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
.