TO THE KING, AN ODE, &c. Matthew Prior Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
Broad Street Oxford OX1 3BG UK
Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
Taylor Institution Library St Giles' Oxford OX1 3NA UK info@eighteenthcenturypoetry.org https://www.eighteenthcenturypoetry.org/
Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. R21182 A55912 Prior, Matthew, 1664-1721. To the King, an ode on His Majesty's arrival in Holland, 1695 by Mr. Prior. London Printed for Jacob Tonson ... 1695 pp. 3-11. 11 p.

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TO THE KING , AN ODE , &c. ON MARY's Tomb , thrô rowling Years , The Mournful Graces all shall weep ; And , with fresh Lamps and flowing Tears , The Virtues endless Vigils Keep . For MARY distant Lands shall Mourn When late Records Her Deeds relate , Ages to come , and Men unborn , Shall Bless Her Name , and Sigh Her Fate . Fair ALBION shall with watchful Trust , Her Holy QUEEN's sad Reliques guard , Till Heaven awakes the precious Dust , To Cloath it in its full Reward . But let the KING forsake his Woes , Reflecting on his fair Renown ; And take the Cypress from his Brows , To put his wonted Lawrels on . The Lovely Dead , whom He regrets , Can know no Fear , can feel no Grief : The living World , whom He forgets , Would perish without His Relief . In vain the British Lyons roar , While prest by Grief their MONARCH stoops ; The Belgic Darts will wound no more , If He , whose Hand sustain'd them , droops : Embattel'd Princes wait their Chief , Whose Voice should rule , whose Arm should lead ; And , in Kind Murmurs , chide that Grief Which hinders EUROPE's being freed . The great Example they demand Who still to Conquest led the Way , And wish Him present to command , As They stand ready to obey . They seek that Joy which used to glow Expanded on the HERO's Face , When the thick Squadrons prest the Foe , And WILLIAM led the glorious Chase . Oh ! give the Mourning Nations Joy , Break forth , great Sun , with usual Light : And let thy stronger Beams destroy Those Clouds , which keep Thee from our sight . Advance in thy Meridian Course , And , since thy MARY's Light is gone , Rejoyce the World with double Force , Thy Beams all fixt in Thee alone . See , pious KING , with different strife Thy struggling ALBION's Bosom torn ; So much She fears for WILLIAM's Life , That MARY's Fate she dare not mourn . Her fair Delight , Her softer Half , Cold in the Grave with MARY lies , Unless in Thee her strength is safe , The frighted Nation wholly dies . Thou , Guardian Angel , save our Land . From Thy own Grief , her fiercest foe ; Lest , rais'd and rescu'd by thy Hand , She bend and sink beneath thy Woe . Her former Triumphs all are vain , Unless new Trophies still be sought ; And hoary Majesty sustain The Battles which thy youth has fought . Where now is BRITAIN's fearful Love , Which made Her hate the War's alarms ? Where that Excess with which She strove To keep her HERO in her Arms ? While still She chid the coming Spring , Which call'd Thee o'er thy subject Seas , Whilst , for the Safety of the KING , She wish'd the VICTOR's Glory less ? 'Tis gone , 'tis chang'd ; sad BRITAIN now Hastens her LORD to Foreign Wars : Happy if Toyls may break his Woe , Or Danger may divert his Cares . In Martial sounds She drowns her Sighs , Lest He the rising Grief should hear . She pulls her Helmet o'er her Eyes , Lest He should see the falling Tear . Go , Mighty Prince , let FRANCE be taught How constant Minds by grief are try'd , How great the Land , that wept and fought , When WILLIAM led , and MARY dy'd . Fierce in the Battle make it Known , Where Death with all her Darts is seen , That she could strike Thy Heart with None , But that with which she struck the QUEEN . Thy Virtue , whose resistless force No dire Event could ever stay , Must carry on its destin'd course , Thô Death and envy stop the way . Envy shall calm that useless Rage , By which Thy Glory brighter grows , And Death , Thy Sorrows to asswage , Shall turn her wrath , and wound Thy Foes . BELGIA indulg'd her open Grief , While yet her Master was not near , She hated Hope , She scorn'd Relief , And triumph'd , Proud in full Despair . Her echo'd Wailings pierc't the Skyes , To Earth her bended Forehead bow'd , The Tears unbounded from her Eyes , As Waters from her Sluces , flow'd . But soon as Thou her Lord return'd , Her Head is rear'd , her Eyes are dry'd , She smiles as WILLIAM ne'r had mourn'd , She looks as MARY ne'r had dy'd . That Freedom which all Sorrows claim She does for Thy Content resign : Her Piety it self would blame , If Her Regrets should waken Thine . Dissembling Ease , and forcing Joy , She begs her Lord his Tears to dry : Did BELGIA e're her prayers employ , And ORANGE stand regardless by ? To cure Thy Woes She shews thy Fame , Lest the great Mourner should forget That all the Race whence ORANGE came , Made Virtue triumph over Fate . WILLIAM his Countrey's Cause cou'd fight , And with His Blood its Freedom Seal : MAURICE and HENRY guard that Right For which their pious Father fell . A second WILLIAM's Bloom could tell How Heroes rise , how Patriots set : As Theirs did Others Deeds excel , Excelling Theirs be Thine compleat . The last fair Instance Thou must give Whence NASSAU's Virtue can be try'd ; And shew the World that Thou canst live As glorious as Thy MARY dy'd . That Thou canst live for BELGIA's sake , Pierc'd by her Griefs forget Thy own ; New Toyls endure , new Conquests make To give her Ease , thô Thou hast None . To keep from treach'rous Foes Her store , Thô all Thy Wealth be robb'd by Death ; To vanquish , thô She lives no more Whose Hands prepar'd the Victor's Wreath . Oh , could Thy Griefs obdurate prove To BELGIA's Cries , to BRITAIN's Fears , Yet let them yield to MARY's Love , To NASSAU's Glory joyn'd in Her's . If MARY could so well command , It was by long obeying Thee ; Her Scepter , guided by Thy Hand , Preserv'd the Isles and rul'd the Sea . But oh ! 'twas little that Her Life Thy Fame o'er Earth and Water bears , In Death 'twas worthy WILLIAM's Wife To Fix His Name amidst the Stars . Beyond where Matter moves , or Place Receives its Forms , Thy Virtues rowl : From MARY's Glories Angels trace The Beauties of Her Part'ners Soul . Wise Fate , which does its Heaven decree To Heroes , when They yield their breath , Hastens Thy Triumphs , Half of Thee Is deifi'd before Thy Death . And to Thy Fame alone 'tis given Unbounded thrô all Worlds to go , While MARY reigns a Saint in Heaven , And Thou a Demi-God below . FINIS .