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When thou bought'rt Conquest at a rate too high, Since thy Defeat, which paid it, was so nigh; Thy Soul could surely, with Applauses warm, No Thought of her approaching Sorrow form; Nor while on Seas so smooth thy Fate did steer, Imagine Shelves and Quicksands would appear. That double Trophy on his Borders got, Old hoary Rbine yet cannot ha' forgot ; When he a Witness of the Germans Grief, From his deep Channel saw Landau's Relief: The false Assurance of Eternal Praise, Thy Lewis then infer'd from one well-gotten Bays; For tho he thought Confederate Force to break, The Boyan Duke, and Marsin were too weak; He doubted not but those combin'd with you, Would on the Danube turn the Ballance too. 'Twas then (O Flattery of Bourbon's Fate!). . The Race of Cæsar's, in its threatned State, Beginning first of Succour to despair, The Shock of three such Torrents scarce could bear. In vain the Swords of Lewis and Eugene, So oft in Turkish Fields successful seen, (Where never drawn without expected Gain, The waxing Moons they still compellid to wain.) Your Rage oppos’d, while the big Tide was high; To stem it quite another Arm must fiy. The bold Physician of an Empire's Fears, For this great Task reserv'd, at last appears: It's succ'ring Churchill, who with Justice great, No Blank e'er draws among the Lots of Fate ; As if but He to fix the Goddess knew, And Laurels only for his Temples grew : Hard was the Warrior's March, and long the way, Till Schellemberg he reacht, his first Essay, Where Europe did on both thy Rivals fee:- : The Blum of a Defeat unshar'd by thee..
'Twas a brave Effort ! but one more as great
with how much Blood the Field was crimson'd
'Twas Comfort yet to see thy Conduct since, Nor censur'd by thy Friends, nor punisht by thy What tho with Spite to thy Undoing us'd, (Prince. A Chief too rash, some Enemies accus’d;
A gentle Master foon their Malice croft, ...
Let next my Muse, thy Victor's Mercy boast,
(Shore. It's there thou dwell'st, and with no Cloud between, Haft two revolving Suns already seen ; Of so much Eale, and Liberty posielt, Thy Embaffy it self scarce shew'd thee half so blest. Not so the Boyan Duke; his Planets still, O just Reward for broken Faith! are ill; His State subverted, and his Titles lost, He finds too late the Price his Treasons cost. To try the Fortune of another Plain, It's true, he picks his Fugitives again; Dares a third time his Vi&tor's Fury meet, And what could else be thought) does feel a third Thy Monarch, eager of a Battel's Gain, (Defeat. His Villeroy and Marsın sends in vain ;. : Confus’d they run, as scar’d by Magick Charms, And catch contagious Ruin from his Arms.
Now take a View (if where thou art confin'd, Thy Master's Fate employs thy anxious Mind) . Of his abortive Schemes, and then confess, Since laid unjustly they could be no less:
To win the Nations he did once perplex,
(Howe'er thy King expected to prevail)
o durft some Minister, in Council near, But speak a famous Truth in Bourbon's Ear! And, one fit Moment, artfully relate The Scythian Queen's Success, and Persian Foua.
(der's Fate; The Moral well apply'd, might make him see AWoman's Arm had quel'd a greater King than her
That thus she triumphs,while the World forgets The Tudor's Glory, and Plantagenet's. While lessen'd every new victorious Year, Her hundred Great Forefathers A&s appear. To valiant Hands, Tallard, abroad she owes, And Heads expert at home for Council chofe. The State of Britain, thus prodigious grown, It is not Churchill's Arm supports alone ; For other Heroes make, by ANNE's Command. Their Thunders fear'd at Sea, like his by Land : And Peterborough wants no Wreaths in Spain, By whose officious Toil, a Crown is Charles's Gain,
But as no Empire yet so blest has bin, That had not still some Enemies within: Them too with Art uncommon the subdues, And Mildness is the Weapon she doth use: Such Means to conquer Faction seldom fail, For where the Queen proves weak, the Mother
Now sure, Tallard, a Princess fram'd like Her, Necessity of Winning must infer. The certain Danger to thy Master paint, And thence be canoniz'd thy Country's Saint ; Her suff'ring Sons an ended War would ease,
The Lenitive alone for their Disease : Where Blood no longer Subjects can afford, It's Husbandry of State, to sheath the Sword. · Nor should he think it, of a Blush the Cause, To let a Woman's Tongue impose him Laws; He foon may find, in turning Annals o'er, Kings stooping often on as mean a Score. It grates, I know, to that soft Sex to bow. Which Custom still the Weaker does allow. But let him fee what States Eliza shook, Or on the Roman dread Bonduca took ; Then tell the Trophies which adorn the Throne of our third Female Boast; and sure he'll own, (Howe'er it justly may to some belong) in British Queens, at least, the Attribute is wrong.
An ODE occasion’d by the Battel of Ramellies. By Mr.
B y .
Our Róman Sires to Merit free,