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Jadis si prompts à marcher,
Jusqu'à Paris nous chercher?
Cependant l'effroy redouble
Sous les remparts de Namur
S'enfuit sous son dernier mur.
voy monter nos cohortes,
S'ouvrir un large chemin.
C'en est fait. Je viens d'entendre
Sur ces rochers éperdus
Le feu cesse. Ils sont rendus.
Et desormais gracieux,
De Namur pris à vous yeux.
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 spoild; 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.
That Boufflers may new honours gain ;
the mains. Yet is the Marshal made a peer:
0, William! may thy arms advance, That he may lose Dinant next year,
And so be Constable of France.
+ Count Guiscard was commander of the town of Namur, and Marshal Boufflers of the castle.
5 M. de Tourville commanded the French squadron, which engaged Admiral Russell off La Hogue, in 1692.
The violet sweet and lily fair,
To deck my charming Chloe's hair.
Upon her brow the various wreath;
The scent less fragrant than her breath. The flowers she wore along the day,
And every nymph and shepherd said, That in her hair they look'd more gay
Than glowing in their native bed. Undress'd at evening, when she found
Their odours lost, their colour's pass'd, She changed her look, and on the ground
Her garland and her eye she cast. That eye dropp'd sense distinct and clear,
As any Muse's tongue could speak, When from its lid a pearly tear
Ran trickling down her beauteous cheek. Dissembling what I knew too well,
My love, my life, (said I) explain This change of humour; pr’ythee tell,
That falling tear-what does it mean? She sigh'd; she smiled; and to the flowers
Pointing, the lovely moralist said,
Ah me! the blooming pride of May
And that of Beauty are but one ;
Both fade at evening, pale and gone.
The amorous youth around her bow'd; At night her fatal knell was rung;
I saw and kiss'd her in her shroud. • Such as she is who died to-day,
Such I, alas! may be to-morrow; Go, Damon, bid thy Muse display
The justice of thy Chloe's sorrow.'
To the tune of · Lady Isabella's Tragedy ; or, the Step
Of Nero", tyrant, petty king,
Who heretofore did reign
And in a ditty plain.
For reasons you shall hear;
That he himself did fear.
| This satire was justly levelled at Lord Coningsby, for his mal-administration when he was one of the Lords Justices of Ireland.
Full proud and arrogant was he,
And covetous withall;
But guiltless men inthral.
Would curse and dogmatize,
Gold he did idolize.
Who could no longer bear
Against him did declare. And, arm'd with truth, impeach'd the Don
Of his enormous crimes, Which I'll unfold to you anon,
In low but faithful rhymes.
Against this peerless peer,
You'll find them written there 3.
His treasons to you all,
(And sigh poor Gaphny's fall.) That traitorously he did abuse
The power in him reposed, And wickedly the same did use,
On all mankind imposed.
2 The Earl of Bellamont impeached Coningsby of hightreason in the English parliament.
3 Sabbati, 16 die Decembris, 5 Gulielmi et Mariæ, 1693.