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Each was a Hercules, you tell us,

Yet out they marched like common men.
Cannons above, and mines below,

Did death and tombs for foes contrive;
Yet matters have been ordered so,

That most of us are still alive.

5 If Namur be compared to Troy;

Then Britain's boys excelled the Greeks:
Their siege did ten long years employ;
We've done our business in ten weeks.
What godhead does so fast advance,

With dreadful power those hills to gain?
'Tis little Will, the scourge of France;
No godhead, but the first of men.
His mortal arm exerts the power

To keep even Mons's victor under:1

And that same Jupiter no more

Shall fright the world with impious thunder.

6 Our king thus trembles at Namur,

Whilst Villeroy, who ne'er afraid is,2

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 allowed to feign the gout,

Or be prevailed with not to fight:
And mighty Louis hoped, no doubt,

That William would preserve that right.

1 Mons surrendered to Louis XIV. 10th April, 1691.- While King William was carrying on the siege of Namur, Marshal Villeroy, in order to compel him to relinquish that design, marched to Brussels and bombarded that town.

7 From Seine and Loire, 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 Villeroy 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 breathe blood and war;
The Marshal cares not to march faster;
Poor Villeroy moves so slowly here,

We fancied all, it was his master.

8 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 turned June into December? The water-nymphs are too unkind To Villeroy; are the land-nymphs so; And fly they all, at once combined To shame a general, and a beau?

9 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 Ypres, Maestricht, and Cambray, Besançon, Ghent, St Omers, Lisle, Courtray, and Dole-ye critics, say, How poor to this was Pindar's style!

With ekes and alsos tack thy strain,

Great bard; and sing the deathless prince,
Who lost Namur the same campaign,

He bought Dixmuyd, and plundered Deynse!

10 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 battle.
Dear me a hundred thousand French
With terror fill the neighbouring field;
While William carries on the trench,

Till both the town and castle yield.
Villeroy to Boufflers should advance,
Says Mars, through cannons' mouths in fire;
Id est, one mareschal of France

Tells t'other, he can come no nigher.

11 Regain the lines the shortest way,

Villeroy, or to Versailles take post;
For, having seen it, thou canst 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-1 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.

12 Now let us look for Louis' feather,
That used to shine so like a star;
The generals could not get together,
Wanting that influence, great in war.

O Poet! thou hadst been discreeter,
Hanging the monarch's hat so high;
If thou hadst dubbed thy star a meteor,
That did but blaze, and rove, and die.

13 To animate the doubtful fight,

Namur in vain expects that ray:
In vain France hopes, the sickly light
Should shine near William's fuller day;
It knows Versailles, its proper station,
Nor cares for any foreign sphere;
Where you see Boileau's constellation,
Be sure no danger can be near.

14 The French had gathered all their force,
And William met them in their way;
Yet off they brushed, 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;
Would it not spoil his noble task,

If any foolish Phrygian there is
Impertinent enough to ask,

How far Namur may be from Paris?

15 Two stanzas more before we end,

Of death, pikes, rocks, arms, bricks, and fire;

Leave them behind you, honest friend,

And with your countrymen retire.
Your ode is spoiled; Namur is freed;

For Dixmuyd something yet is due:

So good Count Guiscard may proceed;1

But Boufflers, sir, one word with you:

16 'Tis done. In sight of these commanders, Who neither fight, nor raise the siege,

The foes of France march safe through 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.2
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.

PRESENTED TO THE KING,

AT HIS ARRIVAL IN HOLLAND, AFTER THE DISCOVERY OF THE CONSPIRACY,3 MDCXCVI.

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YE careful angels, whom eternal Fate

Ordains, on earth and human acts to wait;
Who turn with secret power this restless ball,
And bid predestined empires rise and fall;
Your sacred aid religious monarchs own,

When first they merit, then ascend the throne:

1 Count Guiscard was commander of the town of Namur, Marshal Boufflers of the castle there. M. de Tourville was commander of the French squadron which engaged Admiral Russell in 1692, off La Hogue. This conspiracy is generally called the Assassination Plot. Sir John Fenwick was executed for being concerned in it. See Macaulay.

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