The MONUMENT : A POEM Sacred to the IMMORTAL MEMORY OF William the Third . WHAT sudden Damp has seiz'd upon my Soul ? Why are my Spirits chill'd , my Nerves unbent ? Why am I sad , as is the mournful Grave ? As if I never should know Comfort more . Sure conscious Nature gives Presage that Death . The Tyrant whom she most abhors , draws near . Ah woe ! 'tis now too plain ; for a worse Death Has happen'd than alas thou fondly thought'st , A Death in which the ruin'd World's concern'd , A Death attended with the Fate of Nations . Too plain , alas , I hear the doleful Sound , The Good , the Great , the Godlike WILLIAM's dead . Gone is his mighty Mind , for ever flown , And nought but his Immortal Name remains : Gone is Great Providence's Watchful Viceroy , Gone the Great Soul that watch'd the Christian World , As the good faithful Shepherd does his Sheep Against the Prowlings of the nightly Wolf . Who shall now guard us from the bloody Foe ? Mourn then , my Soul , th' irreparable Loss , And with thee summon Human Kind to mourn , With them too summon even th' Immortal Powers . Thou first and chief , forlorn Britannia , mourn , And with thee let thy faithful Sons keep time ; For thou and they , and all have lost in him A Champion , Benefactor , Father , Friend . THOU next , Batavia , faln Batavia , mourn , O let thy Eyes dissolve into a Stream , For thou hast lost — ( O what hast thou not lost ? ) Thy Bulwark , thy Defence , thy lofty Mound That kept out lawless Arbitrary Pow'r , Which , like the Ocean , now surrounds thy Tow'rs , With dreadful Inundation threatn'ng all . EVROP A Beautiful , in sadness mourn ! Thy Father , thy Defender's from thee torn , And now the Lustful Bestial God once more Has loudly threaten'd thee with shameful Rape . With thee let all thy Royal Sons lament , Those martial Sons that were with WILLIAM join'd In the Great Cause of Godlike Liberty : Who shall your several Interests now unite ? AND thou , Celestial Charmer , LIBERTY , Daughter of Wisdom , and of Supreme Jove ! Sister of Reason , and of Sovereign Law ; Now Goddess beat thy beauteous Breasts , and rend The flowing Ringlets of thy golden Hair , To mourn thy Mighty Benefactor's Fate ; For WILLIAM's Fate , O Liberty , was thine : Thou and Religion here have room no more . AND thou the darling Daughter of the Skies , Divine RELIGION , thou whose melting Eyes Have always like perpetual Fountains stream'd To mourn th' Offences of a sinful World , O let them pour a Deluge now of Tears To wail the dismal Consequence of Sin , To mourn Great WILLIAM's and thy Flight to Heav'n . He was thy Lover , and thy best belov'd , He was thy Champion , and thy sole Defence Against the Tyrants both of Earth and Hell . His flaming Zeal , O Goddess , rouz'd thy Friends , His charming Accents gain'd thy very Foes To fight , O Goddess , and to die for thee , AND ye , O ANGELS and ARCHANGELS all , Guardians of mighty Kingdoms , and of Kings , Who could your Cares on WILLIAM's Breast repose , Who could your several Charges all to him Resign , while happily aloft ye tower'd , And cut with golden Wings your blissful Heav'n ; Now mourn his Flight to the pure Realms of Day , And mourn your own Return to a bad World ; For he is to your upper Regions flown , Who equal to your selves your Cares below supply'd . THEN mourn , O EARTH , and mourn , ye HEAVENS your Spheres To Melting Airs y' Intelligences tune ; His Godlike Soul's for ever from us flown , Whose Zeal could the divided Earth unite , Whose wond'rous Zeal united Earth and Heav'n , BUT let there be such Lamentation here As ne'er was known for any Fate before , And let the Grief be general , as the Loss ; For Human Kind has lost by WILLIAM's Death , His People most , his first and chiefest Care . He was the tender Father to his People , A Friend and Brother to the rest of Kings ; ( Alas , few Kings are Friends , or meet with Friends ) A Benefactor to the Race of Men . Sure 'twas some Angel who forsook the Skies , And out of wondrous Love to wretched Men Vouchsaf'd to dwell in Human Shape below . For all his Life-time , he from Place to Place Remov'd , dispensing Benefits to all ; And from their Gates the grand Destroyer drove . For that alone he mov'd , he spoke , he thought . As if th' important Business of his Life Had been to sacrifice his own Felicity To that of wretched Men , his Great Design Extended to his most inveterate Foes : He blest ev'n them , and would have done them good , Because his Foes were still his Fellow Creatures , From one Divine Original deriv'd . His Foes his Justice and his Mercy knew ; And his inviolable Faith as firm As are th' unchangeable Decrees of Fate . For tho the wondrous Goodness of his Soul Made him still sympathize in all our Joys , And mourn and suffer in the Woes we feel ; Tho' He found something in his godlike Mind , That answer'd to the Cries of the Distress'd , And gave him Anguish , till they found Relief , Which was the Source of all his wondrous Deeds , And which distinguish'd his Heroick Life , And set him far above all vulgar Heroes ; Yet was his Word so sacred and so sure , He would not break it to preserve a World . BUT when your vulgar Heroes we survey , We find them the abhor'd Reverse of this . They , by the Fever of Ambition fir'd , Run frantickly about the frighted World , And think to grow by mighty Mischiefs great , While Horror marches in their dreadful Van , And Death and Slaughter in their bloody Rear . Whole Towns they plunder , lay whole Countries waste , With grinding Want they make vast Kingdoms pine , But their own Kingdoms into Deserts turn , Where Famine lords it in its wild Domain : For their own Kingdoms loudest cry to Heav'n , And loudest under their Oppression groan . If they make doubtful Peace or hollow Truce , 'Tis but for time to wage more dangerous War , To weaken and divide their thoughtless Foes , And lull them by Security to Fate . To Friends deceitful , faithless to Allies , Perfidious , perjur'd to their in-born Slaves ; Revengeful , cruel , bloody to Mankind : A Sea of guiltless Blood they spill , a Sea Of helpless Widows and of Orphans Tears , Destroy their Enemies , their Subjects more : Their Subjects chiefly feel their barbarous Hands ; For mad with Rage , their Enemies they tear , But their poor Subjects coolly they destroy . O fruitless Labour of fantastick Pride ! For while they thus would more than Men appear , Their Breach of Faith , the Wrongs they do each Hour , Their hateful Violences make them less ; Only by Fools and Impious Men admir'd , Abhor'd by God , by all good Men despis'd . Too faithful Copies of their proud Original , The great Destroyer , and the Foe of Men , The first and grand Artificer of Fraud ; The pow'rful Prince of all th' infernal Pow'rs ; Mighty to act , sagacious to contrive , Who with capacious comprehensive thought Sits brooding o'er his dark and damn'd Design Of captivating all the Race of Men , And fixing Universal Monarchy , Which he sometimes with Violence and Rage , Sometimes with Lies and Hell-born Arts pursues : His Foes sometimes with open Force invades , But most with secret Practice undermines , And sows Dissensions to divide their Strength . A dreadful and a dangerous Foe to all ; But sure Perdition to his fastest Friends : And his Allies are lost , as are his Slaves ; Who in Infernal Pains for ever howl . THUS earthly Heroes copy him of Hell , Those Tyrants whom the thoughtless World calls Heroes : Such was not happy WILLIAM , but a Friend To Men , and Servant of the most Supreme . The chief and godlike Purpose of his Soul , Was the restoring Quiet , Order , Peace , And Universal Happiness to Men ; And like a faithful Servant to advance His Master's universal great Design . His Master would have all his Creatures blest , He loves the miserable Sons of Men ; And with a Love so ardent and so high , As never can be thought be finite Man . Next his was WILLIAM's Love to all his Kind , For Fiends and Tyrants only were his Foes ; And Tyrants he esteem'd no longer Men , As cursed Fiends are Angels now no more , Fal'n from their Natures and their Names by Pride . He hated both , to both a mortal Foe , Because they dar'd t' impeach his godlike Purpose . For they make wretched all whom they make Slaves ; For what can be so dismal as to see . Our Lives , our Fortunes , nay our ev'ry Action , Nay ev'n our Virtue and Divine Religion , All in a feverish frantick Tyrant's pow'r , And to his boundless Passions all expos'd . He look'd with Indignation and Disdain Upon th' aspiring , vain , presumptuous Wretch , Who thought it great t'enslave his Fellow-Creatures : Dogs were not made to be control'd by Dogs . Nor Horses over Horses to insult , They rule not one another ; nor ought Man To controul Man ; but God is to command , Who governs still by Reason and by Law . He loves the Sons of Men , and leaves them free , As free as is his own Almighty Power . For he himself makes Reason still his Guide , And swerves not from his own Eternal Laws . Since our Great Maker then has left us free , On whom we so immediately depend , In whom we live , and move , and ev'n exist , Kings who are God's Vice-gerents too must leave Those who are under their Subjection , free ; And govern them by Reason and by Law . For tho like Gods they'r honour'd , they are Men , And they must die like Men : So WILLIAM rul'd , And look'd with Anger and with just Disdain Upon the vain , the mortal , dying Wretch , Who dares to make them Slaves whom God makes free ; Who by his lawless boundless Passions sways , And sacrifices to his Lust of Power A thousand greater worthier than Himself . ( For such are all the Good and truly Wise ) Which is renouncing Reason's sacred Rule , Subverting th' Awful Government of God , Deposing ev'n the World's Perpetual King , As far as lies within a Mortal's Power , T' assert the direful Government of Hell . For if good Kings are God's Vicegerents , sure . A Tyrant is Hell's Viceroy , and as such A Christian's bound by his Baptismal Vow Against him to denounce perpetual War . So WILLIAM did , and seem'd design'd by Fate T' assert the awful Government of God , And Liberty of Man ; and ne're did Heav'n Nor Fate do more for mortal Man than Him , In giving him the Will to undertake , And Power to execute the vast Design . AND never was it known that mortal Man More Noble , more Heroick Deeds perform'd , Than WILLIAM in the Cause of God and Liberty . The glaring Actions which the World calls Great , From Passion chiefly , not from Virtue flow ; And of all Passions from Ambition most . Pride which such dangerous Ravage wrought in Heaven Among th' Immortal Spirits of the Blest , May well destroy our frail Felicity , May well cause dreadful Revolutions here . To Pride th' Illustrious Romans ow'd their Fame , Their Quarrels still were specious , seldom just ; Yet not the greatest , first of Romans , Caesar , Darling of Story , Paramour of Fame , Of whom she doting talks and ne're is tir'd , To satisfy Ambition e're perform'd Deeds which display'd such Greatness in the Man , As what Great WILLIAM did for Liberty . METHINKS , ye Friends to Arbitrary Sway , At this great Paradox I see you smile ; But hear , ye wretched Slaves t' Opinion , hear , And then determine this important Cause . CAESAR acquir'd his greatest Share of Fame Against the Gauls , who were our WILLIAM's Foes : But Caesar fought with them divided , weak , Doubtful in Counsel , and in Action slow , False to each other , Traitors to themselves , And the great Cause of dying Liberty . No Captain at their Head like mighty Coesar , Vers'd in the Noble Science of the Field , The dexterous Art of Fortifying Camps , Or Ranging numerous Armies in Array ; No brave experienc'd Officers to form Their Troops , undisciplin'd and rude to War ; Their Soldiers and Commanders all grown faint , Dejected , spiritless with frequent Routs ; All dead and senseless to that Noble Fire That to Illustrious Acts inflames the Brave . UNDER these Disadvantages lay France , In what Condition was great Caesar then ? Mature in Years , by long Experience Wise , Awful for Eloquence and Martial Deeds ; Leading the Flow'r of Rome's Victorious Legions , Back'd and supported by the Conquer'd World ; Valiant his Soldiers , Skilful , Disciplin'd ; Experienc'd their Commanders , Wise and Brave ; And Soldiers and Commanders , Romans all : Inur'd to Dangers , made by Custom bold , Exalted , spirited with long Success , All eager in the burning Chase of Fame , All faithful and united under Caesar , And He Supreme and Absolute o're all . Yet with all these Advantages Great Caesar Ten tedious Years consum'd in Conquering France ; And now the Glory of his Conquest shares , If the Distributors of Fame are just , With his Wise , Valiant , his Victorious Friends , Nay and with Fortune , with his very Foes . For False and Traitors to the Common Cause , Their Country basely they betray'd and sold . WE 've shewn what Caesar did for Pride , behold What WILLIAM for Fair Liberty perform'd , And th' Actions in an equal Balance lay . 'TWAS in the fatal and recorded Year , In which Batavia , the Defence and Mound , Of Faith , of Right , of sinking Liberty ; Batavia like the native Land of Jove , Proud of a hundred Formidable Towns , Whose Lofty Bulwarks , and whose Stately Tow'rs Are to the Storms of Arbitrary Pow'r , What its Digues are to the Tempestuous Main : For the wild roaring Torrent they restrain , Which else would deluge all the Christian World , And leave the Earth depopulate and bare : 'Twas in the Year in which forlorn Batavia Invaded was , defenceless and surpriz'd , And by two potent Enemies attack'd , Britannia thundring on them from the Main , And faithless Gallia lightning on the Shore ; While at the Horror of the Noise and Sight , The Belgick Lion trembling and aghast , Faint in his Roar , and with unsinew'd Paws , Flew for Protection to the stormy Main , Whose unrelenting Rage he most abhors : 'Twas in that fatal Year in which the States ( Their Country lost to the insulting French , Their strongest Bulwarks forc'd , or else betray'd ) Were turn'd irresolute , distracted , wild ; The Croud desponding all , divided , faint , Astonish'd and amaz'd , and stupid grown , In dreadful expectation of their Fate . 'Twas at this fatal Juncture that the Prince , Like th' Offspring of the Gods , a Hero born , Without th' advantage of a long Experience , Without the influence of an awful Fame , Without courageous or instructed Troops ; With nought on which he could depend but Heav'n ; His vast Capacity and dauntless Soul , Magnanimously undertook to save His sinking Country and expiring Liberty . HERE I'm in Rapture and Amazement lost ! What shall I first admire , his dauntless Soul In that amazing Hurricane of Fate , E'er scarce the Bloom of Youth proclaim'd him Man , When all the Heav'ns look'd black , and all the Main Look'd dismal , when the frantick Billows rag'd , The Tempest roar'd , the forky Thunder roll'd , And loudly bellow'd o'er the dreadful Deep ; The skilful'st Mariners confounded , foil'd , The boldest trembling , dying with the Fright ; The sinking Vessel motionless and dead , Those at the Helm desponding , desperate , Abandoning to Winds and Waves their Care ; He who had never plough'd the Deep before Alone unterrify'd , and undismay'd , And dauntless in that dangerous Extreme , As is a God by destiny secur'd ; As is the God of the tempestuous Deep , When in some Storm that threatens general Wrack ; He lifts above the Waves his sacred Head To calm his troubled Empire of the Main , And give the lab'ring Universe Repose ? OR his great Conduct shall I first admire , Without th' advantage of Experience , wise , Exact , profound , unfathomably deep , Design'd him by Foreknowledg , giv'n by Fate To countermine the dark Designs of Hell ? CAN ye behold Him , ye ungenerous Foes To his Great Memory , his Deathless Name , Without extolling to the Stars his Fame , When ye discern him in that dreadful Hour , Appearing at the Head of shameful Troops , A wretched Handful , antiquated most , Rusty with Peace , and listless with Disuse , The rest a vile tumultuous Crowd , in haste , By sad Necessity , not Choice , enroll'd , Rude and untaught , and barbarous to War , Unfit by Nature , and untrain'd by Art ; By num'rous ill Successes abject made , Dejected , drooping , infamously base , The mere Reverse of all that's Great and Brave : Their Leaders the base Scum of all the rest , And for that only reason uppermost ; Rais'd by the boiling Ferment of the State , Only for factious Discontent advanc'd , And inbred Hatred to their Great Defender ? Can you behold him at the Head of these , Informing , moving , animating all , Changing their very Natures like a God ; His Bravery kindling thousands with its Fire , His Spirit working like the World's Great Soul , And spreading beauteous Order thro them , where Trouble , Confusion , Chaos reign'd before ? Can you see this , and not be wrapt with Wonder ? Can you behold the conqu'ring Gauls at Bay Already on his first Appearance stopt In their precipitated wild Career , Already meditating their Retreat ? Can ev'n his most inveterate Foes see this , And not exalt such wond'rous Worth to Heav'n ? WHAT a Man is to hearten fainting Hounds , To rouze their Vigour on the lifeless Chase , And guide them through the Mazes of the Field , That to his drooping Countrymen was He ; Something between Divinity and them ; A more Exalted , a Superiour Being ; Their Guardian Genius , and their God of War . His vast Capacity supply'd their Heads , His martial Bravery inflam'd their Hearts , And rais'd their abject and their grov'ling Souls To Noble Thoughts , and to Immortal Deeds , Above the Fear of Death , or foul Retreat . So Pallas to the fainting Greeks appear'd , Shook her invincible , her dreadful Shield , And spread Celestial Vigour thro the Field . BEHOLD him by a Conduct , which surpriz'd The most Illustrious and the Oldest Chiefs , The most experienc'd in the Art of War ; Like the young Roman Hero so renown'd , Forsaking his poor Country to preserve it , And save the sinking Freedom of the World . Behold upon fair Bona's lofty Tow'rs The Guardian Angels of a hundred Forts , A hundred Towns , sit gazing to receive , And with loud Welcomes hail their Great Defender : For Bona taken set Batavia free , And rent in twain th' opprobrious Bonds , prepar'd To bind the Christian World ; yet , under Heav'n , That favour'd him with such peculiar Grace , He ows th' Immortal Glory to Himself , Not to the Valour of his fainting Troops , Nor to the Skill of their unwarlike Leaders . Their Bravery was his , for he inspir'd it , And his their Conduct , which from him they drew : Nor ows his Fame to Weakness of his Foes , Or their Divisions , or their Want of Skill ; But the Profoundness of his vast Designs , And his High Courage rais'd above Compare . THE Gauls had all th' advantage o'er Nassau That Cesar manifestly had o'er Gaul . Behold them strong , united , numberless ; Their warlike Chiefs experienc'd and renown'd ; Their well-provided Squadrons , skilful , brave , All flush'd and spirited with long Success , All eager in the burning Chase of Glory . Yet WILLIAM at the Head of wretched Troops , Wretched at least , till rais'd and fir'd by Him , In little more than one revolving Year Forc'd his dread Foes to leave his Country free : When Caesar with the Flow'r of Roman Legions , In the large Compass of Ten rolling Years , Scarce conquer'd barbarous divided Gaul . EV'N Fortune claims no share in his Renown , Fortune that bears so visible a part In Human Actions , ruling all below , Which Providence has wisely order'd , lest Frail Dust should grow intolerably vain , And cry , upon Success , 'Tis due to me . But he so highly favour'd was of Heav'n , That still He brought about his vast Designs , While she was known t' assist his mortal Foes . The great Discerner of all Human Hearts Knew that his Noble Soul was truly Great , As far above presumptuous Pride as Fear ; So conscious of its Origin Divine , It ne'er could ought but its Great Maker fear , Ne'er own a Man superior to it self . But then so mindful of its frail Condition , And its Creator's high Omnipotence , That its Dependance it could ne'er forget , That him it would with trembling still approach , And with profound Humility adore , And by that Lowliness and aweful Fear Confirm its Greatness , and its dauntless Courage . THUS Fortune and the Gauls were WILLIAM's Foes , Both He resisted , and He conquer'd both , And brought about his great and just Designs ; But cruel was the Conflict first , and long , And oft the Goddess seemingly prevail'd , And oft at once collecting her whole Might , Took all Advantages of Time and Place , Prepar'd to crush him at a blow , when He With wondrous Art eludes that dreadful Blow , And with fresh Force disputes the doubtful Day : While Heav'n serene look'd down with all its Eyes , Charm'd with the greatest , noblest Sight that Earth Can offer to the Skies ; and that's a Man , A mortal Man , a Match for Fortune's Pow'r . Her Pow'r , great Arbitress of all below , Till his Invincible , unshaken Soul , With Wisdom , Patience , Resignation arm'd , And with a thousand Virtues that have Force To conquer Gods , compell'd her to submit , And own her glorious Conqueror at the last . NOR were her Smiles more pow'rful o'er his Soul : For upon him the faithless Goddess smil'd Ev'n in the worst of Times , that dreadful Hour , When raving as a Bacchanal , and wild , She to new Slaughter lash'd on limping Fate , And led the Gauls t' extirpate lost Batavia . She offer'd him a Kingdom for a Bribe , A Kingdom with a hundred pow'rful Towns , In Wealth exhaustless , numberless in Men ; Which he rejected with a Brave Disdain , And chose to perish with his Country free , Rather than found an Empire on its Bonds . O Greatness , to be found on Earth no more ! Exalted far above all Royalty , And far above the Rule of Fortune's Pow'r . For when long after he embrac'd a Crown , Justly confer'd by free Consent of those O'er whom He was to reign ; th' Acceptance them Was necessary for the World , not Him , And for the World H' embrac'd it , not himself . To him 'twas all Increase of Toil and Care : He wanted not a Crown to make him Great ; His Soul possess'd a Greatness of its own , Not like the short-liv'd Pomp of Fortunes Pow'r , But durable , Immortal as it self ; Plac'd like it self above the Force of Fate . His Towring Soul it self was Greatness all , All vast Intelligence and solid Virtue , The things which make ev'n God and Angels Great . A FALSE and borrow'd Lustre He despis'd , Deriv'd from Scepters and Imperial Crowns , His Soul with native Lustre , native Flame Shone out , as glorious as th' Eternal Fire , Which rolls his Sovereign Globe along the Sphere , Rapid , yet firm in the Refulgent Course , That the Great Mover taught him at the first , And whose Excess of Glory darkens all The rest of God's Vicegerents in the Skies . Thus while vain Pomp and tinsel Glory serve T' amuse the gazing and inconstant Crowd , He charm'd the bravest , wisest Men on Earth ; Angels look'd wondring on his Virtue down , And the Great Maker pleas'd , his Master-Piece survey'd . THUS He , despising Royalty , acquir'd A more extended and a Nobler Power . Imperial Crowns , who saw to what a Height Above all Human Greatness He was rais'd , How far above all little selfish Thoughts , Acting as if he thought he had been born For all the World except himself alone ; Anxious about the Safety of the World , But utterly regardless of his own ; And hazarding his own for that of all . Imperial Crowns convinc'd of this , confest An Excellence superior to their own ; And Kings themselves grew subject to his Sway . Him with Esteem and Wonder they beheld , Champion of God and his most Sacred Truth , Defender of the Liberties of Men , And Great Protector of the Rights of Kings : And they who gave to mighty Nations Laws , Receiv'd them first from him , and justly thought That only He who of Mankind took care , By Nature was design'd the Lord of All . What but the Head takes care of every Part ? What but the Soul ? What but th' informing Soul , What runs thro all , that animates them all , And in continuous Union all maintains ; Union , their Cause of Spirit , Health , and Force , And which dissolv'd , to all brings Fate or Woe ? NOW He the Councils of those Kings collects , And all their different Interests reconciles ; Of all their thwarting , selfish , low Designs , One Common , Noble , Vast Design he makes , That seem'd impossible to all but Him . But his rare Genius sure Expedients finds To calm their Jealousies , and sooth their Pride ; And all at least are satisfied in him , The Tie and Bond of Union to them all . And now behold him marching at the Head Of all their Squadrons , German , Spanish , Dutch ; Now see them filing thro thy narrow Ways , Till then inglorious and obscure Seneffe , Now shining in the bright Records of Fame , Among the Glories of th' Eternal Roll : And lo the Germans and the Dutch have pass'd , And the Proud Spaniard now prepares to pass , When lo Great Conde with his headlong Troops Comes pouring on them like a sounding Flood , That by Destruction makes its noisy Way . Upon the Wings of Fear the Spaniards fly , And many a Furlong leave their Pride behind ; For Conde's Image haunts them in their Flight , His awful Form still urging on their Speed , More dreadful to them than his Numerous Host ; His awful Form presented to their View , To their Remembrance calls his glorious Acts , Their Friends defeated , and Themselves o'rethrown . When e're Great Conde's Image they behold , The bloody Plains of Lens are in their View ; And thou , O Friburg , with thy dismal Cliffs , And the dire Fields of Norlingue and Rocroy , A thousand Victories and High Exploits Encompass him with dreadful Glory round ; About him like a Guard of Terrors march , And arm him with Eternal Majesty . These Fantoms goad the Spaniards in their Flight , And now the Fury of that shameful Flight Proves fatal to the Forces of their Friends , And the Battalions breaks and overwhelms . That WILLIAM swiftly sends to their Relief , The French drive on and no Resistance find , Or else Triumphant force their way through all : Outragious as a Flame that's driv'n by Winds , And fiercer , stronger by Obstruction grown . But now Heroick WILLIAM thund'ring comes To turn the Fortune of the bloody Day ; Behold with what a Noble-Rage h' attempts T' arrest his Squadrons in their headlong Flight : For his own Squadrons first He's sorc'd t' attack . With what a matchless Bravery he meets Routed Battalions panting or'e the Plain ! Then with his flaming Sword in their Career He stands , his Person to them all expos'd , His Thundring Arm opposing to them all . Now by the Torrent overborn , o'erwhelm'd , Now stemming with a dauntless Breast the Tide , And now with desperate Vehemence turning all , The Base with Blows corrects , with Words the Brave ; And some the sparkling Glories of his Eye , And some his Looks , and some his Voice inflames ; O whither run ye ? O return , return ! O ye who had the Looks of Soldiers once , I see ye always had the Hearts of Slaves , The worst of Slaves , from Slaves themselves ye run ; You Cowards in defending Liberty , They in augmenting their own Thraldom Brave . For me my own right Hand , or else my Foes , My Freedom and my Glory shall secure ; For Death or Victory bring both alike . Ye few Great Souls , who Liberty and Fame Prefer to wretched , shameful , slavish Life . Come on , be Death or Victory the Word . THIS said , he breathing an Heroick Air , As great as if Eternal Fame appear'd , And to High Actions call'd her darling Sons . And now their Shame prevails upon their Fear , And now he leads them furious to the Charge , Firmly resolv'd to die a thousand Deaths , And to forsake the World e'er such a Leader . Now at their Head with a resistless Rage He thro the firmest French Battalions breaks , And charging thro and thro their Squadrons mows , Their Squadrons now conceal'd in smoaky Clouds , And now reveal'd in blazing Sheets of Fire , And now the French grow fiercer by Despair : And with redoubled Voice Bellona raves , With shriller Notes the Cornets vex the Air , Death's Bugles in the dismal Chase of Blood , The Trumpets kindle Mars with fiercer Sounds , And the tempestuous Drums with thicker Stroaks Alarm the Foe of Nature . All the Heavens , And all the Air appears conflicting Fire , And now the joining Squadrons rend the Skies , And riding at full Stretch upon the Plain , With hideous Outcries on each other rush , And make one ghastful Charnel of the Field ; The ratling Plain with murdring Vollies rings , And to the thundring Cannons mortal roar , The Hills rebellow with a dreadful Sound , That the dire Consort seems to deaf the World . WILLIAM , the glorious Spirit of the War , Is every where where Danger most prevails , Correcting Fortune , and confronting Fate . Like Mars himself , Fierce , Valiant , Raging , Young , Among the thickest Foes his thundring Steed He spurs , then brandishes his fatal Sword ; Terror severely sparkling in his Eyes , Death like a Faulcon perch'd upon his Arm , Watching the certain Signal of his Blow , And then like Lightning darting at his Prey . WILLIAM the desperat'st Champion of the Field , In Feats of Arms and mortal Rage excels , Surpassing in amazing Actions all Whom Glory urges , or whom dire Despair , The meanest Sentry less expos'd than he . Frequent amidst the hottest of the Fire , And oft surrounded , cover'd o're with Flames ; And yet in Conduct oldest Chiefs excels , To best Advantage ev'ry Motion makes , Always exactly present to himself , Spite of his furious executing Arm , Spite of the Smoak , the Tumult , and the Noise : The raging Trumpet and the storming Drum , The Musquets Din , and thundring Cannons Roar ; Nay spite of Death , whom all his dreadful Guard Of purple Terrors through the Field attends , Who painting hideously his ghastful Face With Dust and Blood , and leaping his pale Steed O're slaughter'd Heaps , rides dismal thro the Plain . THUS all the Day the God of Battel rag'd ; And the Sun sat in Horror and in Blood ; And then the lab'ring Moon beheld a Sight That troubled her above Thessalian Charms , And made old Night look hideous to her View . NOW in their turns the mangled French recoil , And doubt the Fortune of the dreadful Day ; And well they may recoil , and well may doubt ; When their Great Chief th' Heroick Conde doubts . Now Rage , Disdain , and Grief to Madness wrought , And the tormenting Conscience of his Worth , Disturb his Generous Breast , and wrack his Soul : He raves , He cannot bear the stabbing Thought Of yielding to a beardless Chief the Field . But this is what torments and stings him most , That He , who now for thirty Glorious Years Has with successive Victories been crown'd , Been us'd to all the Wonders of the Field ; Himself the Noblest Wonder of them all , Should see this Godlike Youth perform such things ; As force ev'n him t' admire ; O mortal Shame ! He crys aloud , O Death to my Renown ! 'Twas He , 'tis manifest , 'twas none but He That turn'd the Fortune of the Wondrous Day . Thou my Divinity , Eternal Fame , And Victory , thou Darling of my Soul : My Mistress , that for Thirty Glorious Years Hast still been constant to my Noble Fire ! Will ye desert me for a Boy at last ? Is not my Deathless Passion still the same ? Is not my Great Aspiring Soul the same ? The same my Conduct , and my Nervous Arm ? Have I for Nassau courted you thus long ? For him were all the desperate Fields I fought , For him my accumulated Triumphs all ; Which with my Loss of Quiet , and of Blood , With Restless Days , and Sleepless Nights I won ? O never , never let it be pronounc'd ! First let me perish , let me perish all ! The very Name of Conde be forgot ; Be the curst Syllables ne're mention'd more ; And ye vain Monuments of my Renown , Lens , Norlingue , Friburg , St. Antoine , Rocroy ! O let Seneffe compleat th' Illustrious List ; Or may ye all neglected be by Fame , And never shine in her Eternal Roll ! THIS said , He leads the French to certain Fate , For now th' Allies Invincible are grown , Dauntless their Minds , Impregnable their Posts , Such is their Hero's Conduct and his Fire : And now they pour a Storm of Iron Hail , Whose Fury makes whole Squadrons fall , while they Cover'd with Dust , and horrid all with Blood ; The slaughter'd French in Ghastful Heaps behold , And take new Spirit from that dismal Sight . Conde resolves his Men shall perish all , Resolves himself to perish at their Head ; And all had fal'n a Victim to Despair , If the descending Goddess of the Night Had not just then withdrawn her Sickly Beams , And Night her blackest Mantle o're them thrown . And now the Rage and Din of Battel cease , Nor Noise nor Silence in the Field prevails , But a low , hoarse and undistinguish'd Sound , A sullen hollow grumbling strikes their Ears ; The dreadful Murmurs of declining Rage , And the last doleful Accents of Despair . And now the French conceal'd in Night retire , And to Victorious WILLIAM leave the Field ; And in the Height of Anguish and Despair Praise his great Conduct and his matchless Fire . HERE meanly his ungenerous Foes enquire , Were all his Battels thus with Conquest crown'd ? What if they were not ? they deserv'd it all , And that was more than Victory to him : He nobly chose to merit Victory , Rather than have it poorly undeserv'd : And from the Height of his exalted Soul . Descend to Triumph by inglorious Ways : Greater and more exalted in Distress Than the great Monarch in his happier Hours , Looking with Scorn on Fortune and his Foes , And all who prosper'd by ignoble Arts . His Conquests all were Glorious , all were Just , All fairly gain'd in the broad Eye of Heav'n , And gain'd while Heav'n and Earth look'd wondring on . Conquests indeed , not Robberies nor Fraud , Nor Purchases nor Thefts , a Conqueror he ! No Trafficker for Countries and for Towns , Nor double Dealer in the Trade of War , Nor sordid Turner of his Gold for Gain . He conquer'd at Seneffe , had 'ere his Foes A braver Army , or a nobler Chief ? A Chief with such Experience , such Renown , And so much Conduct join'd with so much Fire ; So wondrous when the God of Battel rag'd ? He who against great Conde found Success , Could ne're have miss'd it against meaner Chiefs ; Had he not by their Numbers been opprest , Or by the Falseness of his own betray'd ; For to himself he always ow'd Success , To his high Conduct , and his great Example , His Losses to the Falshood , or the Sloth , Or Impotence , or Factions of his Friends . But yet whene're he lost th' incertain Day , He lost but what was Fortune's , not his own . The towring Greatness of his Soul was His , And that he never lost , that was Himself ; His very self ; his Troops have been subdu'd , But never He , He gain'd by their Defeat . Since adverse Fortune shew'd him more himself Of deeper Conduct , and more towring Mind , More watchful Care , and more unwearied Toil ; Of Resolution never to be broke , Of Constancy that triumph'd over Fate , And kept Proud Fortune in severest Awe . 'Twas this that terrify'd his happier Foes , Made Lewis in the Fields of Valenciennes Poorly the Glorious proffer'd Fight refuse , Afraid to trust his far more numerous Troops , More Skilful , more Victorious , more Renown'd ; Doubting if they with Fortune's stronger Power Could guard him all from WILLIAM's great Revenge . This made the Proud and Haughty Monarch stoop , And after all th' Advantages he gain'd , With Prudence doubt the last Event of War , And in our Hero's Country sue for Peace . AND now the World in faithless Peace lies lul'd , Which more than War advances boundless Sway ; Fair Liberty sleeps on , and never dreams That to her Heart her Murderer's Hand's so near , Till 'tis too late to fear , too late to dream : For now they seize and bind Her strongest Friend , That they may surely give the fatal Blow . Now the Crowns totter on a hundred Heads , And Europe's nodding Powers expect to fall ; For lo where bound forlorn Britannia lies , Pinion'd her Arms that once the Balance held , And in due Poise sustain'd the pond'rous World . Bound to her Rocks like Andromede she lies ; Fair Liberty shreeks out aloud for Aid ; When WILLIAM on the Wings of all the Winds , Like Perseus , nobly to their Rescue flies ; While the admiring World attentive stands , Trembling in Expectation of th' Event , For WILLIAM's Fate the General Fate decides : When with Success above what Caesar found , ( But Caesar came t' enslave , and He to free ) The Happy Hero came , and conquer'd e're he saw . O CONQUEST worthy Men and Angels praise ! How poor's the Triumph for extended Sway , Compar'd to this ? This Conquest over Hearts , This Triumph over Souls , which leaves them free , And makes the Vanquish'd happier than the Victors . The Britons who were wretched Slaves before , Who 'ad lost ev'n Hope , and who expected nought But Life in Miseries , or Death in Flames , When he approach'd grew Happy , Free , Secure : So Happy that their Raptures knew no Bounds ! For hark how their tumultuous Joy grows loud ! Hark how their stormy Shouts ascend the Skies To unknown Worlds , transporting WILLIAM's Fame ! Still , still the Sounds are in my ravish'd Ears , And still methinks I hear the Nation's cry , Hail thou Defender of unspotted Faith ! Renown'd Restorer of lost Freedom , hail ! Great Patron of the Christian World , all hail ! At thy Approach fierce Arbitrary Power , And bloody Superstition disappear . At thy Approach fair Liberty returns , And smiling darts a lovely Glance so sweet , As charms at once the Hearts of Gods and Men : While Piety looks modestly assur'd , And lifts its moving melting Eyes to Heaven ; O Happy , Happy above Millions , Thou , Who hast made Millions blest ; Thee Times to come , Thee Nations yet unborn shall Happy call : For the diffusive Good which flows from Thee To ev'ry Age and Nation must extend . But we th' ungrateful'st and the worst of Men , Should we e'er cease to celebrate thy Praise , Should we forget the boundless Debt we owe . Then raise thy Voice , O Happy Island , raise , Let thy tempestuous Raptures tow'r to Heaven , Till Angels catch our Great Deliverer's Praise ; Tune it , ye Angels , to your deathless Lyres , And let all Heaven attend th' enchanting Song , For ye have Voices for the lofty Theme . Ye Angels , an Immortal Glorious Crown To recompense th' Immortal Act , prepare ! But may he wear it late , and long be ours , May ye impatiently expect him long , Long may he deign to wear this earthly Crown , Which now we place upon his Sacred Head , A poor and mean Return for what we owe . THIS was th' assembled Nation's general Sense , In these warm Sounds they 'xpress'd their Gratitude , And pleas'd the Godlike Hero with their Joy . Yet scarce the inconstant Moon renew'd her Orb ( O may it never mention'd be by Fame , Or never be believ'd by Times to come ! ) Before they chang'd their more inconstant Minds , And murmur'd at their Great Deliverer . Some envied ev'n the Crown they had bestow'd , And some , regretting their old Thraldom , cry'd For Egypt and its Vegetable Gods . Others would be preserv'd , but not by Him ; Alas unfortunate , mistaken Men ! Who could preserve you possibly but He ? Hark how Hibernia rends with Shreeks the Air , And to Britannia cries aloud for Help . In vain Great Schomberg marches to her Aid , With his Brave Officers , his dauntless Troops , With his own wondrous Skill in Feats of Arms ; For Superstition and wild lawless Power , Stood both insulting by , and saw those Troops Consum'd insensibly without a Blow . But WILLIAM's Presence on the wondring Boyn , Made his Foes tremble , cheer'd his fainting Friends , Reviv'd them like their Universal Soul , And quickly chang'd that hapless Island's Fate ; As when the Sun above th' Horizon mounts , And with his Blaze of Glory fills the World : Goblins , and Ghosts obscene , and Spirits damn'd , That revel'd by the Stars uncertain Light ; Or the pale Glimpses of the Silver Moon , Revere th' Effulgence of the Lord of Day , And disappearing take their Flight to Hell , So when the Light of all the Christian World Mounted in Glory o'er the Banks of Boyn , Unbounded Pow'r soon took its headlong Flight , And frighted Superstition quickly shrunk Its hated Head within its gloomy Cell . Hibernia rescued by her Martial King , Made thee , Britannia , more securely free . Why dost thou murmur then , ungrateful Isle ? What , dost thou envy to the Best of Kings That Happiness which waits upon a Crown That thou thy self so freely hast bestow'd , So justly fix'd upon his Sacred Head ? Is that thy Cause of envious Discontent ? Alas , the Happiness is all for Thee , And all the Toil and Misery for him ! For thee , and not Himself He wears that Crown . The very best of Fathers and of Kings Contentedly supports a wretched Life , That He may make his much-lov'd Children blest : For William in his Kingdoms is Himself The only Man whom his Auspicious Reign Constrains to bear intolerable Care . Not all the Rolls of Fame can shew a King Who labour'd under such a Weight before . Abroad behold a formidable Foe ! Surpassing in his Numbers and his Strength The whole Alliance which our Hero form'd ; Then that Alliance difficult to form , And wondrous difficult to be maintain'd ; Some Weak , some Slow , some Jealous , Factious all , And thwarting in their contrary Designs . He was the only Man upon the Globe Who could at once resist the Common Foe , And could enforce the Weakness of his Friends , Quicken their Sloth , enrich their Poverty , Cool their Mistrusts , their Factions reconcile . At the same time at home , amongst his own Lurk'd his most mortal and most dangerous Foes , Those Sons of Darkness , who conceal'd in Night , Sat brooding o'er their damnable Design To take away the very Life of Liberty . In the mean while his faithful'st Friends at home , His loyal'st Subjects too divided were , Too factious grown to take just care of Him , More eager most each other to destroy , Than Him their common Safety to defend . How few , alas , he found entirely true ! How few in whom he could entirely trust , Upon whose faithful Breasts he could discharge Some part of his intolerable Load ! For some had groundless Jealousies conceiv'd , And others of themselves had too much care To be sollicitous about their King . Never had Prince such Hardships to surpass ; For in eternal Toil He past his Hours , Wasted with Action , or consum'd with Thought , And twenty times He past the Stormy Main , While We in Peace securely slept at home ; Past it against his Health , against his Life , Past it for Us against his very Self : 'Tis what his tender Body ne'r could bear ; In ev'ry Passage he almost expir'd , Profuse of his inestimable Life , To save and to defend ungrateful Men . And when the wearying Toils of hard Campagns Were overcome , alas He came not home , Like other Conqu'rors , t' indulge Himself In soft repose , or to enjoy the Fame , Or the fair Conscience of his Noble Acts . For always He return'd to endure new Toils , And bear almost insufferable Pains ; Contending with the envious Rage of some , The causeless , groundless Jealousies of more , And with the fierce Divisions of us all . And when with Godlike Patience he had born , Beyond what Nature suffer'd him to bear , The weary Marches , and the hard Fatigues Of a laborious and a long Campagn , At his return he always something found More difficult and grievous to be born , Unjust Reproaches , undeserv'd Affronts From those whom with the hazard of his Life , Whom with the loss of Rest and Health he serv'd ; And yet with Patience He supported all , Because He knew his Just Resentment shewn Would have confounded all his Great Designs . Therefore that just Resentment pent within , Like a devouring Flame that wants a Vent , Consum'd and prey'd upon his Noble Heart , Exhausting the best Spirits of his Blood , And richest Purple of the Royal Flood . BEHOLD Him ( and then murmur , if thou canst O thou Repining and Ungrateful Tribe ! ) Lab'ring beneath this Weight , this World of Care , Which his frail Body could endure no more : He knew it , yet undauntedly went on , Devoting his Inestimable Life , And off'ring his Hearts-blood a Sacrifice For the Felicity of wretched Men ; Firmly resolv'd , as far as fleeting Life Would give him leave , in spite of e'en our selves And all our foolish and our factious Rage , To finish the great Work He had begun . IN this the Roman Decii He surpass'd ; They for their Country too themselves devov'd , But what they did was probably th' effect Of wild Enthusiasm and of frantick Rage , And sudden the Resolve , and short the Pain . But WILLIAM's Action was th' effect of Thought , Of a deliberate and long Design ; For sensibly his Life consum'd away , And sunk beneath the Pressure of Affairs ; Yet He with indefatigable Soul , And with almost Divine Resolve , went on , And knowing He or Liberty must die , By his eternal Care , eternal Toil , To support that exhausted his Best Blood , And sav'd it at th' expence of ev'n his Life . AND if Success ( O fond mistaken Men , That judg of Human Actions by Success ! ) Was sometimes wanting to his Great Designs ; Yet he deserv'd it still , and that's enough , And greatest , when he miss'd it , still was found ; For then his firm and comprehensive Soul In all the Lustre of its Virtue shone . Yet he's unjustly said to want Success , Who by his matchless Conduct , in despite Of Fortune's Favour , ruin'd his great Foe , And near Perfection brought his own Designs ; In spite of Losses made his Kingdom thrive , While France with all its Fortune was undone : For by Himself , and not by Fortune Great , Great WILLIAM found us wretched , left us blest In spite of all her Malice , all her Rage : But ill that King deserves the Name of Great , Who found his Subjects wealthy , easy , blest , And will be sure to leave them poor , starv'd , curst , In spite of false Success and false Renown . AND thus to bless Mankind our Hero liv'd , 'Twas the sole Business of his Godlike Life , And great Employment of his dying Hours . He knew he ne'er could better die imploy'd Than He had liv'd ; he knew the very Best , The Greatest , Holiest of Mankind were they Who of their Maker most resemblance bear ; And that they best resemble the most High , Who to Mankind do most diffusive good , And who for future Ages best provide . Nor could the King of Terror's awful Face Turn his Attention from his Grand Design : The grizly King no Terrors had for Him ; Calmly they met , and kindly they embrac'd , As friendly Monarchs on their Frontiers meet . His mighty Soul was so remote from Fear , That He shew'd nothing like what's falsely Brave , And nothing like what's falsely Good He show'd , No earnest vehement Devotion paid , Th' effect of Terror and Astonishment ; But calm , resign'd , and charitably meek , Briefly and mildly offer'd up that Soul To the Great Judg of Kings who knew his Heart , And the main Spring of all his Actions saw . That done , again he of the World took care ; For his Religion in his Actions lay , And not in fruitless Words and empty Sounds : He look'd upon himself as sent by God T' advance the Happiness of Human Kind ; And as He past his whole Heroick Life , He dy'd performing his Great Master's Will ; And as He knew no Fear , so Pain it self Could not divert him from his Great Design . If we give Credit to the Sons of Art , His latest Hours in sharpest Pains were spent , And yet he shew'd no smallest Sign of Pain , Utter'd no loud Complaint , nor piercing Groan ; No Mark of Torment on his Face appear'd , Only a more compassionating Look For his lov'd People whom he left behind , The best of Fathers for his Children felt , But for himself appear'd insensible . Yet his no fruitless vain Compassion was , But made him eager to compleat those Acts That dire impending Mischiefs might prevent , And might our future Happiness secure . O GREATNESS , never known to Man before ! Too great to be conceiv'd by Human Thought ! Behold a Man , who dies in sharpest Pain , In his own Height of Misery intent Upon providing Happiness for all , Which makes the sole Imployment of a God , In perfect Ease and full Felicity : As much concern'd for the World's Liberty , As if his Business ceas'd not with his Life , As if our Guardian Angel had assum'd That Royal Shape , and would not leave his Charge , But only disappear to Mortal Eyes . NOT the least Trouble or Concern He shew'd , That his Great Maker call'd him at a Time , When the expecting World had all its Eyes Intent on Him , the Darling Theme of Fame ; When all his vast Designs were just reduc'd Within a certain Prospect of Success ; When humbled Gaul , and the deliver'd World Had all advanc'd his Fame to such a height , As never Human Glory rose before . Not in the least concern'd at being snatch'd From the transporting Joy , the vast Applause , Of all the Nations happy made by Him . The Hero meekly bore it , tho He knew That the World judges by the last Event ; But the World's Praise was what he could contemn . He like a faithful Servant had perform'd What his Great Master destin'd him to do ; And so dy'd , pleas'd with this Heroick Thought , That had that Master's absolute Decree Allotted him a thousand times as much , He would with Cheerfulness have done it all . OF all about him in that dreadful Hour He was alone serene , the mournful rest Felt all the fiercest Pangs of Grief and Fear , Of ghastful Horror , and of wild Despair ; Their bloodshot Eyes , and their distracted Looks Declar'd the inward Torments of their Souls ; They all like Wretches on the Rack appear'd , Like the compassionate Spectator He . At last one hearty Sigh he gives for all , A Sigh that ended his Heroick Toils , And brought that Rest which Virtue could not bring . And now in loud and lamentable Wails They vent their lawless Grief that knows no Bounds : Some for their Royal Patron wring their Hands , Their Benefactor some aloud deplore ; Some their Wise , Brave , Undaunted General ; Their Great Deliverer and Defender some ; Their Father , like poor helpless Orphans , all . But turn thy View , my Soul , from that vast Grief , Whose mortal Prospect is enough to blast Thy strongest and thy noblest Faculties . Yet whither must I fly t' avoid that Grief ? All Europe catches the contagious Woe : The Greatest Men on Earth his Fate deplore , Those dauntless Souls who always scorn'd their own Kings for that Loss not only grieve , but die . But cease your Lamentations , O ye Kings ; Your loud Laments , y' afflicted Nations cease ; 'Tis for your selves this vast Excess of Woe , And not for Him , for He is surely blest . Never a greater Subject was of Woe ; But still excessive Grief some Weakness shews , But lofty Praise declares a Noble Mind , The best Return for mighty Benefits , And worthy to be offer'd up to Gods , And to good Kings , who most resemble Gods . Then change your Voices all with one accord , Y' afflicted Nations , change your mournful Notes , And praise your mighty Benefactor's Name ; Lift up your Voices all with one accord , For the Great Theme requires your noblest Flights . WILLIAM the Great , the Good , the Just is gone ; Yet never , never shall He die entire , But his Immortal Memory shall last As long as Gratitude remains in Men , As long as lovely Liberty remains . For WILLIAM was the Greatest , Best of Kings , That e'er was sent from Heaven to rule the Earth , Or will be sent when Golden Times return : Who , persecuted and opprest by Fate , Outpower'd , outnumber'd by the common Foe , Deserted by some Friends , betray'd by some , Ill seconded by more , almost alone , Did by a Conduct Matchless and Divine Deliver lost Batavia , Belgia save , New imp'd the Roman Eagles soaring Wings , To take a stronger and a nobler Flight ; Britannia he restor'd , Hibernia He reduc'd ; He Superstition's bloody Progress stopt , And check'd the Rage of Arbitrary Sway ; Religion re-establish'd , Right maintain'd , Supported Freedom , Property secur'd , And made Oppression tremble when he frown'd ; Was born and liv'd for the World's Happiness : In ev'ry Part of his unequal'd Life A Hero still confest to all the World , And died at last as greatly as he liv'd ; Whose dying Arm for Liberty did more Than if the noblest Conquest he had gain'd : And who , to sum all Praises up in one , Maintains ev'n dead the Freedom of the World , Both by his Conduct , which Confederate Powers , By Him combin'd in mutual League , persue ; And by the Wisdom of that Mighty Queen , Who now adds Lustre to th' Imperial Crown : Her Wisdom and her Virtues are the Gifts , Which He upon these Happy Realms bestow'd . Had it not been for his Heroick Toils , The Golden Scepter She so mildly sways , Had been in bloody Hands an Iron Rod . And can we owe this Happiness to Him , And yet refuse our Benefactor's Praise ? Where is our Honour ? Where our Gratitude ? And where our boasted Loyalty to Her ? Can we be Foes to his Immortal Name , Who gave us Her , who all his wondrous Steps Persues , and seconds all his vast Designs ? And may she second all , till she attains The Happy Glorious End which He propos'd . FINIS .