A

POEM

TO HIS

* MAJESTY.

Presented to the LORD KEEPER.

* King William, printed in the year 1695. The Author's age 24.

To the Right Honourable

SIR JOHN SOMERS,

I

Lord Keeper of the Great Seal.

F yet your thoughts are loose from state affairs,
Nor feel the burthen of a kingdom's cares,

Kyet your time and actions are your own,
Receive the present of a Muse unknown,
A Muse that in advent'rous numbers fings
The rout of armies, and the fall of Kings,
Britain advanc'd, and Europe's peace restor'd
By SOMERS' COunsels, and by NASSAU'S sword.
To you, my Lord, these daring thoughts belong
Who help'd to raise the subject of my fong;
To you the Hero of my verse reveals
His great designs, to you in council tells
His inmost thoughts, determining the doom
Of towns unstorm'd, and battles yet to come.
And well could you, in your immortal strains,
Describe his conduct, and reward his pains:
But since the state has all your cares ingrost,
And poetry in higher thoughts is lost,

Attend to what a lesser Muse indites,
Pardon her faults, and countenance her flights.
On you, my Lord, with anxious fear I wait,
And from your judgment must expect my fate,
Who, free from vulgar paffions, are above
Degrading envy, or misguided love;
If you, well pleas'd, shall smile upon my lays,
Secure of fame, my voice I'll boldly raife,

For next to what you write, is what you praise.

}

:

TO THE

K I N G.

WHEN now the business of the field is o'er,

The trumpets fleep, and cannons cease to roar,
When ev'ry dismal echo is decay'd,
And all the thunder of the battle laid;
Attend, aufpicious Prince, and let the Muse
In humble accents milder thoughts infufe.
Others, in bold prophetic numbers skill'd,
Set thee in arms, and led thee to the field;
My Muse expecting on the British strand
Waits thy return, and welcomes thee to land:
She oft has seen thee pressing on the foe,
When Europe was concern'd in ev'ry blow;
But durst not in heroic strains rejoice;

The trumpets, drums, and cannons drown'd her voice:
She saw the Boyn run thick with human gore,
And floating corps lie beating on the shore;
She saw thee climb the banks, but try'a in vain
To trace her Hero through the dusty plain,
When through the thick embattel'd lines he broke,

Now plung'd amidst the foes, now loft in clouds of smoke.