A congratulatory poem on His Majesty's happy return from Holland written by Mr. Browne. Brown, Thomas, 1663-1704. 1691 Approx. 23 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 9 1-bit group-IV TIFF page images. Text Creation Partnership, Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) : 2004-11 (EEBO-TCP Phase 1). A29771 Wing B5055 ESTC R12563 13578273 ocm 13578273 100485 This keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above is co-owned by the institutions providing financial support to the Early English Books Online Text Creation Partnership. This Phase I text is available for reuse, according to the terms of Creative Commons 0 1.0 Universal . The text can be copied, modified, distributed and performed, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission. Early English books online. (EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A29771) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 100485) Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1641-1700 ; 837:13) A congratulatory poem on His Majesty's happy return from Holland written by Mr. Browne. Brown, Thomas, 1663-1704. [4], 11, [1] p. Printed for Thomas Jones ..., London : 1691. Advertisement on p. [1] at end. Reproduction of original in Huntington Library. Created by converting TCP files to TEI P5 using tcp2tei.xsl, TEI @ Oxford. Re-processed by University of Nebraska-Lincoln and Northwestern, with changes to facilitate morpho-syntactic tagging. Gap elements of known extent have been transformed into placeholder characters or elements to simplify the filling in of gaps by user contributors. 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Copies of the texts have been issued variously as SGML (TCP schema; ASCII text with mnemonic sdata character entities); displayable XML (TCP schema; characters represented either as UTF-8 Unicode or text strings within braces); or lossless XML (TEI P5, characters represented either as UTF-8 Unicode or TEI g elements). Keying and markup guidelines are available at the Text Creation Partnership web site . eng William -- III, -- King of England, 1650-1702 -- Poetry. 2004-01 TCP Assigned for keying and markup 2004-02 Aptara Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2004-07 Judith Siefring Sampled and proofread 2004-07 Judith Siefring Text and markup reviewed and edited 2004-10 pfs Batch review (QC) and XML conversion A Congratulatory POEM ON HIS MAJESTY's Happy Return FROM HOLLAND . Written by Mr. BROWNE . LONDON , Printed for Thomas Jones , at the White Horse without Temple-Bar . MDCXCI . To the Honourable Sir Thomas Alyen . Kt. & B ar . RIght Honour'd Sir , vouchsafe to cast your Eye On this Essay of Heroick Poesie , Which for unmerited Favours , as 't is meet , I Humbly prostrate at your Worthy Feet ; Beseeching that it may so happy be To share a Blessing in your Courtesie , And be protected by your Loyal Name From all the Blasts that may it else Defame : Pray entertain it , for ( Dear Sir ) it sings The very best of War-like Valiant Kings ; That Monarch , Sir , by you so greatly lov'd , Even HE , that Heaven kind for us approv'd : 'T is HE , I say , whom You so much adore , And long have Pray'd to see Return once more Happy and Safe to England's Happy Shoar . Now , Sir , HE 's come , my Muse his Welcom sings , And in your Ears his Matchless Praises rings : The which ( Good Sir ) when you vouchsafe to read , Charity 's Mantle o're my Failings spread ; My Eyes oft dazled with Excess of Light , My Muse but dull , and narrower my Sight : I might have left this weighty Task to them Whose nobler Thoughts direct a loftier Pen ; But yet , I hope , I am to be excus'd , Because 't was Love and Zeal acted my Muse. I write , but 't is , alas , with trembling Hand , The Praise of him that Rules blest Albion's Land , And sing his Welcom to his wisht for Strand : 'T is Wholsom Foot , tho 't is but homely drest , Yet something here , I hope , may please each Guest . High are my Strains , my Buskin'd Mistress sings , The very best of Men , the best of Kings , In Verse Heroick tells his Heroick Deeds , Whose Worth all Commentary still exceeds . Nor can a Muse , Imp't with the Noblest Wing , Sound half the Praise of William our Great King : So high is Virtue , in her Native Glory , Advanc'd in Him , above the Reach of Story ; Bright as the brightest Star that ere did flame , A shining Monument to Caesar's Name , A Prince in Fame's great Catalogue more bright Than all the Sons of Honour ere could light , A Prince in Prudence , and in Arms more Great Than ever yet ruled in Albion's State ; Who lesser Sparks of Honour does out-flame , And swallows all their Titles in his Name : HE far exceeds the Trophies of the Pen , A Prince above the Characters of Men , Wise as the wisest , as the boldest bold , In Dangers , only , and Success grown old : On whom no Barb'rous Enemy can confer Less than an High Immortal Character . Sir , here I must abruptly take my Leave , Because the Printer tells me he shall have More than he can conveniently dispose Within his Page ; he bids me therefore close . And so I will , Praying , Right Worthy Sir , That God may still his Blessings on you pour ; Your Lady long preserve , you Heirs with Blessing crown , And give you lasting Joys , when you this Life lay down . This comes ( Good Sir ) from the unworthy Hand Of him , who is , your very Humble Servant , at Command , BROWNE . A Congratulatory Poem , &c. ROuze , rouze , my Muse , and drein the from the dregs Of Vulgar Thoughts , skrew up thy highest Pegs , Contemn the World , soar , soar aloft , and let Thy Thoughts Despise to take a vulgar Flight ; Imp , imp thy Wings with Zeal , thy Strains with Fire , Let nothing sway thee , but most pure Desire ; Snatch thee a Quill from the spread Eagle's Wing , And like the towering Lark , mount up and sing , To welcom home WILLIAM our Sovereign King. Tune thy sublime Theorboe four Notes higher ; And higher yet ; so that the shril-mouth'd Quire Of swift-wing'd Seraphims , come down and joyn , To make thy Consort more than half Divine ; Strein higher still , what if I crack a String In venturing nobly higher for to Sing ? Reach Heavens , Ela then , and undecline Till with a deep-mouth'd Gam-ut sound again From Pole to Pole , it will not reach his Worth ; Nor find a Note to set his Praises forth . Hail , hail Great Monarch , of Renowned Fame , We 'll wreath the Lawrels , celebrate thy Name , In Songs transcending we'll rehearse thy Story . Let Heavens also crown thy Brows with everlasting Glory . Shall Dutchmen , when of thy Approach they hear , Triumphal Arches for thy Welcom rear ? Shall their loud Cannons eccho forth thy Fame ? And shall their Fire-works likewise the same ? Shall they with Voices , Hearts and all agree To spread thy Praise ; and eke to honour thee ? And shall not Englishmen for Shame arise ? Come , Country-men , let 's eccho through the Skyes The lasting Worth of William , our great King : And make his Glorious Acts through Europe ring : A Pyramid of Gold then let us rear , And on it ' grave , in Characters most fair , The worthy Deeds of our Third William 's Name , That after time it lively may remain To his Eternal , Matchless , worthy Fame , So following Ages , and Generations all Shall justly Thee poor England's Saviour call ; When they shall read , ( Great Sir ) how that you gave Your Worthy Self three Nations for to save , Thought nought too dear , so that you might obtain For us , our Dear-bought Liberties again ; And free us from the Yoke of Slavery ; And likewise from Curs'd Popish Tyranny . When this is told , O who'll not love a King ! So Great , so Good , so Just in every thing ? By many Wonders YOU were hither brought ; Which strangely too by their Concurrence wrought Our whole Redemption in so short a Space , As did the Slothe of Human Aids Disgrace : Those who do hold Success the Cast of Chance , And Providence the Dream of Ignorance , Might in those Miracles Design discern , And from wild Fortune's Looks Religion learn. Tell us no more of Caesar's Fame , Who , when he only look'd , he overcame : Nor yet of Alexander's great Renown ; Nor Hector's Glory , blaz'd from Town to Town ; Pompey avaunt , thy trifling Glories glance ; To our Great VVilliam's , they 're but Ignorance : And Scanderbeg , that Great Renowned Man , Who from so many Wars Victorious came , Must Phoebus like , when Sol does shew his Face , Resign his Glory , 't is VVilliam's Place : No , 't is not these can bear away the Bell , For still our Conquering VVilliam doth excel ; Victorious still he grows , prevail he shall , Until his Foes become Poor Quakers all . Hail , once again , ( Great Sir ) and let the Hail Through England , Scotland , Ireland prevail . I can't forbear , nor can I hold my Hand , My Pen will still persue my Wills Command ; Then blame me not ( Great Sir ) I must Repeat , The Loyalty I bear to you the Great , Victorious William , my Dear Sovereign Lord , Nought can I think enough to spread abroad , Your VVorth and Virtue , which so much excel , All which Rehears'd would many Volumns fill . The Time alas would Fail if I should speak , Of all thy Virtues and thy Glories great , But some ( Illustrious Sir ) I must Repeat . Clap Hands , rejoyce O happy British Clime , Thrice happy if thou didst but know thy Time , Wherein thou' rt blest with Blessings from above , A God of War a Queen made up of Love ; A King so Virtuous , Wise , so Good and Iust , A King so Pious , Great and Valorous . And eke a Queen , compos'd of Grace and Love , Wise as a Serpent , harmless as a Dove ; So Loving Lovly , of a Soul so Great , That whoso Loves her not , deserves the greatest Hate . Thou' rt Blest , indeed thou' rt Blest , hadst thou a Heart But to improve these Blessings ' yond Desert . Religious Freedom now we all enjoy , We live secure , and nought does us annoy ; Under our Vines most safely sit we may , And no Distractions more shall us dismay ; No more shall Frantick Zeal our Peace disturb , Nor Popish Thraldom more , our Conscience curb ; Within our Temples , Hymns and Anthems Ring Of thanks to God , and praises to our King : Our happy Roses , and our Thistles blow , Our Fields with Milk and Hony overflow . As yet we hear no Drums and Trumpets sound , Nor Carkasses of Dead or'e-spread the Ground ; From which God save our happy English Land , And strengthen much the Man of his Right Hand : And Lord preserve in perfect Union still , The little World of this our Albion Isle . Inlarge his Life who doth inlarge our Peace , And let his Glory with his Life increase ; That being mounted on the Wings of Fame , This Age may see his Worth , the next admire his Name . And whil'st we thus our weighty Work persue , Let 's once more pay our Hails , Great Sir , to You. Hail mighty Monarch of the Warlike Race , Whose nimble Conquests Time wants Speed to Trace . Behold our Angel comes , by whose bright Ray Darkness is fled , and Light salutes the Day ; Welcome , Thrice Welcome , to the old Whitehall ; Thy Gracious Presence make us happy all . As the Sun's heat replenisheth the Earth , Purges the Blood , and gives to Seasons Birth : So your Blest Ray diffus'd within our Sphere , Gives vital Warmth to ev'ry Creature there , To Providence and Thee we still shall raise Altars for Thanks , and Pyramids for Praise . The Church shall Triumph , and the State Rejoyce , And sing Te Deums with united Voice . So shall you be Belov'd by Wholes , not Parts , And ever live the Regent King of Hearts . O that my Low-bred Strains were yet rais'd Higher , That I might still bright William's Worth admire . Reach then a soaring Quill that I might write , As with a Jacob's Staff to take the height . Now come aloft , come , come , and breath a Vein , And give some vent unto thy dareing Strain ; Come Mars , Minerva , ay and Juno too , Mount , Mount , Parnassus , William's Praise persue . The chiefest Gods in their best Royal State , Thy matchless Praises now do celebrate ; Jove that shakes Heaven with his angry Brows , Presents thee Harmony , to be thy Spouse ; Whose Father fam'd , is Mars the God of War , Whose Mother bright , is Venus Morning Star : Minerva too presents her Golden Chain , And lovely Ceres will make thee Rich in Grain ▪ Jove's mighty Daughters with their Beardless King , From famous Helicon their Musick bring ; Each one with Flowers and Lawrels rarely Crown'd , Whilst Aroa's pleasant Harp doth sweetly sound . Thus , Thus , the Gods in all their best Aray , With Songs and Dances Crown this happy Day : 'T is VVilliam's Praise , 't is VVilliam's Praise alone , That 's thus by all that 's Good and Great made known : Metals may Blazen Common Beauties , he Makes Pearl and Planets humble Herauldry : But whether am I fled ? a Poets Song , When Love directs , his Praise , is ever long . Awake , 't is shame , our Lyons Dormant lye , And all our Spirits in a Lethargy . Rouze Country-men , take hold of Shield and Spear , Make William's Foes Tremble and Quake for fear . Let 's make those Monsters that Invade our Land , Throw down their Arms , and turn their trembling Hand , 'Gainst those that Disobey our King's Command . Wee 'll ransack Europe , find out England's Foes , And such as dare our Sovereign Lord Oppose : Let 's find those Hell-hounds that so much annoy , And seek our Native Land for to destroy : And eke those Vultures , that corrode the heart Of their own Mother , make her sorely smart ; That watch a Season , for to give her up For to be Butcher'd , by a Damned Pope ; Or else to humble her to Lewis fell , That Cursed Monster who rose up from Hell , To be a Plague , and Scourge to Christendom : To this most Christian Turk , they 'd fain become Vassals ; and likewise Slaves to Hell and Rome . Let 's find , let 's find , I say those Traytors out , And let them to Condign Shame be brought : That thus the King defie , and do adore , The Filthy Carkass of a Rotten Whore. Look up , you Sons of mighty Ancestors ! Who never bounded were by their own Shores : Your Fighting Fathers were abroad renown'd , Their Kings in France , and distant Jewry Crown'd . Now give me Vine ! and let my Fury rise , That what my ravisht Soul's Immortal Eyes With Joy and Wonder saw , I may Rehearse , To curious Ears in high Immortal Verse . Forgive ( Great Sir ) that this Aspiring Flame , ( First kindled as a Light to shew thy Fame ) Consumes so fast , and is mis-pent too long , E're my Chief Vision is become my Song . Thy Self I saw quite tir'd with Victory , As weary grown to Kill , as they to Die : Whilst some at last , thy Mercy did enjoy , 'Cause 't was less pains to Pardon , than destroy ; And thy Compassion did thy Army please , In meer Belief , it gave thy Valour ease . Lo ! in a Calm began thy Regal Sway , Which with most Chearful Hearts all do obey ; As if no Law were Juster than thy VVord , Thy Scepter still were safe , without a Sword. And let Chronologers pronounce thy Style , The first True Monarch of the Golden Isle : An Isle so seated for Predominance And Naval Strength , it 's Power can so advance , That it may Tribute take , of what the East , Shall ever send in Traffick to the West . Advance Great Sir , still let your Fame be spread , As for as where the Morning Clouds look red : Go on , go on , let lofty Lewis feel , The mighty Force of thy revenging Steel , Make , make , his Flowers fade and Courage reel ; Nay reel he must at last , and tumble down , France is thy Right , he shall resign his Crown To you ( Illustrious Sir ) you shall enjoy your own . 'T is not the Tide of many reeling Years , Can wash the Fields of Gossey and Poictiers ; A conscious Horror strikes their Bosoms still , When they survey that famous fatal Hill , Where our third Edward's Host Spectators stood , Wading to Honour 'bove the Knees in Blood , And left the Prince to make the Conquest good . Where will they sculk when they the Banners view Of a Third Edward , and a VVilliam too ? O what can't England do if she awake ! Give Laws to Europe , and make Empires shake ; Keep Mistress of the undisputed Main , And hold the Ballance just 'twixt France and Spain ; And once more make her useless Cannons roar , Thro' both the Indies , and bring back their Oar ; Search out new Worlds , and conquer old ones too , Bomb Mexico and subjugate Peru. Beard the Proud Sophy and the Grand Mogul , These are the Rays would make thy Glories full . What tho' the Spaniards have surrendred Mons , And left it unto the Tyrant of France , 'T was 'cause they wanted Thee for their Defence . For doubtless had you but near them advanc'd , You 'd made them all toth ' Tune of Teague to dance , And back again in hast return to France . But this will no ways stain thy Matchless Glory , Thy Name shall still be Crown'd in English Story ; For we 're Resolv'd ( Great Sir ) to reunite , And with our Lives and Fortunes pay their spite . Come , come , you Foolish Iacobitish Crew , Lay by your Malice , lest there worse ensue : Oh! never Plot against your Prince and State , Lest Vengeance fell repay it on your Pate ; No never think that God will suffer such , His Dear ANOYNTED ever for to touch : Leave off , leave off , your Dagon cannot stand , Whilst the Blest ARK remains within our Land ; Joyn , joyn with us , for God is on our side , Even so shall Blessings still to you betide ; Yet know proud Foes , if you do this disdain , We will e're long your Pride and Glory stain , For we 're Resolv'd advancc Great Williams Fame . Sure Heaven has thee design'd to wound the Whore , To tear her Flesh , and lay her in her Gore ; To ruin Rome , the Pope to undermine , And work his fatal Downfal in due time . Jehovah Spirit Thee for thy Great Work , Make Thee a Terrour unto Pope and Turk : So by you then shall Tyrants be undone , And all the force of Hell and Rome or'thrown . When God appointed Kings with his own Voice , And joyful People blest him for the Choice ; Then Kingly Virtues set the Monarch forth , And not Succession Crown'd him , but his Worth. Such is thy fate blest Isle , and may'st thou be , A Blessing to thy King as He 's to Thee : Thou never wer 't so happy yet till now , Blest with a King , before whose Feet shall bow All those that hate Thee , and the Truths of God , If they 'll not kiss the Son , shall feel the Rod. Too boldly ( Awful Monarch ) am I gone , Thro' all your Guards , to gaze about your Throne ; Yet 't is the use of Greatness to excufe , The daring Progress of the Sacred Muse : She taught the Lover , Love ; the Warriour , War ; And is the Guide when Honour would go far . Heroick Prince , may still thy Acts and Name , Become the VVonder , and Discourse of Fame ; May every Lawrel , ev'ry Mirtle Bough Be stript , for VVreaths t' adorn , and load thy Brow ; Triumphant VVreaths , which 'cause they never fade , Wise elder times , for Kings and Poets made ; Let me deserve a little sprig of Bay , To wear Great Sir , on your blest Holy-day . Stay , speak ( O Fame ! ) what Triumph thou wouldst sound ; In all thy boasted Flights , thou scarce hast found One Theam like mine . Ascend and strait disperse , ( As far as ever thou wert led by Verse , Or Light e're flew ) my Sov'reigns full Renown , Then rest thy VVings , and lay thy Trumpet down . Now Thanks to Heaven , that did our King Protect , And him in all his Councils did Direct ; Gave Laws to VVinds , and made the Seas obey , And safely home our Sovereign Lord Convey : Thanks to those Barks , that brought his Person o're , From the fair Belgick , to the British Shoar , Let Heavens Prosper them with Blessings store . May Heavens still Protect your Majesty , And Crown you with Success , by Land and Sea ; And after Death with Immortality . FINIS . A Catalogue of Books , Printed for , and sold by T. Jones , at the VVhite Horse , without Temple-Bar . A Dialogue between two Oxon Scholars , 4 to . A Dialogue between the Confederate Princes , &c. Concerning the Present Affairs of Europe . In the Press , and will be Publish'd this Easter Term , A Choice Collection of AYRES , for two and three Treble Flutes , Compos'd by the best Masters of Musick , and all Engraved upon Copper Plates , price , 2 s. 6. d.