542 THE TRUE BORN ENGLISHMAN. an. 17ot.
BRITANNIA'S cries gave birth to his intent,
And hardly gained his unforeseen assent;
His boding thoughts foretold him, he should find
The people fickle, selfish, and unkind :
Which thought did to his royal heart appear
More dreadful than the dangers of the war;
For nothing grates a generous mind so soor.,
As base returns for hearty service done.
Satyr, be silent! awfully prepare
BRITANNIA'S Song and WILLIAM's praise to hear!
Stand by, and let her cheerfully rehearse
Her grateful vows in her immortal verse!
Loud Fame's eternal trumpet, let her sound!
Listen, ye distant poles, and endless round!
May the strong blast the welcome news convey
As far as sound can reach, or spirit can fly !
To neighbouring worlds, if such there be, relate
Our Hero's fame, for theirs to imitate!
To distant worlds of spirits, let her rehearse!
For spirits, without the help of voice converse.
May angels hear the gladsome news on high,
Mix with their everlasting symphony!
And hell itself stand in suspense, to know
Whether it be the Fatal Blast or no?
HE Fame of Virtue 'tis, for which I sound;
And Heroes, with immortal Triumphs crowned!
Fame built on solid Virtue, swifter flies
Than morning light can spread my Eastern skies !
The gathering air returns the doubling sound,
And loud repeating thunders force it round!
THE TRUE BORN ENGLISHMAN. 543
Echoes return from caverns of the deep:
Old Chaos dreams on 't in eternal sleep!
Time hands it forward to its latest urn ;
From whence it never, never shall return !
Nothing is heard so far, or lasts so long;
'Tis heard by every ear, and spoke by every tongue!
My Hero, with the sails of honour furled,
Rises like the Great Genius of the world.
By Fate and Fame wisely prepared to be
The Soul of War, and Life of Victory.
He spreads the Wings of Virtue on the throne,
And every Wind of Glory fans them on.
Immortal trophies dwell upon his brow,
Fresh as the garlands he has won but now.
By different steps, the high ascent he gains;
And differently that high ascent maintains.
Princes for Pride and Lust of Rule make war,
And struggle for the name of Conqueror.
Some fight for Fame, and some for Victory;
He fights to save, and conquers to set free.
Then seek no phrase, his titles to conceal;
And hide with words, what actions must reveal!
No parallel from Hebrew stories take!
Of Godlike Kings, my similies to make.
No borrowed names conceal my living theme,
But names and things directly I proclaim!
His honest Merit does his glory raise :
Whom that exalts, let no man fear to praise !
Virtue 's above the reach of flattery.
He needs no character but his own fame,
Nor any flattering titles but his name.
WILLIAM's the name that's spoke by ev'ry tongue;
WILLIAM's the darling subject of my Song!
Listen, ye virgins, to the charming sound,
And in eternal dances hand it round!
Your early offerings to this altar bring,
Make him at once a lover and a King!
May he submit to none, but to your arms;
Nor ever be subdued but by your charms!
May your soft thought for him be all sublime,
And every tender vow be made for him!
May he be first in every morning thought,
And Heaven ne'er hear a prayer, where he's left out!
May every omen, every boding dream
Be fortunate, by mentioning his name!
May this one charm, infernal powers affright,
And guard you from the terrors of the night!
May every cheerful glass, as it goes down
To WILLIAM's health, be cordial to your own!
Let every Song be chorused with his name,
And Music pay her tribute to his fame!
Let every poet tune his artful verse;
And in immortal strains his deeds rehearse!
And may APOLLO never more inspire
The disobedient bard with his seraphic fire!
May all my sons their grateful homage pay!
His praises sing, and for his safety pray!
D. Defoe. THE TRUE BORN ENGLISHMAN. 545
Satyr, return to our unthankful isle,
Secured by Heaven's regard, and WILLIAM's toil!
To both ungrateful, and to both untrue;
Rebels to GOD, and to Good Nature too!
If e'er this Nation be distressed again;
To whomsoe'er they cry, they'll cry in vain!
To Heaven, they cannot have the face to look,
Or if they should, it would but Heaven provoke!
To hope for help from Man would be too much;
Mankind would always tell them of the Dutch!
How they came here our freedoms to maintain ;
Were paid! and cursed! and hurried home again!
How by their aid, we first dissolved our fears;
And then our helpers damned for "Foreigners!"
'Tis not our English temper to do better!
For Englishmen think every man their debtor.
'Tis worth observing, that we ne'er complained
Of Foreigners, nor of the wealth they gained;
Till all their services were at an end!
Wise men affirm, "It is the English way,
Never to grumble till they come to pay;
And then, they always think, their temper's such,
The work's too little, and the pay too much!"
As frighted patients, when they want a cure,
Bid any price, and any pain endure !
But when the doctor's remedies appear;
The cure's too easy, and the price too dear!
Great PORTLAND ne'er was bantered when he strove
For Us, his Master's kindest thoughts to move!
We ne'er lampooned his conduct when employed,
King JAMES's secret counsels to divide !
546 THE TRUE BORN ENGLISHMAN. for:
Then, we caressed him as the only Man
Which could the doubtful Oracle explain!
The only HUSHAI able to repel
The dark designs of our ACHITOPHEL!
Compared his Master's courage, to his Sense;
The ablest Statesman, and the bravest Prince!
Ten years in English service he appeared,
And gained his Master's and the World's regard:
But 'tis not England's custom to reward!
The wars are over. England needs him not!
Now he's a Dutchman, and the Lord knows what!
SCHOMBERG, the ablest soldier of his Age,
With great NASSAU did in our cause engage:
Both joined for England's rescue and defence,
The greatest Captain and the greatest Prince !
With what applause, his stories did we tell!
Stories which Europe's volumes largely swell.
We counted him an Army in our aid;
Where he commanded, no man was afraid!
His actions with a constant Conquest shine,
From Villa Vitiosa to the Rhine!
France, Flanders, Germany, his fame confess;
And all the World was fond of him, but Us!
Our turn first served, we grudged him the command:
Witness the grateful temper of the land!
We blame the K[ing] that he relies too much
On strangers, Germans, Huguenots, and Dutch;
And seldom would his great Affairs of State
To English Councillors communicate.
The fact might very well be answered thus.
He has so often been betrayed by us,
He must have been a madman to rely
On English Gentlemen's fidelity!
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