To bind the tyrants of the earth with laws,
And fight in every injur'd nation's cause,
The world's great patriots; they for justice call
And, as they favour, kingdoms rife or fall,
Our British youth, unus'd to rough alarms,
Careless of fame, and negligent of arms,
Had long forgot to meditate the foe,

And heard unwarm'd the martial trumpet blow;
But now infpir'd by thee, with fresh delight,
Their fwords they brandish, and require the fight,
Renew their ancient conquests on the main,
And act their fathers' triumphs o'er again;
Fir'd, when they hear how Agincourt was ftrow'd
With Gallic corps, and Creffi swam in blood,
With eager warmth they fight, ambitious all
Who first shall storm the breach, or mount the wall.
In vain the thronging enemy by force
Would clear the ramparts, and repel their course
They break through all, for William leads the way,
Where fires rage moft, and loudeft engines play.
Namur's late terrors and deftruction fhow,
What William, warm'd with juft revenge, can do:
Where once a thousand turrets rais'd on high
Their gilded fpires, and glitter'd in the sky,
An undistinguish'd heap of duft is found,
And all the pile lies fmoking on the ground.
His toils, for no ignoble ends design'd,
Promote the common welfare of mankind;
No wild ambition moves, but Europe's fears,
The cries of orphans, and the widow's tears:

Oppret

་

Oppreft Religion gives the firft alarms,
And injur'd Juftice fets him in his arms;
His conquefts freedom to the world afford,
And nations blefs the labours of his fword.
Thus when the forming Mufe would copy forth
A perfect pattern of heroic worth,

She fets a man triumphant in the field,

O'er giants cloven down, and monfters kill'd,
Reeking in blood, and fmear'd with duft and sweat,
Whilst angry gods confpire to make him great.
Thy navy rides on feas before unpreft,
And ftrikes a terror through the haughty Eaft:
Algiers and Tunis from their fultry shore
With horror hear the British engines roar,
Fain from the neighbouring dangers would they run,
And with themfelves ftill nearer to the fun.
The Gallic-fhips are in their ports confin'd,
Deny'd the common ufe of fea and wind,
Nor dare again the British ftrength engage;
Still they remember that deftru&tive rage

Which lately made their trembling hoft retire,
Stunn'd with the noife, and wrapt in smoke and fire;
The waves with wide unnumber'd wrecks were ftrow'd,
And planks, and arms, and men, promiscuous flow'd.

Spain's numerous flect, that perifh'd on our coaft,
Could scarce a longer line of battle boast;
The winds could hardly drive them to their fate,
And all the ocean labour'd with the weight.
Where-e'er the waves in reftlefs errors roll,

The fea lies open now to either pole:

Now may we fafely use the northern gales,
And in the polar circle fpread our fails:
Or, deep in fouthern climes, fecure from wars,
New lands explore, and fail by other ftars:
Fetch uncontrol'd each labour of the fun,
And make the product of the world our own.

At length, proud prince, ambitious Lewis, ceafe
To plague mankind, and trouble Europe's peace;
Think on the structures which thy pride has ras'd,
On towns unpeopled, and on fields laid waste;
Think on the heaps of corps and freams of blood,
On every guilty plain and purple flood,

Thy arms have made; and cease an impious war,
Nor waste the lives intrufted to thy care.

Or, if no milder thought can calm thy mind,
Behold the
great avenger of mankind,
See mighty Naffau through the battle ride,
And fee thy fubjects gafping by his fide:
Fain would the pious prince refuse th' alarm,
Fain would he check the fury of his arm;
But, when thy cruelties his thoughts engage,
The hero kindles with becoming rage,

Then countries ftol'n, and captives unreftor'd,
Give strength to every blow, and edge his fword.
Behold with what refiftlefs force he falls
On towns befieg'd, and thunders at thy walls!
Afk Villeroy, (for Villeroy beheld

The town furrender'd, and the treaty feal'd)

With what amazing ftrength the forts were won, Whilft the whole power of France stood looking on.

But

But stop not here: behold where Berkeley stands,
And executes his injur'd King's commands;
Around thy coaft his burfting bombs he pours
On flaming citadels, and falling towers;

With hiffing streams of fire the air they streak,
And hurl destruction round them where they break,
The skies with long afcending flames are bright,
And all the fea reflects a quivering light.

Thus Ætna, when in fierce eruptions broke,
Fills heaven with afhes, and the earth with smoke:
Here crags of broken rocks are twirl'd on high,
Here molten ftones and scatter'd cinders fly :
Its fury reaches the remotest coast,

And ftrows the Afiatic fhore with duft.

Now does the failor from the neighbouring main

Look after Gallic towns and forts in vain ;
No more his wonted marks he can descry,
But fees a long unmeasur'd ruin lie;

Whilft, pointing to the naked coast, he shows
His wondering mates where towns and steeples rose,
Where crowded citizens he lately view'd,

And fingles out the place where once St. Maloes stood.
Here Ruffel's actions should my Muse require;
And, would my ftrength but fecond my defire,
I'd all his boundless bravery rehearse,

And draw his cannons thundering in my verse;
High on the deck should the great leader stand,
Wrath in his look, and lightning in his hand;
Like Homer's Hector when he flung his fire
Amidt a thousand ships, and made all Greece retire.

But

But who can run the British triumphs o'er,
And count the flames difperft on every shore ?
Who can describe the scatter'd victory,

And draw the reader on from fea to fea?
Elfe who could Ormond's God-like acts refuse,
Ormond the theme of every Oxford Muse?
Fain would I here his mighty worth proclaim,
Attend him in the noble chace of fame,
Through all the noise and hurry of the fight.
Obferve each blow, and keep him still in fight.
Oh, did our British peers thus court renown,
And grace the coats their great fore-fathers won!
Our arms would then triumphantly advance,
Nor Henry be the laft that conquer'd France.
What might not England hope, if fuch abroad
Purchas'd their country's honour with their blood:
When fuch, detain'd at home, fupport our state
In William's ftead, and bear a kingdom's weight,
The fchemes of Gallic policy o'erthrow,

And blaft the counfels of the common foe;
Direct our armies, and distribute right,
And render our Maria's lofs more light..

But stop, my Mufe, th' ungrateful found forbear,
Maria's name ftill wounds each British ear:

Each British heart Maria ftill does wound,
And tears burst out unbidden at the found;
Maria still our rising mirth destroys,
Darkens our triumphs, and forbids our joys.
But fee, at length, the British ships appear!
Our Naffau comes and as his fleet draws near,

The