Men fast for Four and twenty hours Because they cannot eat What 's that to those Whose Health and Strength requirea treble dose Besides the King 's return'd let that suffice For you and Vs to dry Our Royal Eyes His mighty self all o'er with Trophies grac't As sometime Men wore Ribbands round the Waste Or like an Orange stuck with Cloves so thick Between the Spice a Pin can hardly stick 'T is he 's return'd again and with him brought Blessings in store for which he stoutly fought But that 's your Care I have another Cause And am oblig'd to feast by Nature's Laws Born for Delight to eat drink sleep and play I cannot force my self to fast or pray I wish that every one were a Thanksgiving-day All bow'd around and with submissive Voice Agreed we had great Reason to rejoice But a Debate arose where they should fix The main great Cause for to be too prolix In Proclamations 't would anticipate Those Rhimes and Pamphlets which on Conquest wait Some then propos'd to put the stress o'th'matter On his Return But those who could not flatter Own'd 't was a Cause but all they stood upon Was that 't was not a Cause sine quâ non For had he ne'er return'd no Man will say There was no Cause for a Thanksgiving-day Kings may be lost but Kings can never dye For still successive Kings their place supply But if a Battel 's lost or Town be ta'en The Devil 's in 't how shall we tak 't again High Words had like t'arose but the wise King Who was best able to decide the thing Thus spake My Lords said he I would believe How e'er you differ now you all receive My Person as a Blessing to the Nation 'T was I brought Riches in with Reformation 'T was I restor'd you to your Liberties 'T was I secur'd your Lives and Properties 'T was I kept out the Foreigners you sear'd Since that you little French or Irish heard 'T was I made Ireland happy entred France Where Schonberg by my Order did advance The Protestant Religion vow'd in Print That near a Monk or Papist should live in 't 'T was I turn'd Popery out from hence and sent The English-Scottish Kirk to Banishment 'T was I turn'd Sancr out and put one in Who will dispence as fast as you can sin Who will not tie you up to the strict Rules Of Oaths or Orders Snares for squeamish Fools Unblest and Unbaptized this Church's Son Hath all his Mother's Children half undone My Country-men I brought without pretension To serve you here of either Pay or Pension 'T was I that call'd and kept your Parliament So Pure and Free there 's not one Member in 't God is my Witness if I tell you a Lye That e'er took Bribe Pension or Sallary 'T was I that all your Grievances redrest And did my self of my own Rights divest 'T was I convoy'd and then increas'd your Trade None but my self did e'er your Rights invade 'T was I But 't is too much I will not boast What I have done for you to your own cost Let it suffice I 'll not put such a stress On my own Merits as to clog the Press But since I find some of you seem to grutch And think the Cause of my Return's too much What think you of my Victory at Sea Make that the Cause of your Thanksgiving-day For my part I 'm indifferent chuse you whether Or if you please we 'll twist them both together There will enough be left t' expatiate For all must grant that this Campaign was great 'T was not in hugger mugger what I 've done Since all the World knows 't was in th' open Sun All with deep Admiration were struck dumb The King admir'd too what at last would come At length after they 'd gaz'd and gap'd a while A Lord stood up and with a Courtier 's Smile Great Sir said he 't is now well understood What e'er your Actions are your Memory 's good We now perceive how great 's the Obligation Which justly's owing to you by the Nation We'er loath to break with you upon that score And to our broken Merchants add still more But if you 'll trust us still for all that 's past We may perhaps be even with you at last In the mean while We will proclaim a Feast in your own way And to so joyful a Thanksgiving-day Whole Tuns of Grease and Kitchen-stuff we 'll pay 'T was said and it was done and strait each Lord Made his low Exit from the Council-board Now good Miss Muse once more bring in your Aid And shew your self a well-bred civil Maid For I 'm oblig'd to squeeze more Reasons out How this damn'd Proclamation came about Imprimis then for Method must be chose Whether we write in Verse or write in Prose We 'll take these Matters fairly as they lie Not all at once but each successively First then if I may say 't without Offence 'T were fit to thank the King for going hence For had he stay'd God knows what had been done Namur it self perhaps had not been won But more of that hereafter Next let 's tell The sad Disasters which the French befell At Sea I mean for 't is well known at Land They had both Wind and Weather at Command Their Fleet came strugling ' gainst the Eastern Wind And full six Weeks they tack'd about to find Our Navy out which not a hundred were And they full four and forty Men of War With Insolence upon our Lane they bore And whole Broadsides with wondrous Fury roar The Fight was sharp and Fortune doubtful stood To which she 'd give the Empire of the Flood When mighty Mars descended in a Mist The fierce equal Combatants dismist We neither took nor lost a Ship of ours Nor were we conquer'd or Conquerours But Neptune who of late a Neuter stood Between the British and the Mogan Blood Finding both running in our King cry'd out Return you Tide and bring the French about Since England and my Dutch are join'd what Foe Shall dare t'attack them and unpunish'd go I 'll beat the French my self and for their sake So strong a Tide in Alderney I 'll make Their Cables all shall drag and Anchors break 'T was said and it was done and the poor French Fir'd sixteen Ships his dreadful Ire to quench Thanks to the King then for this Victory won For if this will not pass I'Gad I 've done Item the Siege of Namur next comes on At last 't was weak at first damnably strong So Mons at first was held impregnable But when 't was ta'en Faith 't was scarce tenable But howsoe'er it was the King was there And ne'er express'd a single Mark of Fear He heard the Cannons roar saw the Bombs fly And that 's a Demonstration he was nigh 'T is true the Town was lost who can help that The French stood in his way so ' twa'nt his Fault The King of France our
Eucharisticon OR An Heroick POEM upon the late Thanksgiving-day which was the Vigil or Fastof St. Simon and St. Jude 'T Was on the Evening of that Day That very memorable Day The Twenty Seventh of October When none but Jacobites were sober That we beheld the Blessed sight Of Glorious Eucharistick Light But that the Morn we may not wrong Which ushered in the Evening Song Nor th'Infant Day which grew so great After it was regenerate And re-baptiz'd by Proclamation And call'd Thanksgiving-day o' th' Nation We shall relate all that was done In open Face of Moon and Sun But first 't is fit that we rehearse In bold but grave Heroick Verse Why a Thanksgiving-day was chose What were the Reasons what the Cause And why it was resolv'd at last They 'd not Proclaim this Day a Fast First To the First we should begin And the Supports bring after in But since Supporting's out of fashion By the Wise Warlike Belgick Nation The Rear shall take the Advance Post And shew you how the Fast was lost In Council grave our Senators were met About th'important Bus'ness of the State Bus'ness so weighty that all Europe stood Hoping from hence the Stream of all their Good Great Things were mov'd and mighty Kingdoms flew Like sporting Bubbles round the God-like Crew They puft those Cares away but fell at last Upon the Bus'ness of the Monthly Fast The great Debate was this Whether 't was fit They should for longer time continue it Or else Adjourn or else Prorogue the Day Or throw their Pray'rs and Fastings quite away To this hard knotty Question it was said By a most Grave and Venerable Head That the Descent was baulk'd and Numur won And the Campaign in all appearance done That Heaven could not be now besieged in Form And 't was too late o' th' year to tak 't by Storm It would be fruitless too and serve their turns No more than Dixmuid does or little Furnes But in his Judgment if they 'd cast their Pray'r To Winter Quarters till the Spring o' th' year They might have need with all their strength to pray And then Proclaim a Weekly Fasting Day There was no answering to so plain a case But with low Bowes the Motion all embrace Strait they gave Orders that a Proclamation Should strictly charge this Praying Fasting Nation That it no more should trouble Heavens quiet Wit Pray'rs or Guts croaking for want of Dyet So much Devotion in this Age we find That were it not by publick Laws consin'd Our Publick Pray'rs and Fasts would strike us blind But see how vain all Mortal Councils are We Dream of Peace but feel th' Effects of War For scarce were these great Orders fully given Scarce the blank Sheet dy'd with the Stygian Leven When Charleroy cry'd out Oh help she cry'd The French are plying hard my leaky side Is this a time to give your Praying o'er When we are weltring in Confed'rate gore When whizzing Bullets and the roaring Bomb Gall us from Stem to Stern can you be dumb What hath your Arms what hath your Mony done Your Pray'rs are all that we depend upon She spake and the amazed Council heard her Tale They hung their Heads and look'd with envy pale Ah cursed French they cry'd cannot one Town Escape your lasting fury What renown Can you obtain what Honour get you by 't 'T is well our Mighty Monarch's out of sight Had he been nigh But 't is no time to talk Post to the Printer tell him we revoke Our late deliberate Orders we will Fast Whilst Gallick Bullets fly and Pray as fast But 't was to late for hasty Time had set His Iron Teeth upon the fatal Sheet But Fame as Goddesses have done before Came in the nick and brought a Story o'er That our most vigilant King was gone to fight And vow'd t' should not be lost out of his sight This News restored us and with swifter speed Fresh Posts were sent to tell there was no need To stop the Press But O ye Gods how short Are Mortal Joys how are we made your sport Like Tennis-Balls you toss us to and fro Or Shittlecocks driven from Foe to Foe Scarce was this Post dispatch'd when an Alarm Put all the Council in a new Vacarme For it was said our Conq'ror was retir'd And the unlucky Town again was fir'd Fast Fast the Council cry'd let 's Pray amain Fly to the Press and bid it stop again So on the top of Horeb Moses stood Out of whose flinty side he lash'd a Flood Aaron and Hur with him beheld the fight Between brave Joshua and th' Amalakite When he held up his Finger they prevail But when he let it down the Jews turn tail During this time Posts hurried through the Town And in their course fell'd one another down Flux and reflux of differing Councils dash'd And in rebounding Air their Orders clash'd So rose the Attoms from their Bed of Night And in confusion choak'd the new-born Light What heart could hold to see the sad Distractions Which had well-nigh o'er-whelm'd three potent Nations The French themselves took pity of our Fear And vow'd they 'd spare the Town 'till the next Year But now proclaim a Calm for once more Fame Post on a Gale of blust'ring Weather came And ' midst this hurly burly loudly sings A rest to us and to the best of Kings In short the King with all his Victories Had safely past the dangerous Northern Seas What wou'd y' have more We 've got our King at last And all must grant 't is now no time to fast Sing then my Muse a Halleluja Song Raise up thy Lute which was to Fasting strung Thanksgiving is thy Theme and lofty Ode And Eucharisticon thy charming Mode Great in the Field and subtle in Debate The King conven'd his Ministers of State Flanders was not nam'd there nor the Descent Whether it was or was not truly meant Nor did they speak of the great Siege of Dunkirk Nor of their Victory obtain'd at Steinkirk But not to spend our Oil and Time in dwelling On Negatives as I was now a telling We do affirm in short that the sole Cause Of this August and Grave Assembly was How to resolve on this Thanksgiving-Day For some still thought we had more Cause to pray These urg'd besides the Saints might think it rude To make a Feast upon the Fast of Jude But the Arch Haman whose Advice they took In all such Matters first his Noddle shook Then cry'd Great Sir Saints neither eat nor drink Nor do they care or know what Mortals think To fast before or else behind a Saint Or not at all we for Convenience grant But at the worst when three Fasts come together We may post-pone or else commute at pleasure Our gracious Queen God bless her when she spy'd How well this Man of God could thus divide Distinguish prove lay open and decide Well spoke she said my Vote concurs with yours Let sick
Monarch came to meet And in the Trenches kiss his conq'ring Feet But our good King thought fitter to forbear And out of Modesty would not come there But Thanks are due that he was pleas'd to own And then depose to'th'taking of the Town For our Gazets such strange Relations bring A hundred thousand Men might doubt the thing Without the Attestation of a King Item Two hundred thousand Pound to Savoy sent I will be sworn that Money was well spent For with this Aid That Duke like that Great Man The King of France with forty thousand Men Went down the Hill and so came up agen 'T is true Duke Schonberg then declar'd in Print That to recover our Rights he there was sent And promis'd if he took all Dauphiny He firmly would establish Popery Thanks t' him for that or we had never known Who fought for Int'rest who Religion Next Our Descent at Sea appears which ran So much 't was nois'd from hence to Ispahan Four hundred thousand Pounds so great a Sum Into a measur'd Verse 't will hardly come Yet this and more and much in Debt was spent To furnish our this well-contriv'd Descent Louis they say was almost dead with Fear And ' cause he thought Versailes might be too near He soon retir'd still further from the Foe And went to hunt and dance at Fontainbleau Some say he did not fear but if 't were true I 'm sure our Thanks at least for that are due Next bloody Steinkirk comes full in our way Pox on 't we fought upon the Sabbath-day And that 's been ever held a Prophanation By our True Protestant Reformed Nation That 's the true Reason why we bore the brunt We see the Godly Dutch would ne'er have don 't They stood their ground and pray'd whilst we Fools fought But we forsooth were better fed than taught The French retir'd and ran away to Mass Our Lyon's Paw was headed by an Ass Well we were flog'd and pepper'd too 't is true But yet to give the Devil and Dutch their due Had not they brought us off we might have lain Till we had been wash'd away with Winter's Rain This then deserves a long Thanksgiving-day For thô we lost our Men we sav'd their Pay And now our hand is in let 's not forget To thank Count S s That we were soundly beat Go on brave Men cry'd he Conquer or dye The Truth shall not be wrong'd whilst I stand by And stand he did as firm as any Post Till he saw all his hated English lost Ah Country-men had I but time to prove How well the Dutch our poor three Kingdoms love There 's not a Man but would forsake his Farms And our dear Dutch embrace with open Arms. Now little Furnes thou shalt be called great And future Ages shall thy Fame repeat We little thought that our high-slown Descent And now the Riddle 's out for she was meant Some Politicians laid 't would land at Bolen Others as wisely judg'd 't would sail to Colen Some were for Brest St. Malo's or the Havre And laid great odds the French would never save her Some for la Hogue but others with less Malice Only pretended to recover Calais Some were for Bilboa but none thought of Thee This was Design this was Sheer Policy The rest was given out for a pretence First to surprize and then to nabb the French And who in War or Poetry would rise Take it from me must do it by surprize Thrice little Furnes and great Dixmuid thy Brother For whom ten thousand Men made such a pother You are the Twins which our Descent brought forth The World must grant it was a mighty Birth Dunkirk and Ghent were Gossips and some think The first may dearly pay the Groaning Drink Then Thanks Great Monarch for whate'er they cost These Forts declare our Money was not lost Lastly and Chiefly for 't is fit at last The biggest Plumb should keep our Mouth in Taste What Thanks are due for the King's Preservation From the Grandvallian Assassination It was a strange Escape as e'er was heard And yet 't was strange the King too should be scar'd With One Gun who so many Guns had heard Nor would we fail to thank that happy Spirit Whose Vigilance did such Encomiums merit But that he look'd so stern one scarce could tell Whether he came from Heaven or from Hell If from the last we ought to thank the Devil That to our Monarch was so wondrous civil Thank Grandvall's Powder which mistook its Aim And made it felf invisible not him Thank Parker that he left St. German's Court Three days before the cautious Witness swor 't Thanks to the King too that he took such Care T' escape these private Dangers of the War Poor Gentleman he was much pitied here And these Esoapes have cost us many a Tear Heaven send him better luck for the next Year But hold my Muse for should our Thanks run on They would amaze the all-beholding Sun And strike a blush upon the pale-fac'd Moon Then modestly take up and loudly tell How we set forth our Joys by Candl ' and Bell. Scarce did the Polish Northern Star appear Which some great Authors call the lesser Bear Scarce had the Cock crow'n once or twice at most And Phoebus within ken o' th' Eastern Coast Or in plain English fcarce had the Clock struck four 'T is no great Matter whether less or more When a litigious jangling ill-bred sound Through all our Hills and Valleys did rebound 'T was thought the Devil's Arse o'th'Peak had got Some rumblind Wind or Collick in his Gut And by successive Raptures did foretell Downfall of Church as by the sound of Bell Some thought the Body-Politick in a Fit And the Soul-Bell knelling its last Exit 'T was not ill Guest for Church and State may find There are strange sounds in your Rebellious Wind And 't might be prov'd by easie Metaphor Wind may be said to ring and Bells to roar Others scarce well awake judg'd it the Groan Of drowsie Sackbut or the Bag-pipes Drone Some swore who lately had ta'en a larger Sup The Glasses klink'd round the Indented Cup. In short they were the City Choristers Which thus untimely lugg'd us by the Ears The Bells I mean that early thus were singing Their Lauds and Mattins which some Men call ringing Thus pass'd the chirping Morn Now when the Sun Was driving up to our Meridian Some went to Church to hear the New Pray'rs read Others who lik'd the Old lay close in Bed Some shut their Shops which was a silent Token That if those Days came off they 'd all be broken The Canons from the Tower broke through the Wind And roar'd their Thanks that they were left behind Lambeth return'd the Complement and fir'd Volleys of Blessings as they 'd been inspir'd High Pr of Mars sprung from Samaria's Race Thou still dost love t' adore in the High Place Thou thunder'st out thy Gospel in our Ears And those loud Organs tun'd thy new-made Pray'rs Thou worst and first of Canterbury's Race That with a Wife divided Lambeth 's Grace Mars and Bellona ne'er before had met Roaring and singing on the High-Priest's Seat Thou Man of Faith could we believe like you Who would not turn a Circumcised Jew Lastly for now my Muse is almost weary And too much labour makes a Mare miscarry I should say something of the blessed Night How 't was set forth with artificial Light 'T was mothy at the best not of a piece Some black some white checker'd like Fox and Geese The Lights were not of Virgin-Wax 't is true For Hybla's Bee works not for such a Crew Nor of your precious Aromatick Gums Nor your sweet Oil which from Oneglia comes In short they were of greasie Kitchen-stuff Most proper for th' Occasion that 's enough May those who love them see no better Light For my part I have done and so good Night FINIS