XIII.
Grands deffenseurs de l'Espagne,
Montrez-vous : il en est tems :
Courage ; vers la Mahagne
Voilà vos drapeaux flottans.
Jamais ses ondes craintives
N'ont veû sur leurs foibles rives
Tant de guerriers s'amaffer.
Courez donc : Qui vous retarde ?
Tout l'univers vous regarde.
N'ofez vous la traverser ?

XIV.
Loin de fermer le passage
A vos nombreux bataillons,
Luxembourg a du rivage
Reculé ses pavillons.
Quoi ? leur seul aspect vous glace ?
Où sont ces chefs pleins d'audace,
Jadis fi prompts à marcher,
Qui devoient de la Ti nise,
Et de la Drâve follmise,
Jusqu' à Paris pous chercher ?

XIII.
To animate the doubtful fight,

Namur in vain expects that ray:
In vain France hopes, the fickly light

Should shine near William's fuller day:
It knows Versailles, its

proper

station ; Nor cares for any foreign sphere : Where

you

fee Boileau's constellation, Be sure no danger can be near.

XIV. "The French had gather'd all their force ; And William met them in their

way Yet off they brush’d, both foot and horse.

What has friend Boileau left to say ? When his high Muse is bent upon ’t,

To fing her king-that great commander; Or on the shores of Hellefpont,

Or in the valleys near Scamander; Would it not spoil his noble talk,

If any foolish Phrygian there is, Impertinent enough to ask,

How far Namur may be from Paris ?

:

XV.
Two stanzas more before we end,

Of death, pikes, rocks, arms, bricks, and fire :
Leave them behind you, honest friend;
And with your countrymen retire.

Your

Déja jusques à ses portes
Je voi monter nos cohortes,
La flame & le fer en main ::
Et sur les, monceaux de piques,
De corps morts, de rocs, de briques,
S'ouvrir un large chemin.

XVI.
C'en est fait. Je viens d'entendre
Sur ces rochers éperdus
Battre un signal pour se rendre ;
Le feu ceffe. Ils sont rendus.
Dépoüillez vôtre

arrogance,
Fiers enemis de la France,
Et desormais gracieux,
Allez à Liege, à Bruxelles,
Porter les humbles novelles
De Namur pris à vos yeux.

Your ode is spoilt; Namur is freed;

For Dixmuyd something yet is due :
So good court Guiscard inay proceed ;
But Boufflers, Sir, one word with you.

XVI.
'Tis done. In fight of these commanders,

Who neither fight, nor raise the fiege, The foes of France march safe through Flanders ;

Divide to Bruxelles, or to Liege. Send, Fame, this news to Trianon,

That Boufflers may new honours gain : He the same play by land has shewn,

As Tourville did upon the main. Yet is the Marshal made a peer :

o William, may thy arms advance ! That he may lose Dinant next year, And so be constable of France.

:

I. TI "HE merchant, to secure his treasure,

Conveys it in a borrow'd name : Euphelia ferves to grace my measure ;

But Cloe is my real flame.

II.
My softest verse, my darling lyre,

Upon Euphelia's toilet lay;
When Cloe noted her desire,

That I should sing, that I should play.

III.
My lyre I tune, my voice I raise,

I
But with my numbers mix my fighs ;
And, whilft I fing Euphelia's praise,
I fix
my

soul on Cloe's eyes.

IV.

Fair Cloe blush'd : Euphelia frown'd:

I sung, and gaz’d: I play'd, and trembled : And Venus to the Loves around

Remark’d, how ill we all dissembled.

Presented