A Pindarick ode upon these inconstant and tragick times written in August, 1691, upon the news of the victory obtain'd by Their Majesties forces at Aghrim.

Upon these Inconstant and Tragick TIMES, A Pindarick ODE.

August 1. 1691.

I.

NOW at Great Jove's Supream Command, Fortune his Slave with threat'ning Hand, Furiously whirls about her Wheel; Which turning like a vast Machine, Changes the World's great Stage, unseen, Whilst with the Motion giddy Nations reel.

II.

Alecto has been rows'd from Hell, To punish a Flagitious Age; In Humane Breasts her Serpents dwell, And sting the guilty World to Rage. The Fury stalks about and Raves; Germany trembles at her horrid Yell, She Rates the backward French, goads on th'abandon'd Slaves, To execute the black Contrivances of Hell. On, to prodigious Villanies they go, Till they want Sense their Monst'rous Crimes to know.

Thro' the Palatinate she with them flies, And whilst the Native by his Murderers dies, She her Infernal Torch to ev'ry House applies.

A Town she Burns for each vast Funeral Pile, And (Grinning horribly a ghastly Smile) Upon the Flames, as terribly they blaze, Th' Abominable Fiend with dismal Joy does gaze.

III.

As Deluges whole Kingdoms sweep, Urg'd by fierce Tempests and the Deep, Wars dreadful Inundation swells, Rais'd both by Wrath Divine and Hells. Nor Art nor Nature has the Force To stop its noisie Course. Nor Alps nor Pireneans keep it out, Nor fortify'd redoubt.

IV.

In vain the Irish Straw-built Huts forsake, And to their Bogs in vain they make, There soon does Fate her Fugitives o'ertake.

And as, with Horror and with Fear Her grim Attendants, she draws near; The Bogs and Men with one Convulsion shake.

V.

In vain to the Aetherial Skies, Climbing his Alps, th'amaz'd Savoyard flies; The Bloody French the Wretch pursue, Who Pants with Toil and Terror too. And near to Heav'n (Deaf to his piercing Cries) By Impious Hands he Dies.

VI.

In Belgian Plains, whilst th' English Lyon Ramps, Terror's diffus'd thro' Gallick Forts and Camps. See how his deadly lifted Paw Keeps Couchant Luxemburgh in awe! At William's mighty Name, All France, with its exalted Idol, shakes; William's bright sounding Fame, Like Light'ning when from Heav'n it breaks, Troubles the great Offender's Sight, And does his Conscious Instruments affright; And by its Brightness and its Noise, Confounds them, e'er his Arm, Wars Thunder-bolt, destroys.

VII.

Glittering in Glorious Arms he shines from far, Like the Fifth Heav'ns ascendent Star, Whose very Aspect gives Success in War:

Whose influential Pow'r decides, And over Fatal Fields presides, Just like the Moon's o'er raging Tides;

Till by Conjunction deadlier grown, By its Confederate Force some Mighty State's o'erthrown.

VIII.

To William's Virtue stiff Rebellion yields, In Aghrim's Purple Fields. William, when at the Boyn he Fought, The Shannon and the Suc to pass, his Fierce Battalions taught.

His Bravery kindled in their Breasts the Fire Which does to Glory by great Acts aspire, And on to Aghrim hurried them unknowing to retire.

IX.

Should Fear in wretched Man prevail, Who could condemn it in a thing so Frail? The Universe has not a Creature, Which the Condition of its Nature, Subjects to more internal accidents, Or outward casual Events. The least of which has often Pow'r To antedate his Fatal Hour.

William, not only subject is to those, High pow'r, vast worth, him ev'ry hour expose, To the Perfidiousness and Strength of all his Gallick Foes.

Domestick Villains who surround him too, In his Destruction wish the World t'undo. Yet see him in this dangerous State, Dauntless, as Gods secur'd by Fate.

X.

The numerous Squadrons of his Foes, Th'accursed Troublers of the World's repose; He with Heroick Rage Defies. Surveying them, his Sparkling Eyes, With God-like Transports rowl, And his brave Warriors second his great Soul, And (tho retrench'd old wary * 1.1 Bouteville lyes) Each for the Onset cries. He, wise in Fury, keeps them back; Conduct profound defers the wish'd Attack. Thus, often, when some desperate Offence, Does Heav'ns Almighty Pow'r incense; Its Vengeance it delays, expecting Fatal Times, By high fore-knowledge pre-ordain'd, to punish mighty Crimes.

XI.

When William, the predestin'd Hour Torethrow that formidable Pow'r, Struck by the dire Alarum comes; Struck by loud Cannon and tempestuous Drums: When Gods the business of the World forego, To be Spectators of the fierce Debate; Pleas'd to behold the Sanguinary Show, The Tragick Play of Fortune and of Fate, In that great hour, that wond'rous hour, controle thy noble fire, Which does to bright eternal Fame, too furiously aspire. Ah! let not the transporting Rage, The Christians World's sole Hope too dangerously engage! On thee depend thy Country and thy Friends; On thee the Dreadful Day, and vast Event depends.

XII.

Think on the Boyn, on thy great Action think;

Where can that Man, who thinks not on't, be found? That Action thro' both Indies does resound, And as the Golden Ganges, makes the wretched Boyn renown'd.

Think how expos'd, thou mad'st its Banks the Brink Of Ruin, into which we all were like to sink; Its Banks more Famous for the threat'ned Blow, Than for the signal Overthrow.

Canst thou one cursed Moment there forget? Europe remembers it with Horror yet.

Though on those Banks Victorious Troops you led, And half the Rebels were already fled, Yet when the Fatal Shot approach'd thy Sacred Head,

(But Schomberg Destiny atton'd) Fair Liberty shriek'd out aloud, Aloud Religion groan'd.

How did they on their Champions danger look! Ev'n England's Genious was with Terror struck, And of the whole Confed'rate Pow'r the Guardian Angel shook.

XIII.

Menage thy Royal Life, by Heav'n design'd, T' ensure Great Britain and Mankind: Thy Safety for Their own all Necessary find.

Had Heav'n Thy Death made necessary too, Does not Thy former Conduct shew, That Thou wouldst, ravish'd with Thy Glorious doom, Do for the World what Curtius did for Rome?

XIV.

Ye British Muses celebrate his Fame, Where can ye find a nobler Theme T' Illustrate Yours or Britains Name? In Valor Sovereign, and in Sense Supreme,

He's over all His Subjects Found, His Subjects thro' the World Renown'd, For Lofty Spirit, and for Thought Profound.

To Him your Britain owes, That nothing but the Sound of War She knows:

Ev'ry where else Death and Destruction Reign, Our Happy Isle within does Peace retain, Defended by a double Guard, its Monarch and the Main.

FINIS.

Notes

• * 1.1

  Luxembourg.