An encomiastick and congratulatory poem on the glorious and peaceable return of His Sacred Majesty King William III into England 1697 Thomas, John. This text is an enriched version of the TCP digital transcription B10132 of text R184981 in the English Short Title Catalog (Wing T965). Textual changes and metadata enrichments aim at making the text more computationally tractable, easier to read, and suitable for network-based collaborative curation by amateur and professional end users from many walks of life. The text has been tokenized and linguistically annotated with MorphAdorner. The annotation includes standard spellings that support the display of a text in a standardized format that preserves archaic forms ('loveth', 'seekest'). Textual changes aim at restoring the text the author or stationer meant to publish. This text has not been fully proofread Approx. 7 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 1 1-bit group-IV TIFF page image. EarlyPrint Project Evanston,IL, Notre Dame, IN, St. Louis, MO 2018 B10132 Wing T965 ESTC R184981 62369705 ocm 62369705 188149 2240860487

This keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above is co-owned by the institutions providing financial support to the Early English Books Online Text Creation Partnership. Searching, reading, printing, or downloading EEBO-TCP texts is reserved for the authorized users of these project partner institutions. Permission must be granted for subsequent distribution, in print or electronically, of this EEBO-TCP Phase II text, in whole or in part.

 Early English books online. (EEBO-TCP ; phase 2, no. B10132) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 188149) Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English Books, 1641-1700 ; 2856:26) An encomiastick and congratulatory poem on the glorious and peaceable return of His Sacred Majesty King William III into England 1697 Thomas, John. 1 sheet ([1] p.). Printed by J. Bradford in Little Britain over against the Pump, London : 1697. Caption title. Signed: "Sic lætabundus cecinit, Joh. Thomas." In verse. Reproduction of original in: Bodleian Library. eng William -- III, -- King of England, 1650-1702 -- Poetry. Broadsides -- England -- 17th century. eebo An encomiastick and congratulatory poem, on the glorious and peaceable return of His Sacred Majesty King William III. into England, 1697. Thomas, John, rhymester 1697 1 1015 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 A This text has no known defects that were recorded as gap elements at the time of transcription. 2011-10 Assigned for keying and markup 2011-10 Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2011-11 Sampled and proofread 2011-11 Text and markup reviewed and edited 2012-05 Batch review (QC) and XML conversion
AN Encomiastick and Congratulatory Poem . On the Glorious and Peaceable Return of His Sacred MAJESTY KING WILLIAM III. Into ENGLAND , 1697. I Sing not Hannibal's , nor Caesar's Fate , Nor do I Brave Adolphus Celebrate , Full of Extatic Valour out of Breath , That Nobly Conquering Ttiumph'd after Death ; But that great Hero , who surpasses far Him , who was styl'd the Thunder-bolt of War . Recovering drooping , Europe , makes War ceas , Healing its Bloody Wounds with Balms of Peace . The Glittering Macedonian Swords and Shields Struck mighty Terror thro the Persian Fields , Darius t' Alexander fairly yields . The Heavenly Hosts , that do assist you still , O may those Guardian Angels guide my Quill , And clasp me with their Wings in endless Fame , Great Monarch , whilst I have You for my Theam ; Whom by Philosophy we truly call . The Worlds great Genius , Universal Soul . Your brave Heroic Acts , and Nassau's Name Are fled through th' Earth , on th' airy wings of Fame ; Fame , which altho' she dares som Kings belie , Yet cares not , can't bely your Majesty , As far beyond Poetic Flattery . For the Imperial Czar of Muscovy Pays civil Homage to your Majesty ; As Cheha's Queen's Ambition led her on , To pay a Visit to great Solomon . We almost ( e're You to our Rescue came , ) To th' Roman Eagle as a Prey became , Our Helpless , Hopeless , Forlorn Case did shew Nothing was wanting but the Murthering blow . Som Men t' adore those Crocodiles were free , Whose Tears were false as their Hypocrysie . Astraea saw 't , and Blushing vail'd her Head , The Goddess sigh'd , and then away she fled . Upstart Aegyptian Gods , ( like Wasps or Bees ) Did sting and plague us with their Prodigies . When You , our great Apollo , would appear , These Locusts fled away in less then half a Year . Conscious of their own Guilt , without delay , ( Like crawling Vermines ) slily sneakt away . As on the Womb o' th' uncreated Mass , Thick Darkness sat , Huddled in heaps , as 't was , Till Light appear'd , chac'd it away , to shew Nothing so Welcom as it self , but You. So Heaven on us with Storms and anger frown'd , And Floods of Woes our Island almost drown'd , As Sinking Boats , t' escape we striv'd in vain , From the profound Embraces of the Main . Till your Victorious Hand the Scepter bore , And ( Great Dictator ) did our Peace restore , And 'Stablish'd us more firmly than before . Cowards do dread the Grim , Pale Face of Death , Who foil'd by 't , are but squeezed out of Breath , You took delight in Trumpet 's Martial Sounds , More then the Music of the Horn and Hounds ; Whilst you pursu'd your Foes , a nobler Chase , Your Royal Soul was wing'd in Honour's Race . In Onsets Ferce , in your Encounters Brave , Potent t' o'recome , most Merciful to save . You , second Scanderbeg , for Europe's good , Fearless in many dreadful Battles stood ; Undaunted , undismay'd , You , You it was Out-dar'd the Thunder of the roaring Brass ; Made Death to Tremble , made your Foes to fly , Som prostrate Vassals at your Feet did ly , Whilst Thousands did yield up the Ghost , and dy . Just Wars are made , to make unjust Wars ceas , King William's War was thus the means of Peace . Somtimes the most ungrateful Discords throng . And tune themselves into the sweetest Song . So broken Bones being heal'd , becom more sound , And Hydra stronger from its fruitful Wound . If Death be sweet by fighting for our King , If to be Conquer'd be a noble Thing ? To Live , how joyful is it ? Can there be A greater Honour then in Victory ? For in the highest Tow'ring flight of Kings , Both Victory and Triumph are the Wings , By which they mount to Heaven ; and 't is this That is their proper Apotheosis . 'Twixt God and Kings this is the greatest Odds , God an immortal King , Kings Mortal Gods . My Soul I vote unto the Deity , And to your Majesty my Loyalty . All Joy to Caesar , Loyalists begin To play upon the Harp and Violin . We rock each Steeple through the Land , for now Englands a Ringing Island , caus of you . Loud Acclamations meet you every where , Vollies of Huzza's Eccho in the Air. Hail King Triumphant ! Glorious , Great and Good ; You hear the natural Music of the Wood. The Trumpets clangor , and Drums loudly beat , From Mars his Field the Souldiers now Retreat . And Cannon's loud Report so rends the Sky ▪ That chirping Birds drop down as they do fly , Which Surfeit with excess of Joy , and dye . So Rivers lose themselves , when swoln too high , And in their Union with the Ocean dye . Hush'd in a blissful Peace , secure we sleep , Our Guardian Angels constant Watch do keep . Our Ravishing , Transcendent Joy does prove Our Church Below , Triumphant ; as Above . Vive le Roy , Traitors to Hell are sent , If their Repentance may not it prevent . Let not the Feet against the Head rebel , So Lucifer ( by Pride ) from Heaven fell , To be a Devil in the Pit of Hell . Sic Laetabundus cecinit , Joh. Thomas

London , Printed by J. Bradford in Little Britain over against the Pump . 1697.