THE Double WELCOME. A POEM TO THE Duke of Marlbro.
LONDON:
Printed, and Sold by
B. Bragg
at the
Blue-Ball
in
Ave-Mary Lane.
1705.
THE Double Welcome. A POEM To the Duke of
MARLBOROUGH.
My Lord,
THE Muse that by Your Victory's Inspir'd,
First sung those Conquests,
all the World admir'd,
Now sings the Triumphs of your Native Land,
Where you
our Hearts
as well
as Troops
Command,
Her Debt of Praise is Yours, but 'tis her Due,
That welcom'd Vict'ry,
now to welcome You.
And tho' her Verse
too mean
to sing your Fame,
Injures the Hero by the Poet's Name;
Abject and low, and
scorch'd by Party-Fire,
Whom neither
Name
Invites nor
Hopes
Inspire:
Yet this she claims, she can Your Fame rehearse,
Ʋ nbiass'd
in Your Praise,
Impartial
in her Verse.
This Character sh' has kept, and this she brings,
She always scorn'd to flatter,
tho' she sung to Kings.
Satyr has been her Talent,
Truth her Song,
Truth
who can bear it!
sung too loud, too long.
Bright Truth!
that Stranger to the Jingling Train,
Makes all their Praises Satyrs, all their Satyrs vain,
While Truth can neither this nor that explain.
Th'
Ʋ nspotted Standard
has been all her Aim,
For this
she has felt her Fate,
and sunk her Fame:
For this
they've
damn'd the Poet and his Rimes,
And slain th' unhappy Muse
for want of Crimes
Adapted thus to Sacred
Truth
and
Fame,
She never sung but they were both her Theam
Stranger to Panegyrick and to Praise,
It must be
some sublime
must her just Fancy raise.
To
Truth
and
Merit
she was always true,
She never could the flattering Flight pursue,
And never prais'd but
William,
Sir, and
You.
And should she, spight of Nature, strain her Thought,
Should she his Lawrels sing that never fought,
Should she make
Gallo
Chast and
Talus
Wise,
And praise Immortal Blockheads in Disguise,
Or feign a Hero,
'Twould be so forc'd, so aukward, and so dull,
Gallo
would seem
more Lewd, Talus
seem
more a Fool:
Truth thro' the Lawn of Flattery would shine,
And in Mock-Praise the Satyr must be seen.
Should we Eternal Trophies seem to raise,
And Flying
Chamo
's Doubtful Vict'ry praise.
Disputed Honours partially decide,
And grant that Fame
Bellona
had deny'd;
To Vict'ry's Statue new Mock Honours pay,
And say they Conqu'red there that run away;
'Twould with such Incoherent Nonsence shine,
The blushing Hero must the aukward Praise decline:
The
strong Collateral Banter
would appear,
Courage so sung would read
like Hymns to Fear.
The Painters thus by Contraries present
The allegorick
Devil
like the
Saint,
But by some faint Reflection show their Care
The Cloven Meaning
should not fail t'appear.
The Poet,
Sir, to Plainness thus ennur'd,
Thus from the Charge of Flatt'ry first secur'd,
An Honest and Unbyass'd Freedom brings,
And
all the Nation listens
while he sings;
In his Inviting Consort freely Joyn,
Just so they did when first he sung
the Boyne;
Just as when
Namur
's Conquer'd Walls he sung,
Britannia
own'd his Harp Divinely strung.
'Tis Subject makes a
Poet, and the Verse
Must be Inspir'd when
William
we rehearse;
His mighty Name Poetick Force procures,
And next to him the Inspiration's
Yours.
From Foreign Fields and
wild Danubian
Shore,
Where
English
Armies never trod before,
Fruitful of Dangers,
long ennur'd to War
For
Great Gustavus
us'd to Conquer There;
Herculean Labours past,
and Hazards run,
Unheard of
Marches
made, unlook'd for
Vict'rys
won:
From Battels
fought in Earnest,
and the Field
Which none but
these
could win, where
those
must yield:)
From unexampl'd Conduct and Success,
That
ne'er had been so great had
This
been less
From Deeds too mighty to be spoke by Words,
Printed in Death, engrav'd
with English Swords,
Confest by
Humbl'd France,
and loudly told
By Valour
dearly bought,
by Valour
dearly sold:
From scatter'd Enemies and rescued Crowns,
Which Envy nor
Disputes
nor Pride
disowns;
You're welcome, Sir,
to this unthankful Shore,
Where Men of Worth were
never own'd
before.
If in the future Glories you pursue,
You find the hateful Scandal happen true;
The Names of
Schellenberg
and
Hockstet
lie
Buried with
Namure
and the
Boyn
in wild Obscurity.
Let not your Virtue in Suspence appear,
'T has always been the Fate of Merit here:
A steady Glory ever has entail'd
The Grin of Envy; Envy never fail'd
To act the high refin'd Extreme of Hell
How
William
found it,
Blush my Muse to tell.
Shall any Foreign Bard desire to know
Why
Britain
can so few like
William
show?
Say angry Poet, tell 'em 'tis because
Ingrateful Devils grudge them due Applause.
The Nation's Genius acted from below
Rewards no Service, will no Merit know.
Fame's empty Record none but
Marlbro'
shows,
Would
England
's Work on
England
's Terms espouse:
But he like
Wiliam, Heavens their Fame regard,
Pursues true Virtue for its own Reward.
Welcome Immortal Hero's
to that Shore,
Where Men of
Equal Worth
were never seen before.
From
Fam'd Breda
set out the mighty Train,
William
too oft
set out from thence
in vain.
Advance my Muse, and view th' embattel'd Line,
They pass the
Maese,
the
Moselle,
and the
Rhine.
France
in Suspence the mighy Storm foresaw,
The Conq'ring Squrdrons for the Battel draw,
And
Mars
stood blindly hov'ring o'er
Landau.
Laugh at the guilty baffled God of War,
Ye Sons of Arms, the Scene's prepar'd afar;
Not
Lewis
now, not
Mars
himself could know
Where
English Jove
his Thunderbolt would throw:
No Traytors brib'd by
France
could lead the way,
Not Hell it self the Project could betray,
Nor sell the Nation, as in
William
's time, for Pay.
The Troops amus'd with Halts and Feints of War
The just Surprize instructs them what to fear;
When you to
Danube
's Banks in hast advance,
A Length unlook'd for, unforeseen by
France.
Swift, as the
German
Eagles lead, you fly
On Gusts of Hope, and Wings of Victory;
Your Passes o'er the
Swabian
Rocks appear
Like
Hannibal
's, with Flame and Vinegar:
And when the distant Vales their Prospect show,
You threaten Conquest to the Plains below.
Before your powerful Troops
Bavaria
's fly,
And
Schellenberg
give way to Victory.
The fam'd Ascent had thirteen times and more
Been storm'd, and ne'er was won but once before.
Once did the great
Gustave Bavaria
here pursue,
He Conquer'd here because he fought like You.
From thence thro' ravag'd Towns and conquer'd Plains
The Monument of Victory remains,
Augsburg
and
Munick
trembl'd at your Name,
Tho' not inform'd of your approaching Fame:
To
Blenheim, happy Name!
the Scenes advance,
There gathers all the Thunderbolts of
France.
A Leash of Armies on thy Plains appear
Each fancied able to support a War,
And free a Nation from the Vanity of Fear.
We that at Distance saw th' approaching Day,
Knew the Design, and saw the Bloody Way.
Blame not, great Prince, the doubts we own were true;
Our anxious Thoughts for
England
and for You.
We knew your brave resolv'd and steady Mind,
But who durst hope for what remain'd behind;
Who durst foretell the Glories of the Day,
That saw the dreadful Dangers of the Way:
Not Heaven it self, had we the News receiv'd
From Heaven it self, would here ha' been believ'd.
When first the Tidings thro' the Nation flew,
We pauz'd to ask if 'twas a Dream or true;
Amaz'd almost as much as they that fled,
While those with Fear, and these with Joy, dismay'd.
Speak all ye Sons of
Rhime,
the Day rehearse,
The Theme's too high for my too humble Verse:
Apollo
must your Heads at once inspire,
For needful Praise with Emblematick Fire.
He that in suited Verse to
Marlbro'
writes,
Should feel that very Spirit by which he fights.
Yet still the meanest Poet of the Train
Keeps on, nor shall his Tribute come in vain:
Not all are
Virgils
to
Mecaenas
come,
Yet all huzza'd
Augustus
back to
Rome;
When from the lesser Honour of the Day
He brought the
Aegyptian
Lover's Crown away
And thus while
Caesar
's Glory you pursue,
The Nation's Praises are your Native Due:
The universal Suffrage spreads your Name,
And all Men bless the Poet in your Fame.
Poet, a large Parenthesis allow,
Say here he
Conquer'd
—leave the mighty How:
The vast Particulars let those explain,
That sing in Numbers suited to the Man:
Let
Addison
our Modern
Virgil
sing,
For he's a Poet fitted for a King;
No Hero will his mighty Flight disdain,
The First,
as thou
the Last
of the Inspir'd Train;
Maecenas
has his Modern Fancy strung,
And fix'd his Pension first, or he had never sung;
Thou unregarded pay'st thy Debt to Fame,
Oppress'd by Fate, and too obscure to Name.
Envy and Party-Spleen h' has never known,
No humbling Jayls has pull'd his Fancy down:
The Towring Youth with high Success aspires,
And fings as one whose Song the World admires.
Yet say he Conquer'd, tho' the mighty How
For
Addison
thou may'st in large Parenthesis allow;
Trace him from
Bleinheim
and
Danubian
Plains,
The
Gallick
Captiv'd Heoes in his Chains:
Trace him to
Philipsburgh
and to
Landau,
And tell the
French
'tis true as they foresaw;
He would the mighty Bastions there pull down,
Tho' not before
their Army's overthrown.
Attend the Hero to the ancient
Saar,
And see him threaten
Native France
with War;
Surrender
Treves
that fatal Town to
France,
Their Troops abandon it as his Advance;
Remind them of old
Holstein
and
Crequi,
There
France, as now at Bleinheim,
learn'd to fly.
Tell us no more of Conquest,
Fame
's
oppress'd,
The Breathless Muses claim some time to rest;
Saarbruck
and
Traarback
will but spoil our Verse,
So harsh no Numbers can their Sounds rehearse:
So
Nimeghen
distracted soft
Boileau,
The Subject lofty, and the Poet low,
Made his just Numbers halt, his Verses lame,
For want of Rhimes to the Exotic Name.
Thus from a vast Variety of Scene,
And six huge Conquests fix'd in one Campaign,
Bavaria Conquer'd,
Settl'd, and Subdu'd,
The flying Prince four Hundred Mile pursu'd:
From
Nineteen Towns surrendred,
and the Field
With slaughter'd Heaps and vanquish'd Legions fill'd
From Captive Princes in your Train brought Home,
So
Casar
led the Kings of
Gaul
to
Rome;
From Trophies nobly bought, and fetch'd from far,
From boldly finishing the Jest of War,
Your're welcome, Sir,
behold th' approaching Throng
Of Three great Nations list'ning to my Song.
How has this wise pretending Age till now
Talkt big of Fighting, never yet knew how;
Our Soldiers tyr'd with strange Fateaguing Die,
And in the
Ditch,
not
Bed
of Honour Lie;
Starv'd with the Cold and Terror of the Night,
But never show'd the
how
or
where
to fight.
The weary Land the
Trade of War
resents,
For what the End designs the Means prevents.
The Miseries we to this Day endure
They caus'd that always
have been paid to cure;
Plunder's their Battles, and the Pay's their End,
They shun their Enemy and rob their Friend:
Peace would such Soldiers Livelihood destroy,
And so indeed they'd for their Country die.
For
Fighting
's just the way to be undone,
And Conquest
would conclude a War too soon.
Good Husbandry, as
Wo—ly told us how,
Had made the
Irish
War ha' held till now;
But
Fighting Ginkle
struck the Stroke too soon,
And so the Nation's sav'd, and all the R—s undone.
But you instructed for your Country's Good,
The Cheats of War have all at once snbdued:
And they that thought the Field was but a Play,
Where all might cheat the Nation for their Pay;
With Lace and Feathers blustering a Campaign
To all the Nation but themselves in vain;
Grow rich upon the Plunder of our Lands,
And raise great Fortunes out of low Commands;
These found the Banter on themselves made good,
While you the proper End of War pursu'd.
Our Campaign
Beaus
no more shall mock the Field
And none take Arms but those that dare be kill'd;
The Powder'd Wig, the Snuff-Box an
me
Will court no more the Musquet and the Drum,
And
Beaus
go Rakes to War, come Bullies Home.
The very Words a different Accent bear,
Fighting
must now be understood
by War;
Battel and Death's synonimous in Name,
And Wounds and Blood will only purchase Fame;
Cowards must lay their bought Commissions down,
Their Camps the Pit, and their Campaign the Town;
There they may bully, swagger, and repeat
The mighty no Engagements they were at,
And fight the
French
in Tea and Chocolate.
But he that follows
Marlbro'
to the Field,
Must all his Fame on dangerous Merit build,
Must look for Blows, and fairly state his Case
Shame at his Back, and Death before his Face;
A General that can show him how to die,
And push him on to Conquer Victory.
Shame,
Fear's Twin-Sister,
makes a Coward brave,
He fights to lose the Life he dares not save;
Fear makes him bold because he dares not fly,
It wants more Heart to run away than die,
For who dare turn his Back when
Marlbro
's by.
The English Arms
grown dull with Rust and Peace,
Tarnish'd with Luxury, and stain'd with Ease,
You have new pointed, Sir, with Hearts of Steel,
And
France
confesses what she can't conceal:
Our Honour
clouded with Contempt and Time,
Sullied with long Disuse, and sunk in Crime;
Buried so deep
allow the Muse to grieve,
William
himself could not her Name retrieve;
Tho' thro' Ten Thousand different Dangers sought,
Tho' thro' Ten Thousand Victories he fought:
The trans-migrated Phantosme you obtain,
And in your Fame revive her once again:
Our Heroes
Few, and long ago forgot,
The Breed extinct, behold the Barren Spot;
Stiril in Worth, and Poor in Sons of Fame,
Crime taints the best Record, and blasts the worthless Name.
William
's the First, for Thirteen Ages past,
And Fate portends that
Marlbro'
will be Last:
How shall the Strength of Nature save the Breed,
Who shall to
William
's Fame and Yours succeed!
And now from all the Dangers of the Field,
Which Gods and Men with equal Joys beheld;
Which all our widowed Harps has newly strung,
Which
Thousand Heroes
fought a
Thousand Poets
sung.
To
Britain
's crowded Shores your Triumphs come,
And all the wond'ring Nation
shouts you Home:
A
Double Welcome
you at once possess,
For
Double Conquests
crown you with Success:
With Double Joy
we shout, and twice applaud
Councils
at Home and
Conquest
from Abroad.
Interest in all our Praises will appear,
You're welcome, Sir, because
you're wanted here;
We want you here
to calm our wild Debates,
And ballance
Parties
as you ballance
States;
To check Insulting Factions, and supply
Immoderate
Heat with forc'd
Humility;
Con—dators to
Consolidate,
And
Tack
our
T—ers
to their own dear Fate;
To calm the Churches Sea, and keep it still,
And fix the Nation's Peace
against her Will.
Thus when from fighting Armies, Sir, you come,
You must engage
with Devils nearer Home.
Armies of Hell born Monsters must appease,
The
Titans Heaven attack'd
were Fools to these;
They Mountains threw, and
Hills
erect on
Hills,
These Mountain
Bi-s
Consolidate to
Bi-s;
The mighty Parallel agrees in Parts,
From Hell
they
fetch'd their Strength, as these
their
Arts
They
Heavens high Power with borrow'd Power invade,
These Heaven's Vicegerent Queen assault by her own Aid;
Like them they fall, Heaven has decreed it so,
And you must ANN's Immortal Thunder throw.
See how th' embattel'd
Troops of Strife
appear,
Words are their missive Weapons, Noise the War;
With
High-Church Zeal
and Party Spirits fir'd,
With Hell's immortal
Hate of Peace
inspir'd,
A Pulpit War!
whence should Sedition come?
Our
Soldiers
fight Abroad, our Priests at Home;
Arm'd with vast Helms of
Contradicting Truth,
With Plumes of
Incoherent Sence
set forth;
Self inconsistent Reason
puffs the Mind,
Bluster
comes on before, and
Distant Modesty
behind.
See how the Black Brigades in Arms advance,
You'll see no such, Sir, when you conquer
France;
Their Meaning's easy to be understood,
The Gown has often
dipt the Slieves
in Blood:
Would you their Sence of things,
Sir,
understand,
And know for what it is they embroil the Land;
Quite different Ends of War they all profess,
They
fight for
Plunder,
Sir, and
You for Peace:
Your nobler Hazards help the World t' enjoy,
You fight for Right, these
meerly to destroy.
Pardon the Poet all your Wars are Jests,
You've fought with Men,
you never fought
with Priests.
Disdain not, Sir, the Instructions of our Verse,
Your Arts of War
will not this Cloud disperse;
Priests, like the Female Sex, when they engage,
There's always something bloody in their Rage.
Thus Nature always in Extremes delights,
The greatest Falls are from the greatest Heights.
Angels sublime in Nature, and Divine,
Are therefore turn'd to Devils when they sin;
And Humane Sons of God are worse than they,
When once they can the Laws of Crime obey;
The high Seraphick Office qualifies,
And they're the wickeder because they're wise.
Expect no Quarter where the Tribe Commands,
They fight you with
their Heads
and not
their Hands.
My Muse prophane no more the sacred Name,
Jesus
are these thy Sons!
The Church
the horrid Ravishers disowns,
And loud beneath the
Weight of Party
's Groans.
These are the strong
Bandity of the Gown,
Who preach for
God's Sake,
plunder for
their own.
Our State Divines that push the Party Cause,
And
swear and pray
for Persecution Laws,
Own 'tis against their Doctrine and their
Sense;
But freely grant they'd be
at that Expence,
Would sell the Church, the Nation, and the Queen,
While all our mod'rate Clergy strive with them in vain.
With mighty Arms thus they invade our Peace,
In vain the Queen entreats their calm Recess:
Tells them if she should grant the wild Desire,
And pass the Publick Mischief they require,
They'd grasp but Air, an empty fruitless Name,
And be the first would perish in their own Flame.
In vain the united Peers reject the Bill,
Men seldom quit the Hopes of doing ill,
They're doubly damn'd that can despair of Hell.
Th' unhappy Wretches bent to push their Fate,
And born to find their own Mistakes too late,
Only adjourn the Mischiefs they design'd,
Pleas'd with the Hopes of Greater yet behind
So far from Peace,
Peace ne'er was their Design,
They can for no Repulse the Feud decline;
Their weighty Clamours all the Nation fill,
And
Damn the Lords
because they
dam'd the Bill;
Whole Troops of Satyrs in their Front advance,
Their Houshold Bands
more fierce than those of
France.
Our
Poet trembles when their Troops appear,
But You, Sir, never have been us'd to fear.
There fam'd
Sachevrel
leads the
Vast Forlorn,
By him the Party's
Bloody Standard
's born;
Abandon'd both by Modesty and Sence,
And Manners left him as the Consequence:
Scolding's
his Native Talent, and
to Rail
Serves him for Arguments when Reasons fail;
With College Licence
and
Assize
Applause,
He damns the Queen, the Bishops, and the Laws;
Nor spares the Church her self,
but gives the Lie
To all her Doctrine and Authority;
High
Church Buffoon,
the
Oxford
's stated Jest,
A Noisy, Sawcy, Swearing, Drunken Priest.
L—y
a Turncoat with extended Throat
Has chang'd his Cassock for a Campaign Coat:
Stript of his Shepherd's Cloathing
he appears
The very
Wolf he dress'd
in Asses Ears;
His Ecclesiastick Dignity lays down,
And hates the Pulpit for
he hates the Crown;
The Revolution damns, affronts the Queen,
His Sword the Gown supplies, the Text his Pen
He's now
a Priest incog
—with Sword and Wig,
And swears
to let you know he hates a
Whig;
His strong
Non jurant
Squadrons brings along,
Below Lampoon
too rakish for our Song;
He damns the Church for Schismaticks because
They alter'd their Allegiance
by the Laws;
Declares the Church of
England
's only there
Where strong Aversions to the Regency appear;
Unchurches all our Clergy at a Blow,
And votes the Bishops useless—
This
mighty Captain Rake
deserves your Care,
His pointed Darts in High-Church Front appear
Ready to charge the Loyal Troops you bring,
With Mock-Religion and
a Pageant King.
M—n,
a starving Mercenary Priest,
A Jobbing, Hackney, Vicious Pulpit Jest,
From
Ostia
and from
Belgia
lately fled,
And took the Oaths for very want of Bread;
Immoral
Life, and an
immodest
Tongue
And dealt in
Rhime,
and
Wit,
and
Baudy-Song.
The needy Prelate, at whose bounteous Gate
He lay expecting and importunate,
Bought his wish'd Absence with a Teaching Cure
To make just Room for D—s about his Door;
'Till from the clam'rous Claimers forc'd to fly,
His Justice gave his Charity the L—
May they from Creditors be never free
That nourish Sacred Drones in Charity;
Whose mighty Alms by mighty Debts are known,
And lend to God what never was their own;
Give borrow'd Sums, and borrow'd Sermons preach,
And rob the Poor to help relieve the Rich.
These are the Generals of the mighty Band,
The
Tallards and Marsins
of high Command;
Mean as they are they lead the wond'rous Host
Of Priest-rid Worthies who some Brains have lost,
With
Packingtonian Fury
hurried on,
Whose Zeal must for their Ignorance attone;
Who hunt deep Contraries with eager Pain,
Pull down the Church to build it up again:
For how can high
non jurant L
—rail,
When strong
Consolidating Projects
fail:
How can they all their wav'ring Logick fix,
And prove we should Conform to Schismaticks.
For if the Church, as Learned Men have said,
Is parted from her only lawful Head,
And the weak few, their Duty who retain,
Are all the real Church that can remain,
The Devil must this double Knot untie,
And explicate the wilder Mystery,
How the Dissenters can be charg'd by both,
Two Contraries agree, and neither
of them
Truth;
Damn the whole Party's Nonconformity,
And yet would damn them too if they comply.
Coercive Powers provoke, and strive by Force
To
Re-reform us all
from bad to worse;
Force us with one Schismatick Church to joyn,
And at one Breath
unchurch us
all again.
Let
B—ly
blush, if not forsook by Grace,
And let his Sence assume his lost Religions Place;
Let him confess the throwing out the B—,
Cannot two Clashing Churches Wish fulfil:
That These must first abandon Common Sence,
Forsake their Cause, and quit their own Defence,
When they Occasional Oppressions seek,
And cure the Schism by the Schismatick.
Assist, Great Sir, your Suppliant Country's Peace,
And screen the Church from wild Absurdities;
Aid her more moderate Clergy to defend,
Temper
the Means, and
Peace
the mighty End;
The Universal Voice of Truth and Law
That made to drive when this should fail to draw;
Joyn to engage you in the ju
Defen
,
Of Temper, Moderation, Right and Sence,
And of the Nation's Peace by Consequence.
On this the mighty Publick Weal depends,
Conquest
the Nation from her Foes defends,
Compleat it, Sir, and save us from our Friends.
Thus, Sir, the Nation's Guardian you'll appear,
Abroad suppress, at Home prevent the War;
Anticipate our Factions in their Growth,
And smother Feud beneath the Arms of Truth;
And this Your Double Vict'ry will create,
You'll heal Religion and preserve the State.
Whenever Heaven shall thus at once en
ine
One Agent two such vast Events to join,
The Nations must concur, the General Voice
Will bless the Man to crown the sacred Choice
FINIS.