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La flame & le fer en main:

Et sur les monceaux de piques,

De corps morts, de rocs, de briques, S'ouvrir un large chemin.

C'en est fait. Je viens d'entendre
Sur ces rochers éperdus

Battre un signal pour se rendre :
Le feu cesse. Ils sont rendus.
Dépouillez vôtre arrogance,
Fiers ennemis de la France,
Et desormais gracieux,
Allez à Liege, à Bruxelles,
Porter les humbles nouvelles
De Namur pris à vos yeux.

AN ENGLISH BALLAD,

ON THE TAKING OF NAMUR BY THE KING OF GREAT BRITAIN, 1695.

Dulce est desipere in loco.

SOME folks are drunk, yet do not know it:
So might not Bacchus give you law?
Was it a Muse, O lofty poet,

Or virgin of St. Cyr, you saw?
Why all this fury? what's the matter,

That oaks must come from Thrace to dance? Must stupid stocks be taught to flatter?

And is there no such wood in France?
Why must the winds all hold their tongue?
If they a little breath should raise,
Would that have spoil'd the poet's song,
Or puff'd away the monarch's praise?
Pindar, that eagle, mounts the skies,
While Virtue leads the noble way:
Too like a vulture Boileau flies,

Where sordid Interest shows the prey.
When once the poet's honour ceases,
From reason far his transports rove:
And Boileau, for eight hundred pieces,
Makes Louis take the wall of Jove.

Neptune and Sol came from above,

Shap'd like Megrigny and Vauban: They arm'd these rocks; then show'd old Jove Of Marli wood the wondrous plan. Such walls, these three wise gods agreed,

By human force could ne'er be shaken :
But 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 lusty fellows,
With fire and sword, 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 so,
That most of us are still alive.

If Namur be compar'd to Troy;

Then Britain's boys excell'd the Greeks: Their singe did ten long years einploy; We've done our business in ten weeks, VOL X.

What godhead does so fast advance,

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

No godhead, but the first of men. His mortal arm exerts the power

To keep c'en Mons's victor under:
And that same Jupiter no more

Shall fright the world with impious thunder.
Our king thus trembles at Namur;
Whilst Villeroy, who ne'er afraid is,
To Bruxelles marches on secure,

To bomb the monks, and scare the ladies.
After this glorious expedition,

One battle makes the marshal great: He must perform the king's commission: Who knows but Orange may retreat? Kings are allow'd to feign the gout,

Or be prevail'd with not to fight:
And mighty Louis hop'd, no doubt,

That William would preserve that right.
From Seine and Loire, to Rhone and Po,
See every mother's son appear:
In such a case ne'er blame a foe,

If he betrays soine little fear.
He comes, the mighty Villeroy comes;
Finds a small river in his way;

So waves his colours, beats his drums,
And thinks it prudent there to stay.
The Gallic troops breathe blood and war;
The marshal cares not to march faster:
Poor Villeroy moves so slowly here,

We fancied all, it was his master.
Will no kind flood, no friendly rain,

Disguise the marshal's plain disgrace? No torrents swell the low Mehayne?

The world will say, he durst not pass.
Why will no Hyades appear,

Dear poet, on the banks of Sambre;
Just as they did that mighty year,
When you turn'd June into December?
The water-nymphs are too unkind

To Villeroy; are the land-nymphs so?
And fly they all, at once combin'd

To shame a general, and a beau? Truth, Justice, Sense, Religion, Fame,

May join to finish William's story: Nations set free may bless his name;

And France in secret own his glory. But Ypres, Mastricht, and Cambray, Besan on, Ghent, St. Omers, Lisle, Courtray, and Dole-Ye critics, say, How poor to this was Pindar's style? With ekes and alsos tack thy strain,

Great bard! and sing the deathless prince, Who lost Namur the same campaign

He bought Dixmuyd, and plunder'd Deynse.
I'll hold ten pound my dream is out:
I'd tell it you, but for the rattle
Of those confounded drums; no doubt
Yon bloody rogues intend a battle.
Dear me! a hundred thousand French
With terrour fill the neighbouring field:
While William carries on the trench,

Ti!! both the town and castle yield.
Villeroy to Boufflers should advan e,
Says Mars, through cannons' mouths in fire,

Id est, one mareschal of France

Tells t'other, he can come no nigher.

L

Regain the lines the shortest way,

Villeroy; or to Versailles take post;. For, having seen it, thou canst say

The steps, by which Namur was lost. The smoke and flame may vex thy sight: Look not once back: but, as thou goest, Quicken the squadrons in their flight,

And bid the Devil take the slowest. Think not what reason to produce, From Louis to conceal thy fear: He'll own the strength of thy excuse; Tell him that William was but there. Now let us look for Louis' feather,

That us'd to shine so like a star: The generals could not get together,

Wanting that influence, great in war. O poet! thou hadst been discreeter,

Hanging the monarch's hat so high,
If thou hadst dubb'd thy star, a meteor,
That did but blaze, and rove, and dic.
To animate the doubtful fight,

Namur in vain expects that ray:
In vain France hopes, the sickly light
Should shine near William's fuller day:
It knows Versailles, its proper station;
Nor cares for any foreign sphere:
Where you see Boileau's constellation,
Be sure no danger can be near.
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 sing her king-that great commander,
Or on the shores of Hellespont,

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

If any foolish Phrygian there is,

Impertinent enough to ask,

How far Namur may be from Paris?

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 ode is spoilt: Namur is freed;

For Dixmuyd something yet is due:
So good count Guiscard may proceed;
But Boufflers, sir, one word with you.
'Tis done. In sight of these commanders,
Who neither fight, nor raise the siege,

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 shown,

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.

AN ODE.

THE merchant, to secure his treasure, Conveys it in a borrow'd name: Euphelia serves to grace my measure; But Cloe is my real flame.

My softest verse, my darling lyre,

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

That I should sing, that I should play.

My lyre I tune, my voice I raise,
But with my numbers mix my sighs;
And, whilst I sing Euphelia's praise,
I fix my soul on Cloe's eyes.

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 TO THE KING,

AT HIS ARRIVAL IN HOLLAND, AFTER THE DISCOVERY OF THE CONSPIRACY, 1696.

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Ye careful angels, whom eternal Fate
Ordains, on Earth and human acts to wait;
Who turn with secret power this restless ball,
And bid predestin'd empires rise and fall:
Your sacred aid religious monarchs own,
When first they merit, then ascend the throne!
But tyrants dread you, lest your just decree
Transfer the power, and set the people free.
See rescued Britain at your altars bow;
And hear her hymns your happy care avow:
That still her axes and her rods support
The judge's frown, and grace the awful court ;-
That Law with all her pompous terrour stands,
To wrest the dagger from the traitour's hands;
And rigid Justice reads the fatal word,
Poises the balance first, then draws the sword.
Britain her safety to your guidance owns,
That she can separate parricides from sons;
That, impious rage disarm'd, she lives and reigns,
Her freedom kept by him, who broke her chains.
And thou, great minister, above the rest
Of guardian spirits, be thou for ever blest;
Thou who of old wast sent to Israel's court,
With secret aid, great David's strong support,
To mock the frantic rage of cruel Saul,
And strike the useless javelin to the wall.
Thy later care o'er William's temples held,
On Boyne's propitious banks, the heavenly shield,
When power divine did sovereign right declare;
And cannons mark'd whom they were bid to spare.
Still, blessed angel, be thy care the same!
Be William's life untouch'd as is his fame!
Let him own thine, as Britain owns his hand :
Save thou the king, as he has sav'd the land!
We angels' forms in pious monarchs view;
We reverence William; for he acts like you;
Like you, commission'd to chastise and bless,
He must avenge the world, and give it peace.

Indulgent Fate our potent prayer receives;
And still Britannia smiles, and William lives.
The hero dear to Earth, by Heaven belov'd,
By troubles must be vex'd, by dangers prov'd:

His foes must aid, to make his fame complete,
And fix his throne secure on their defeat.

So, though with sudden rage the tempest comes;
Though the winds roar; and though the water
Imperial Britain on the sea looks down, [foams;
And siniling sees her rebel-subjects frown.
Striking her cliff, the storin confirms her power;
The waves but whiten her triumphant shore:
In vain they would advance, in vain retreat ;
Broken they dash, and perish at her feet.

[throne.

For William still new wonders shall be shown :
The powers, that rescued, shall preserve the
Safe on his darling Britain's joyful sea,
Behold, the monarch plows bis liquid way:
His fleets in thun ler through the world declare,
Whose empire they obey, whose arms they bear.
Bless'd by aspiring winds, he finds the strand
Blacken'd with crowds; he sees the nation stand,
Blessing his safety, proud of his command.
In various tongues he hears the captains dwell·
On their great leader's praise; by turns they tell,
And listen, each with emulous glory fir'd,
How William conquer'd, and how France retir'd;
How Belgia freed the hero's arms confess'd,
But trembled for the courage which she blest.
O Louis, from this great example know,
To be at once a hero and a foe:

By sounding trumpets, hear, and rattling drums,
When William to the open vengcauce comes:
And see the soldier plead the monarch's right,
Heading his troops, and foremost in the fight.
Hence then, close Ambush and perfidious War,
Down to your native seats of Night repair.
And thou, Bellona, weep thy cruel pride
Restrain'd, behind the victor's chariot tied
In brazen knots and everlasting chains,
(So Europe's peace, so William's fate ordains)
While on the ivory chair, in happy state,
He sits, secure in innocence, and great
In regal clemency; and views beneath
Averted darts of Rage, and pointless arms of Death.

THE SECRETARY.

WRITTEN AT THE HAGUE, 1696.
WHILE with labour assiduous due pleasure I mix,
And in one day atone for the business of six,
In a little Dutch chaise on a Saturday night,
On my left-hand my Horace, a nymph on my
right:

No memoirs to compose, and no post-boy to move,
That on Sunday may hinder the softness of love;
For her, neither visits, nor parties at tea,
Nor the long-winded cant of a dull refugee.
This night and the next shall be hers, shall be
To good or ill-fortune the third we resign: [mine,
Thus scorning the world and superior to fate,
I drive on my car in processional state.
So with Phia through Athens Pisistratus rode;
Men thought her Minerva, and him a new god.
But why should I stories of Athens rehearse,
Where people knew love, and were partial to verse;
Since none can with justice my pleasures oppose,
In Holland half drowned in interest and prose?
By Greece and past ages what need I be tried,
When the Hague and the present are both on my
side ?

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TO CLOE WEEPING.

See, whilst thou weep'st, fair Cloc, see
The world in sympathy with thee.
The cheerful birds no longer sing;
Fach drops his head, and hangs his wing.
The clouds havé beat their bosom lower,
And shed their sorrows in a shower.
The brooks beyond their limits flow;
And louder murmurs speak their woe.
The nymphs and swains adopt thy cares;
They heave thy sighs, and weep thy tears.
Fantastic nymph! that grief should move
Thy heart obdurate against love.

Strange tears! whose power can soften all,
But that dear breast on which they fall.

TO MR. HOW ARD.

AN ODE.

DEAR Howard, from the soft assaults of Love,
Poets and painters never are secure ;
Can I untouch'd the fair-one s passions move,
Or thou draw Beauty, and not feel its power?

To great Apelles when young Ammon brought
The darling idol of his captive heart;
And the pleas d nymph with kind attention sat,
To have her charms recorded by his art:
The amorous master own'd her potcat eyes;
Sigh'd when he look'd, and trembled as he drew;
Each flowing line confirm'd his first surp: ise,

And, as the piece advanc'd, the passion grew,
While Philip's son, while Venus' son, was near,
What different tortures does his bosom feel!
Great was the rival, and the god severe :
Nor could he hide his flame, nor durst reveal,
The prince, renown'd in bounty as in arins,
With pity saw the ill conceal'd distress;
Quitted his title to Campaspe's charms,

And gave the fair-one to the friend's (mbrace.
Thus the more beauteous Cloe sat to thee,

Good Howard, emulous of the Grecian art: But happy thou, from Cupid's arrow free, And flames that pierc'd thy predecessor's heart! Had thy poor breast receiv'd an equal pain;

Had I been vested with the monarch's power; Thou must have sigh'd, unlucky youth, in vain; Nor from my bounty hadst thou found a cure. Though, to convince thee that the friend did feel A kind concern for thy ill-fated care,

I would have sooth'd the flame I could not heal; Given thee the world; though I withheld the

fair.

LOVE DISARMED.

BENEATH a myrtle's verdant shade
As Cloe half asleep was laid,
Cupid perch'd lightly on her breast,
And in that Heaven desir'd to rest:
Over her paps his wings he spread ;
Between he found a downy bed,
And nestled in his little head.

Still lay the god: the nymph, surpris'd,
Yet mistress of herself, devis'd
How she the vagrant might inthral,
And captive him, who captives all.
Her bodice half-way she unlac'd;
About his arms she slily cast
The silken bond, and held him fast.

The god awak'd; and thrice in vain
He strove to break the cruel chain;
And thrice in vain he shook his wing,
Encumber'd in the silken string.
Fluttering the god, and weeping, said,
"Pity poor Cupid, generous maid,
Who happen'd, being blind, to stray,
And on thy bosom lost his way;
Who stray'd, alas! but knew too well,
He never there must hope to dwell:
Set an unhappy prisoner free,
Who ne'er intended harm to thee."

"To me pertains not," she replies, "To know or care where Cupid flies; What are his haunts, or which his way; Where he would dwell, or whither stray: Yet will I never set thee frec;

For harm was meant, and harm to me."
"Vain fears that vex thy virgin heart!
I'll give thee up my bow and dart;
Untangle but this cruel chain,
And freely let me fly again."

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Agreed: secure my virgin heart:
Instant give up thy bow and dart :
The chain I'll in return untie;
And freely thou again shalt fly."
Thus she the captive did deliver;
The captive thus gave up his quiver.
The god disarm'd, e'er since that day,
Passes his life in harmless play;
Flies round, or sits upon her breast,
A little, fluttering, idle guest.

E'er since that day, the beauteous maid
Governs the world in Cupid's stead;
Directs his arrow as she wills;
Gives grief, or pleasure; spares, or kills. '

CLOE HUNTING.

BEHIND her neck her comely tresses tied,
Her ivory quiver graceful by her side,
A hunting Cloe went: she lost her way,
And through the woods uncertain chanc'd to stray.
Apollo, passing by, beheld the maid,

And, "Sister dear, bright Cynthia, turn," he said;
"The hunted hind lies close in yonder brake."
Loud Cupid laugh'd, to see the God's mistake,
And, laughing, cried, "Learn better, great divine,
To know thy kindred, and to honour mine.
Rightly advis'd far hence thy sister seek,
Or on Meander's bank, or Latmus' peak.

But in this nymph, my friend, my sister know
She draws my arrows, and she bends my bow:
Fair Thames she haunts, and ever neighbouring
Sacred to soft recess, and gentle love. [grove,

Go, with thy Cynthia, hurl the pointed spear
At the rough boar, or chase the flying deer:
I and my Cloe take a nobler aim:

At human hearts we fling, nor ever miss the game."

CUPID AND GANYMEDE.

IN Heaven, one holiday, you read
In wise Anacreon, Ganymede
Drew heedless Cupid in, to throw
A main, to pass an hour, or so.
The little Trojan by the way,
By Hermes taught, play'd all the play.
The god unhappily engag'd,

By nature rash, by play enrag'd,
Complain'd, and sigh'd, and cried and fretted
Lost every earthly thing he betted:

In ready money, all the store

Pick'd up long since from Danaë's shower;

A snuff-box, set with bleeding hearts,
Rubies, all pierc'd with diamond darts;
His nine-pins made of myrtie wood
(The tree in Ida's forest stood);
His bowl pure gold, the very same
Which Paris gave the Cyprian daine;
Two table-books in shagreen covers,
Fill'd with good verse from real lovers;
Merchandise rare! a billet-doux,
Its matter passionate, yet true;
Heaps of hair-rings, and cypher'd scals;
Rich trifles; serious bagatelles.

What sad disorders play begets!
Desperate and mad, at length he sets
Those darts, whose points make gods adore

His might, and deprecate his power:
Those darts, whence all our joy and pain

Arise those darts-" Come, seven's the main,7
Cries Ganymede: the usual trick :

Seven, slar a six; eleven, a nick.

Ill news goes fast: 'twas quickly known
That simple Cupid was undone.
Swifter than lightning Venus flew:
Too late she found the thing too true.
Guess how the goddess greets her son:
"Come hither, sirrah; no, begone!
And, hark ye, is it so indeed?
A comrade you for Ganymede?
An imp as wicked, for his age,
As any carthly lady's page;

A scandal and a scourge to Troy;
A prince's son! a black-guard boy;
A sharper, that with box and dice
Draws in young deities to vice.
All Heaven is by the ears together,
Since first that little rogue came hither :~
Juno herself has had no peace :.
And truly I've been favour'd less:
For Jove, as Fame reports (but Fame
Says things not fit for me to name),
Has acted ill for such a god,

And taken ways extremely odd.

"And thou, unhappy child," she said, (Her anger by her grief allay'd)

*Unhappy child, who thus hast lost
All the estate we e'er could boast;
Whither, O whither wilt thou run,
Thy name despis'd, thy weakness known?
Nor shall thy shrine on Earth be crown'd;
Nor shall thy power in Heaven be own'd;
When thou nor man nor god canst wound."
Oberlient Cupid kneeling cried,
"Cease, dearest mother, cease to chide:
Gany's a cheat, and I'm a bubble:
Yet why this great excess of trouble?
The dice were false: the darts are gone:
Yet how are yon, or I, undone?

The loss of these I can supply
With keener shafts from Cloe's eye:
Fear not we e'er can be disgrac'd
While that bright magazine shall last :
Your crowded altars still shall smoke;
And man your friendly aid invoke:
Jove shall again revere your power,
And rise a swan, or fall a shower.

CUPID MISTAKEN.

As after noon, one summer's day,
Venus stood bathing in a river;
Cupid a-shooting went that way,

New strung his bow, new fill'd his quiver.

With skill he chose his sharpest dart, With all his might his bow he drew; Swift to his beauteous parent's heart The too-well-guided arrow flew. "I faint! I die!" the goddess cried: "O cruel, could'st thou find none other, To wreck thy spleen on? parricide!

Like Nero, thou hast slain thy mother."

Poor Cupid sobbing scarce could speak ; "Indeed, mamma, I did not know ye : Alas! how easy my mistake!

I took you for your likeness Cloc."

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In complaisance poor Cupid mourn'd ;
His grief reliev'd his mother's pain;
He vow'd he'd leave no stone unturn'd,
But she should have her Dove again.
"Though none," said he, "shall yet be nam'd
I know the felon well enough:
But be she not, Mamma, condemn'd
Without a fair and legal proof."

With that, his longest dart he took,
As constable would take his staff:
That gods desire like men to look,
Would make e'en Heraclitus laugh.
Love's subalterns, a duteous band,

Like watchmen, round their chief appear:

Each had his lantern in bis hand;

And Venus mask'd brought up the rear.
Accoutred thus, their eager step
To Cloe's lodging they directed:
(At once I write, alas! and weep,
That Cloe is of theft suspected).
Late they set out, had far to go :

Cloe, for reasons good, you know,

St. Dunstan's as they pass'd struck one.

Lives at the sober end o' th' town.

With one great peal they rap the door,
Like footmen on a visiting-day.

Folks at her house at such an hour!
Lord! what will all the neighbours say?

The door is open up they run:

Nor prayers, nor threats, divert their speed: "Thieves thieves!" cries Susan; "we're undone, They'll kill my mistress in her bed,”

In bed indeed the nymph had been
Three hours: for, all historians say,
She commonly went up at ten,

Unless piquet was in the way..

She wak'd, be sure, with strange surprise
O Cupid, is this right or law,
Thus to disturb the brightest eyes,
That ever slept, or ever saw?

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