An English BALLAD , On the Taking of NAMUR By the King of Great Britain , 1695. Dulce est desipere in loco . I. and II . Some Folks are drunk , yet do not know it : So might not Bacchus give You Law ? Was it a Muse , O lofty Poet , Or Virgin of St. Cyr , You saw ? Why all this Fury ? What's the Matter , That Oaks must come from Thrace to dance ? Must stupid Stocks be taught to flatter ? And is there no such Wood in France ? Why must the Winds all hold their Tongue ? If they a little Breath should raise ; Would that have spoil'd the Poet's Song ; Or puff'd away the Monarch's Praise ? Pindar , that Eagle , mounts the Skies ; While Virtue leads the noble Way : Too like a Vultur Boileau flies , Where sordid Interest shows the Prey . When once the Poet's Honour ceases , From Reason far his Transports rove : And Boileau , for eight hundred Pieces , Makes Louis take the Wall of Jove . III . Neptune and Sol came from above , Shap'd like Megrigny and Vauban : They arm'd these Rocks ; then show'd old Jove Of Marli Wood , the Wond'rous Plan . Such Walls , these three wise Gods agreed , By Human Force could ne'er be shaken : But You and I in Homer read Of Gods , as well as Men , mistaken . Sambre and Maese their Waves may join ; But ne'er can William's Force restrain : He'll pass them Both , who pass'd the Boyn : Remember this , and arm the Sein . IV . Full fifteen thousand lusty Fellows With Fire and Sword the Fort maintain : Each was a Hercules , You tell us ; Yet out they march'd like common Men . Cannons above , and Mines below Did Death and Tombs for Foes contrive : Yet Matters have been order'd so , That most of Us are still alive . V. If Namur be compar'd to Troy ; Then Britain's Boys excell'd the Greeks : Their Siege did ten long Years employ : We've done our Bus'ness in ten Weeks . What Godhead does so fast advance , With dreadful Pow'r those Hills to gain ? 'Tis little Will , the Scourge of France ; No Godhead , but the first of Men . His mortal Arm exerts the Pow'r , To keep ev'n Mons's Victor under : And that same Jupiter no more Shall fright the World with impious Thunder . VI . Our King thus trembles at Namur , Whilst Villeroy , who ne'er afraid is , To Bruxelles marches on secure , To bomb the Monks , and scare the Ladies . After this glorious Expedition , One Battle makes the Marshal Great : He must perform the King's Commission : Who knows , but Orange may retreat ? Kings are allow'd to feign the Gout , Or be prevail'd with not to Fight : And mighty Louis hop'd , no doubt , That William wou'd preserve that Right . VII . From Seyn and Loyre , to Rhone and Po , See every Mother's Son appear : In such a Case ne'er blame a Foe , If he betrays some little Fear . He comes , the mighty Vill'roy comes ; Finds a small River in his Way : So waves his Colours , beats his Drums ; And thinks it prudent there to stay . The Gallic Troops breath Blood and War : The Marshal cares not to march faster : Poor Vill'roy moves so slowly here , We fancy'd all , it was his Master . VIII . Will no kind Flood , no friendly Rain Disguise the Marshal's plain Disgrace ? No Torrents swell the low Mehayne ? The World will say , he durst not pass . Why will no Hyades appear , Dear Poet , on the Banks of Sambre ? Just as they did that mighty Year , When You turn'd June into December . The Water-Nymphs are too unkind To Vill'roy ; are the Land-Nymphs so ? And fly They All , at Once Combin'd To shame a General , and a Beau ? IX . Truth , Justice , Sense , Religion , Fame May join to finish William's Story : Nations set free may bless his Name ; And France in Secret own his Glory . But Ipres , Mastrich , and Cambray , Besançon , Ghent , St. Omers , Lysle , Courtray , and Dole — Ye Criticks , say , How poor to this was Pindar's Style ? With Eke's and Also's tack thy Strain , Great Bard ; and sing the deathless Prince , Who lost Namur the same Campaign , He bought Dixmude , and plunder'd Deynse . X. I'll hold Ten Pound , my Dream is out : I'd tell it You , but for the Rattle Of those confounded Drums : no doubt Yon' bloody Rogues intend a Battel . Dear me ! a hundred thousand French With Terror fill the neighb'ring Field ; While William carries on the Trench , 'Till both the Town and Castle yield . Vill'roy to Boufflers should advance , Says Mars , thro' Cannons Mouths in Fire ; Id est , one Mareschal of France Tells t'other , He can come no nigher . XI . Regain the Lines the shortest Way , Vill'roy ; or to Versailles take Post : For , having seen it , Thou can'st say The Steps , by which Namur was lost . The Smoke and Flame may vex thy Sight : Look not once back : but as thou goest , Quicken the Squadrons in their Flight ; And bid the D—l take the slowest . Think not what Reason to produce , From Louis to conceal thy Fear : He'll own the Strength of thy Excuse ; Tell him that William was but there . XII . Now let us look for Louis' Feather , That us'd to shine so like a Star : The Gen'rals could not get together , Wanting that Influence , great in War . O Poet ! Thou had'st been discreeter , Hanging the Monarch's Hat so high ; If Thou had'st dubb'd thy Star , a Meteor , That did but blaze , and rove , and die . XIII . To animate the doubtful Fight , Namur in vain expects that Ray : In vain France hopes , the sickly Light Shou'd shine near William's fuller Day . It knows Versailles , it's proper Station ; Nor cares for any foreign Sphere : Where You see Boileau's Constellation , Be sure no Danger can be near . XIV . The French had gather'd all their Force ; And William met them in their Way : Yet off they brush'd , both Foot and Horse . What has Friend Boileau left to say ? When his high Muse is bent upon't , To sing her King , that Great Commander , Or on the Shores of Hellespont , Or in the Valleys near Scamander ; Wou'd it not spoil his noble Task , If any foolish Phrygian there is , Impertinent enough to ask , How far Namur may be from Paris ? XV. Two Stanza's more before we end , Of Death , Pikes , Rocks , Arms , Bricks , and Fire : Leave 'em behind You , honest Friend : And with your Country-Men retire . Your Ode is spoilt ; Namur is freed ; For Dixmuyd something yet is due : So good Count Guiscard may proceed ; But Boufflers , Sir , one Word with you . — XVI . 'Tis done . In Sight of these Commanders , Who neither Fight , nor raise the Siege , The Foes of France march safe thro' Flanders ; Divide to Bruxelles , or to Liege . Send , Fame , this News to Trianon ; That Boufflers may new Honours gain : He the same Play by Land has shown , As Tourville did upon the Main . Yet is the Marshal made a Peer : O William , may thy Arms advance ; That He may lose Dinant next Year , And so be Constable of France .