A Poem on the late happy victory over the Turks This text is an enriched version of the TCP digital transcription B28216 of text R39676 in the English Short Title Catalog. 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. 5KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 2 1-bit group-IV TIFF page images. EarlyPrint Project Evanston,IL, Notre Dame, IN, St. Louis, MO 2018 B28216 Wing P2698 ocm 18471389

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 Early English books online text creation partnership. (EEBO-TCP ; phase 2, no. B28216) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 206591) Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1641-1700 ; 1641:11) A Poem on the late happy victory over the Turks 1 sheet (2 p.) Printed by H. Hills ..., London : 1687. Caption title. Dated and signed at end: August 20. 1687. this may be printed, R.P. Imprint from colophon. Reproduction of original in the Harvard University Library.

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 eng Austro-Turkish War, 1683-1699 -- Poetry. eebo A Poem on the late happy victory over the Turks n/a 1687 2 701 1 0 0 0 0 0 14.27 C The rate of 14.27 defects per 10,000 words puts this text in the C category of texts with between 10 and 35 defects per 10,000 words. 2014-06 Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2014-10 Sampled and proofread 2014-10 Text and markup reviewed and edited 2015-03 Batch review (QC) and XML conversion
A POEM On the late Happy VICTORY OVER THE TURKS . HAD We a Muse successful as thy Sword , Thy Deeds Lorrain , should have their just Record : Thy Fame an everlasting Date should keep , The Aeneid fall , and Homers Fable sleep . Thy Fame past Ages Glory has engross'd , Thou Second Leader of a Sacred Host . 't was great the promis'd Canaan to obtain ; 't was great to Win , but greater to Regain . Run faster , Drave , with Turkish Gore suppli'd , And to the Euxine bear thy Purple Tide ; Till the proud Monarch in the Sanguin Flood , Sees just Attonement made for Christian Blood . Bear the fell Tidings to his Palace Gate , And bid Byzantium look for Buda's Fate . It was too much , proud Foe , t' have kept your Post , Against th' Assault of our Imperial Host . Your waining Moon 'gainst rising Christendom , 't was Victory then not to be ore-come ; But Fated Mortals ever tempt their Doom . Their hasty Troops misconstru'd our Retreat , And follow'd Conquest to their own Defeat . This , brave Lorrain , this was thy Noblest Fight , Who like a Parthian Conquer'st in thy Flight . Behold both Chiefs , tho with late Slaughter tir'd , Once more Encamp'd , and for new Action fir'd : But since on Each an Empire is at stake , Each checks his Flame , and waits the Foe's Attack . The famish'd Lions thus their Rage restrain , Till folded Flocks come forth into the Plain : What shou'd our Gen'ral do ? the Foe immur'd With late Experience lies too well secur'd : Nor can He tempt them forth , ( that Valor's just That to an open Field its Fate would Trust ) Each Method will alike destructive prove , T' Assault is Vain , and fatal to Remove . Since then He may not Fight , and scorns to Fly , A seeming Flight secures his Victory . Detachments of whole Legions are withdrawn , Whose weak Remainder Lures the Ottoman . At certain Spoil and Conquest they aspire , But meet Resistance that half damps their Fire . The Valiant Few th' unequal shock sustain , Till their Returning Friends surround the Plain , No more the Trenches th' Entrench'd Confine , But Sallying , in the noble Slaughter join ; In Vain th' Incumber'd Infidels retreat , Their Numbers now but serve to urge their Fate . By their own Troops their Infantry's ore-run , And both by their close-pressing Foes undone . So ▪ when the Waves retir'd , th' Egyptian Bands , Advanc't presumptuous on th' uncover'd Sands , Till for Escape too late , too far from Coast , The swift surrounding Waves — Return'd and swallow'd the Blaspheming Host . Where now was Britains Young and rising Star , Caesario , fair as Peace yet form'd for War ; By Caesar sent to honorable Toil , To reap Renown , while others Hunt for spoil ; What Fate , what Charm the noble Youth withheld , From sharing the first Wreaths of this illustrious Field ? An Envious Sickness intercepts his Course , Disarms those Hands that Brav'd the Sultan's Force . While Fate , in Plea of this diverted Fame , Cry's BUDA has already Crown'd his Name . Nor Britains Noble Brood was wanting There , The foremost Dangers , foremost Fame to Share ; Who through the World this Character have past , ( How ' ere the Fields Success by Fate is cast , ) The First in On-sett , in Retreat the Last . 't was Doom'd , when Caesar , Britains Sun , should Rise , The Turkish Moon must Sett , her Crescent Dyes . Spight of all Pagan Arms — Combin'd to work the Fate of Christendom , And most Unchristian-Christian Foe's at Home . FINIS .
August 20. 1687.

This may be Printed , R. P.

London , Printed by H. Hills , Jun. in Black-Fryers , near the Water-side . 1687.