed,
By human force could ne'er be shaken :
you and I in Homer read


Of gods, as well as men, mistaken.
Sambre and Maese their waves may join;

But ne'er can William's force restrain :
He'll pass them both, who pass'd the Boyne:
Remember this, and arm the Seine.

Full fifteen thousand lufty fellows

With fire and fword the fort maintain :

Each was a Hercules, you tell us ;

Yet out they march'd, like common men. Cannons above, and mines below,

Did death and tombs for foes contrive:

Yet matters have been order'd fo,

That most of us are ftill alive.


If Namur be compar'd to Troy ;

Then Britain's boys excell'd the Greeks: Their fiege did ten long years employ;

We 've done our bufinefs in ten weeks. What godhead does so fast advance,

With dreadful power, thofe hills to gain? 'Tis little Will, the scourge of France;

No godhead, but the firft of men.
G 4


An ODE, presented to the KING,

On his MAJESTY'S Arrival in HOLLAND, after the QUEEN's Death, 1695.

"Quis defiderio fit pudor aut modus "Tam cari capitis? præcipe lugubres "Cantus, Melpomene."



T Mary's tomb (fad facred place!)
The Virtues fhall their vigils keep:
And every Mufe, and every Grace,
In folemn state shall ever weep.


The future pious, mournful fair,
Oft as the rolling years return,
With fragrant wreaths and flowing hair,
Shall visit her distinguish'd urn.

For her the wife and great shall mourn,
When late records her deeds repeat:

Ages to come, and men unborn,

Shall blefs her name, and figh her fate.

Fair Albion fhall, with faithful truft,
Her holy queen's fad reliques guard,
Till Heaven awakes the precious dust,
And gives the Saint her full reward.


But let the king dismiss his woes,
Reflecting on his fair renown;

And take the cypress from his brows,
To put his wonted laurels on.


If preft by grief our monarch stoops,
In vain the British lions roar :

If he, whofe hand fuftain'd them, droops,
The Belgic darts will wound no more.

Embattled princes wait the chief,

Whofe voice fhould rule, whofe arm fhould lead;

And, in kind murmurs, chide that grief,

Which hinders Europe being freed.


The great example they demand

Who ftill to conquest led the way;
Wishing him prefent to command,
As they stand ready to obey.

They seek that joy, which us'd to glow,
Expanded on the Hero's face;

When the thick fquadrons preft the foe,
And William led the glorious chace.

To give the mourning nations joy,
Reftore them thy aufpicious light,

Great fun with radiant beams destroy


Those clouds, which keep thee from our fight.

XI. Let


As waters from her fluices, flow'd
Unbounded forrow from her eyes
To earth her bended front fhe bow'd,
And fent her wailings to the skies.

But when her anxious lord return'd,
Rais'd is her head, her eyes are dry'd;

She fmiles, as William ne'er had mourn'd,
She looks, as Mary ne'er had dy'd.

That freedom which all forrows claim,
She does for thy content refign:

Her piety itself would blame,

If her regrets should weaken thine.

To cure thy woe, fhe fhews thy fame :
Left the great mourner should forget,
That all the race, whence Orange came,
Made Virtue triumph over Fate.


William his country's caufe could fight,
And with his blood her freedom feal:

Maurice and Henry guard that right,
For which their pious parents fell.

How heroes rife, how patriots fet,

Thy father's bloom and death may tell :
Excelling others, these were great :
Thou, greater ftill, must these excell.


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