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.
Now let us look for Louis' Feather,
That us'd to fhine fo like a Star:
The Gen'rals could not get together,
Wanting that Influence, great in War.
O Poet! Thou had'ft been difcreeter,
Hanging the Monarch's Hat fo high;
If Thou had❜ft dubb'd thy Star, a Meteor,
That did but blaze, and rove, and die.
To animate the doubtful Fight,
Namur in vain expects that Ray:
In vain France hopes, the fickly Light
Shou'd fhine near WILLIAM's fuller Day.
It knows Versailles, it's proper Station;
Nor cares for any foreign Sphere:
Where You fee BOILEAU's Constellation,
Be fure no Danger can be near.
The French had gather'd all their Force;
And WILLIAM met them in their Way
Yet off they brush'd, both Foot and Horfe.
What has Friend BOILEAU left to fay?
Quoy? leur feul aspect vous glace ?
Où font ces chefs pleins d'audace,
Jadis fi prompts à marcher,
Qui devoient de la Tamife,
Et de la Drâve Soùmife,
Jufqu'à Paris nous chercher?
Cependant l'effroy redouble
Sur les Remparts de Namur:
Son Gouverneur qui fe trouble
S'enfuit fous fon dernier mur.
Déja jusques à fes portes
Je voy monter nos cohortes,
La Flame & le Fer en main:
Et fur les Monceaux de piques,
De Corps morts, de Rocs, de Briques, S'ouvrir un large chemin.
When his high Muse is bent upon't,
To fing her King, that Great Commander, Or on the Shores of Hellefpont,
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?
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 fomething yet is due:
So good Count GUISCARD may proceed;
But BOUFFLERS, Sir, one Word with you..
XVI.
'Tis done. In Sight of thefe Commanders,
Who neither Fight, nor raise the Siege,
The Foes of France march fafe thro' Flanders;
Divide to Bruxelles, or to Liege.
Send, FAME, this News to Trianon;
That BOUFFLERS may new Honours gain:
He the fame Play by Land has fhown,
AS TOURVILLE did upon the Main.
Yet is the Marshal made a Peer:
O WILLIAM, may thy Arms advance
That He may lofe Dinant next Year,
And fo be Conftable of France.
Ordains, on Earth and human Acts to wait;
Who turn with fecret Pow'r this restless Ball,
And bid predeftin'd Empires rife and fall:
Your facred Aid religious Monarchs own;
When first They merit, then ascend the Throne:
But Tyrants dread Ye, left your juft Decree
Transfer the Pow'r, and fet the People free:
See refcu'd BRITAIN at your Altars bow:
And hear her Hymns your happy Care avow:
That still her Axes and her Rods support
The Judge's Frown, and grace the awful Court:
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