







 
   
     
       
         A poem humbly presented to His Most Excellent Majesty King William the Third upon his most miraculuous and happy preservation from that barbarous Jacobitish conspiracy to assassinate His Royal Person, February anno 1695 / by R.B.
         Bovet, Richard, b. ca. 1641.
      
       
         
           1696
        
      
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         A28909
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         ESTC R26546
         09498396
         ocm 09498396
         43307
         
           
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             A poem humbly presented to His Most Excellent Majesty King William the Third upon his most miraculuous and happy preservation from that barbarous Jacobitish conspiracy to assassinate His Royal Person, February anno 1695 / by R.B.
             Bovet, Richard, b. ca. 1641.
          
           12 p.
           
             Printed by J. Dover for Richard Baldwin,
             London :
             1696.
          
           
             Running title: A poem upon the King's preservation.
             Reproduction of original in the Harvard University Library.
          
        
      
    
     
       
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         eng
      
       
         
           William -- III, -- King of England, 1650-1702 -- Poetry.
           Lancashire Plot, 1689-1694 -- Poetry.
        
      
    
     
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           A
           POEM
           Humbly
           presented
           to
           His
           most
           Excellent
           MAJESTY
           King.
           VVilliam
           the
           Third
           ,
           Upon
           His
           most
           Miraculous
           and
           Happy
           Preservation
           from
           that
           Barbarous
           
             Jacobitish
             Conspirary
          
           To
           Assassinate
           His
           Royal
           Person
           ,
           
             February
             Anno
          
           1695.
           
        
         
           By
           
             R.
             B.
          
           
        
         
           
             —
             Nec
             Ignes
          
           
             Nec
             potuit
             ferrum
             !
          
        
         
           LONDON
           ;
           Printed
           by
           
             J.
             Dover
          
           ,
           for
           
             Richard
             Baldwin
          
           near
           the
           Oxford-Arms
           in
           Warwick-lane
           ,
           1696.
           
        
      
    
     
       
         
         
         
           A
           POEM
           upon
           His
           Majesty's
           Miraculous
           and
           Happy
           Preservation
           from
           JACOBITE
           and
           FRENCH
           Assassines
           .
        
         
           
             WHilst
             Treach'rous
             France
             in
             his
             Versail
             secures
          
           
             His
             Guilty
             Mould'ring
             Carcass
             ,
             and
             immures
          
           
             In
             lewd
             
             Maintinion's
             Arms
             his
             Conscious
             Soul
             ,
          
           
             Which
             in
             streams
             of
             Blood
             makes
             Gasping
             Europe
             rowl
             ,
          
           
             And
             Massacres
             whole
             Countries
             by
             Surprize
             ,
          
           
             Boasting
             his
             breach
             of
             Faith
             for
             Victories
             :
          
           
             Whilst
             he
             t'Inglorious
             Poisonings
             resorts
             ,
          
           
             And
             in
             
               Secret
               Murthers
            
             makes
             his
             great
             Efforts
             ;
          
           
             Sordid
             Attempts
             !
             despis'd
             by
             Men
             of
             Arms
             ,
          
           
             Honour
             their
             Blood
             for
             Just
             Atcheiv'ments
             warms
             ▪
          
           
             These
             Court
             the
             
               Glorious
               Field
            
             ,
             and
             seek
             Renown
          
           
             Where
             toyling
             
             Hero's
             strive
             for
             Vict'ries
             Crown
             :
          
           
             But
             Mean
             ,
             and
             Abject
             Souls
             ,
             such
             as
             the
             base
          
           
             Case-hard'ned
             Priests
             ,
             and
             
             Cain's
             pale
             Treach'rous
             Race
          
           
             Of
             Hated
             Vagabonds
             ,
             and
             Bigotted
             Fools
             ,
          
           
             Bog-Trotting
             Ruffians
             ,
             Mercenary
             Tools
             ,
          
           
           
             (
             Fit
             Instruments
             t'
             advance
             the
             vast
             Design
          
           
             In
             which
             
               great
               Lewis
            
             ,
             and
             
               just
               James
            
             conjoin
             )
          
           
             Barb'rous
             Attempts
             these
             naturally
             Chuse
             ,
          
           
             Black
             as
             their
             Cause
             ,
             such
             are
             the
             Means
             they
             use
             .
          
        
         
           
             The
             Brave
             are
             
               Heaven's
               Care
            
             ,
             this
             Caesar
             taught
          
           
             When
             his
             frighted
             Pilot
             in
             a
             Tempest
             wrought
             ,
          
           
             Proud
             swelling
             Surges
             crusht
             the
             Trembling
             Keel
             ,
          
           
             And
             made
             the
             Captain's
             blust'ring
             Courage
             reel
             ,
          
           
             Mountains
             of
             Water
             combate
             on
             the
             Main
             ,
          
           
             And
             into
             foaming
             Billows
             dash
             again
             ;
          
           
             The
             Scaly
             Legion
             to
             the
             Bottom
             creep
          
           
             T'
             avoid
             the
             Fury
             of
             the
             angry
             Deep
             ;
          
           
             The
             Watry
             Regions
             glows
             with
             Sparks
             of
             Fire
             ,
          
           
             And
             all
             the
             Glories
             of
             the
             Day
             retire
             ,
          
           
             Dark
             pitchy
             Clouds
             obscure
             the
             spangled
             Sky
             ,
          
           
             And
             thunder
             down
             their
             Terrors
             from
             on
             High
             :
          
           
             The
             Crazy
             Vessel
             like
             a
             Cork
             was
             tost
             ,
          
           
             And
             th'
             half-dead
             Seamen
             yielded
             all
             was
             lost
             .
          
           
             Th'
             
               Vndaunted
               Hero
            
             checques
             their
             gloomy
             Fear
             ,
          
           
             And
             buoys
             their
             Spirits
             sinking
             in
             Dispair
             :
          
           
           
             
               Chear
               up
               my
               Mates
            
             !
             the
             Gods
             of
             Us
             take
             Care
             ,
          
           
             Caesar
             ,
             and
             th'
             Empires
             Fortune
             are
             lodg'd
             here
             :
          
           
             Not
             all
             the
             
               Raging
               Floods
            
             can
             Swallow's
             up
             ;
          
           
             I
             see
             a
             Calm
             from
             yonder
             Mountain's
             Top
             :
          
           
             A
             bright
             Serenity
             shines
             in
             my
             Mind
             ,
          
           
             And
             shews
             the
             
               Empires
               Work
            
             is
             yet
             behind
             ;
          
           
             This
             
               shatter'd
               Vessel
            
             ,
             tho'
             by
             Tempests
             Tore
             ,
          
           
             Shall
             Caesar
             whaft
             to
             the
             Appointed
             Shore
             ,
          
           
             Nor
             will
             his
             better
             Stars
             see
             him
             Forlorn
          
           
             Who
             was
             for
             Glory
             ,
             and
             an
             
               Empire
               Born.
            
             
          
        
         
           
             How
             oft
             hath
             
             England's
             
               greater
               Caesar
            
             found
          
           
             His
             Guardian
             Angel
             shield
             his
             Temples
             round
             ?
          
           
             Your
             
               Sacred
               Head
            
             was
             cover'd
             from
             on
             High
          
           
             When
             Storms
             of
             Ball
             obscur'd
             the
             Ecchoing
             Sky
             ;
          
           
             When
             Bombs
             ,
             whose
             Murth'ring
             Thunders
             rend
             the
             Air
             ,
          
           
             Like
             the
             
               Last
               Tempest
            
             which
             the
             Globe
             shall
             Tear
             ,
          
           
             Have
             set
             great
             Camps
             ,
             and
             Cities
             all
             on
             Fire
          
           
             As
             if
             the
             World
             should
             in
             that
             Blaze
             expire
             ;
          
           
             Your
             
               Heav'n-skreen'd
               Person
            
             hath
             unshaken
             stood
          
           
             In
             midst
             of
             Hurricanes
             of
             Fire
             and
             Blood.
          
           
           
             Great
             Cannon-Ball
             ,
             disarm'd
             of
             all
             their
             Force
             ,
          
           
             Slide
             o'er
             Your
             Shoulders
             ,
             baffled
             in
             their
             Course
             !
          
           
             Some
             touch
             Your
             Royal
             Garments
             ,
             and
             
               pass
               by
            
             ,
          
           
             's
             if
             Aw'd
             by
             Laws
             of
             Supreme
             Destiny
             .
          
        
         
           
             Not
             all
             the
             Battles
             Rome's
             great
             Gen'rals
             fought
             ,
          
           
             Not
             all
             the
             Trophies
             which
             to
             Rome
             they
             brought
             ,
          
           
             With
             Your
             
               Immortal
               Triumphs
            
             e'er
             can
             shine
             ,
          
           
             If
             we
             regard
             
               Your
               Glories
            
             at
             the
             Boyn
             ;
          
           
             Or
             
             Namur's
             Walls
             ,
             which
             like
             to
             
             Vulcan's
             Forge
             ,
          
           
             Or
             
             Etna's
             Top
             ,
             Thunder
             ,
             and
             Fire
             disgorge
             .
          
           
             This
             
               Castle
               France
            
             Impregnable
             did
             boast
             ,
          
           
             Here
             he
             laid
             out
             his
             
               utmost
               Care
            
             ,
             and
             Cost
             ,
          
           
             In
             this
             he
             vaunted
             as
             of
             
             Babel's
             Tower
             ,
          
           
             't
             was
             the
             Result
             of
             all
             his
             Might
             ,
             and
             Power
             :
          
           
             This
             Your
             
               Great
               Soul
            
             with
             Indignation
             fill'd
             ,
          
           
             This
             
               Mighty
               Fortress
            
             to
             Your
             Sword
             must
             yield
             !
          
           
             
             Namur's
             the
             Word
             ,
             and
             't
             is
             Resolv'd
             upon
          
           
             France
             shan't
             
               keep
               Towns
            
             ,
             and
             
             England's
             
               King
               look
               on
            
             !
          
           
             What
             Conduct
             here
             ,
             what
             Bravery
             was
             shown
             ,
          
           
             What
             Rage
             ,
             what
             Arts
             ,
             in
             former
             Fights
             unknown
             ?
          
           
           
             This
             Draggoon
             Buffleur
             with
             Amazement
             saw
             ,
          
           
             And
             fill'd
             
             Chantillie's
             shaken
             Soul
             with
             Awe
             ;
          
           
             They
             saw
             the
             English
             against
             Rocks
             aspire
             ,
          
           
             Combat
             with
             Cannon
             ,
             Grapple
             Storms
             of
             Fire
             !
          
           
             Courage
             like
             this
             our
             
               Stout
               Fore-Fathers
            
             shew'd
             ,
          
           
             They
             Came
             ,
             they
             Saw
             ,
             like
             Caesar
             ,
             and
             Subdu'd
             .
          
           
             Astonisht
             Villeroy
             the
             Seige
             Beheld
             ,
          
           
             And
             th'
             English
             reap
             the
             Honour
             of
             the
             Field
             ,
          
           
             His
             
               Hundred
               Thousand
               French
            
             durst
             not
             appear
             ,
          
           
             But
             stood
             ,
             like
             
               Statues
               ,
               Petrified
            
             with
             Fear
             .
          
        
         
           
             Whilst
             ,
             Royal
             SIR
             ,
             with
             Honour
             You
             Chastise
             ,
          
           
             Your
             Foes
             resort
             to
             Feeble
             Treacheries
             ,
          
           
             In
             Camp
             they
             Basely
             seek
             Your
             
               Precious
               Life
            
          
           
             By
             Poyson
             ,
             or
             a
             
               Consecrated
               Knife
            
             ;
          
           
             In
             Your
             
               Own
               Court
            
             their
             Treasons
             they
             pursue
             ;
          
           
             What
             is
             't
             their
             
               Guilty
               Fears
            
             won't
             hurry
             'em
             to
             ?
          
           
             A
             Set
             of
             
               Spurious
               Wretches
               ,
               Vile
            
             ,
             and
             Base
             ,
          
           
             
             Spawn'd
             ,
             like
             their
             Councils
             ,
             of
             th'
             
               Infernal
               Race
            
             ,
          
           
             The
             
               Scum
               ,
               Reproach
            
             ,
             and
             Pest
             o'
             th'
             Human
             Line
             ,
          
           
             As
             the
             
               fall'n
               Angels
            
             are
             of
             that
             Divine
             ;
          
           
           
             Alike
             in
             Rancour
             ,
             and
             alike
             in
             Spight
             ,
          
           
             Both
             fight
             against
             
               Almighty
               Power
            
             ,
             and
             Light
             :
          
           
             These
             are
             the
             Crew
             Chose
             by
             
               Most
               Christian
               France
            
             ,
          
           
             His
             
               Long-Projected
               Empire
            
             to
             Advance
             ;
          
           
             Now
             that
             his
             Priest-blest
             Arms
             ,
             and
             Councils
             fail
             ,
          
           
             He
             'll
             try
             if
             Hell-spawn'd
             Tories
             can't
             prevail
             .
          
        
         
           
             SIR
             ,
             't
             is
             Your
             
               Noble
               Vertue
            
             makes
             them
             dread
             ,
          
           
             And
             raise
             their
             
               baffled
               Plots
            
             against
             Your
             Head
             ;
          
           
             Had
             You
             
               at
               first
            
             but
             Crusht
             the
             Viprous
             Brood
             ,
          
           
             They
             had
             not
             Now
             been
             Hunting
             for
             Your
             Blood
             !
          
           
             But
             Your
             Mild
             Reign
             ,
             Indulgent
             to
             a
             Fault
             ,
          
           
             Cherisht
             those
             Serpents
             which
             Your
             Life
             Assault
             ;
          
           
             Those
             
               Home
               bred
               Foes
            
             ,
             more
             dangerous
             by
             far
          
           
             Than
             all
             the
             Open
             Violence
             of
             War
             :
          
           
             Not
             Impious
             Louis
             with
             his
             Fleet
             ,
             and
             Host
             ,
          
           
             Of
             which
             (
             till
             the
             
               Late
               Reigns
            
             )
             he
             ne'er
             could
             Boast
             ,
          
           
             Could
             stop
             the
             Justice
             of
             Your
             
               Conq'ring
               Sword
            
             ,
          
           
             But
             for
             the
             Aids
             Our
             Traytors
             Hence
             afford
             .
          
        
         
           
             Now
             ,
             Sir
             ,
             Your
             Thunder
             let
             the
             Miscreants
             share
             ,
          
           
             Whom
             
               Heav'n
               discovers
            
             ,
             let
             not
             
               Favour
               spare
            
             :
          
           
           
             Root
             the
             
               Malignant
               Race
            
             that
             dare
             disown
          
           
             Your
             
               Peoples
               Right
            
             to
             Give
             a
             
               Forfeit
               Crown
            
             ,
          
           
             Who
             from
             
               false
               Toppicks
               ,
               false
               Conclusions
            
             draw
             ,
          
           
             And
             give
             the
             Prince
             a
             Pow'r
             to
             Null
             the
             Law
             ;
          
           
             These
             ,
             to
             foment
             Our
             Woes
             ,
             
               Two
               Titles
            
             bring
             ▪
          
           
             Make
             One
             
               de
               facto
            
             ,
             One
             
               de
               jure
            
             King
             ;
          
           
             Such
             Politiciaus
             would
             a
             Claim
             Reserve
             ,
          
           
             The
             French
             Designs
             to
             Complement
             ,
             and
             serve
             ▪
          
           
             To
             pamper
             their
             Insatiate
             Avarice
             ,
          
           
             They'd
             
               Europe
               sell
            
             ,
             and
             
               England
               sacrifice
            
             .
          
           
             When
             such
             as
             these
             are
             from
             Preferments
             Purg'd
             ,
          
           
             And
             by
             Your
             Justice
             for
             their
             Treasons
             Scourg'd
             ,
          
           
             Intrigu'ing
             France
             shall
             gain
             no
             more
             from
             hence
             ,
          
           
             Supplies
             of
             Treasure
             ,
             and
             Intelligence
             ;
          
           
             But
             this
             will
             mortify
             the
             Monsieur
             more
          
           
             Than
             five
             Campaigns
             have
             ever
             done
             before
             ;
          
           
             The
             
               Gallic
               Power
            
             would
             but
             weak
             appear
             ,
          
           
             If
             not
             supported
             by
             his
             Engins
             Here.
             
          
        
         
           
             Great
             Sir
             ,
             by
             Wonders
             Rais'd
             ,
             England
             to
             save
          
           
             From
             b'ing
             a
             Spiritual
             ,
             and
             a
             
               Temp'ral
               Slave
            
             ,
          
           
           
             Whom
             the
             
               Eternal
               Goodness
            
             hath
             Preserv'd
             ,
          
           
             And
             for
             some
             
               Greater
               Work
            
             to
             
               Come
               Reserv'd
            
             ;
          
           
             On
             whom
             all
             Europe
             fix
             their
             Suppliant
             Eyes
          
           
             To
             Save
             'em
             from
             
               French
               Chains
            
             ,
             and
             Cruelties
             ;
          
           
             See
             with
             what
             Zeal
             Your
             People
             join
             in
             One
          
           
             To
             Guard
             Your
             Person
             ,
             and
             Secure
             Your
             Throne
             ▪
          
           
             Th'
             
               Associating
               Senate
            
             lead
             the
             Van
             ,
          
           
             Your
             Lords
             and
             Commons
             as
             one
             Single
             Man
             ;
          
           
             Your
             
               Loyal
               City
               ,
               Opulent
            
             ,
             and
             Great
             ,
          
           
             'bove
             all
             the
             Glorious
             Sun
             e'er
             shin'd
             on
             yet
             ;
          
           
             Taking
             Copy
             from
             Original
             so
             fair
             ,
          
           
             Express
             their
             Love
             ,
             their
             Duty
             ,
             and
             their
             Care.
          
           
             No
             sooner
             was
             the
             
               Welcome
               Tydings
            
             hurl'd
          
           
             Of
             their
             
             Darling's
             Safety
             thro'
             Your
             
               English
               World
            
             ,
          
           
             But
             in
             
               Rural
               Triumphs
            
             they
             their
             Joy
             proclaim
             ;
          
           
             And
             vow
             to
             Die
             for
             Brave
             King
             WILLIAM
             .
          
           
             In
             Chearful
             Throngs
             each
             County
             crowds
             to
             Sign
             ,
          
           
             And
             with
             their
             Representatives
             Conjoin
             :
          
           
             This
             Bond
             of
             Vnion
             is
             approv'd
             by
             All
             ,
          
           
             And
             Swells
             from
             Corporate
             to
             National
             .
          
           
           
             Nor
             will
             the
             
               General
               Pact
            
             determine
             here
             ,
          
           
             But
             
               Foreign
               Princes
            
             in
             the
             League
             appear
             ;
          
           
             The
             Potentates
             of
             
               Europe
               ,
               One
            
             and
             All
             ,
          
           
             States
             ,
             and
             
               Crown'd
               Heads
               ,
               Allies
            
             ,
             and
             Neuteral
             :
          
           
             None
             can
             be
             Safe
             ,
             all
             Government
             's
             destroy'd
             ,
          
           
             When
             Butchers
             are
             for
             
               Holy
               Ends
            
             Imploy'd
             .
          
           
             How
             Execrable
             must
             this
             make
             the
             Names
          
           
             Of
             the
             
               Twin-Cut-Throats
               Lou
               '
               le
               Grand
            
             ,
             and
             James
             ?
          
        
         
           
             Whilst
             these
             
               fresh
               Treasons
               wake
            
             your
             Friends
             at
             Land
          
           
             Your
             
               floating
               Tow'rs
            
             ,
             their
             Force
             at
             Sea
             withstand
             ;
          
           
             This
             to
             Your
             
               Royal
               Vigilance
            
             We
             owe
             ,
          
           
             Soft
             they
             Approach'd
             ,
             but
             found
             no
             
               Sleepy
               Foe
            
             :
          
           
             Soon
             when
             your
             
               Startling
               Squadron
            
             came
             in
             view
             ,
          
           
             The
             Noisy
             
               French
               Armada
            
             straight
             withdrew
             ,
          
           
             Th'
             
               affrighted
               Flota
            
             to
             the
             Sands
             do
             Creep
             ,
          
           
             And
             durst
             not
             meet
             Your
             Adm'ral
             on
             the
             Deep
             ▪
          
           
             Their
             
               Pannick
               Army
            
             they
             Debarque
             again
             ,
          
           
             And
             Heave
             their
             Cannon
             in
             the
             watry
             Main
             ;
          
           
             And
             ,
             tho'
             in
             Haste
             their
             Hero
             to
             Restore
             ,
          
           
             They
             durst
             not
             venture
             on
             Your
             English
             Shoar
             .
          
           
           
             Your
             Royal
             Flagg
             made
             Ships
             ,
             and
             Troops
             to
             Run
             ,
          
           
             They
             mind
             the
             Setting
             of
             their
             
               Rising
               Sun.
            
          
           
             Great
             RVSSEL
             stops
             them
             in
             their
             Hot
             Carier
             ,
          
           
             Russel
             ,
             whose
             Name
             the
             French
             with
             Trembling
             hear
             .
          
           
             That
             Illustrious
             Captain
             ,
             Monsieur
             durst
             not
             meet
             ,
          
           
             They
             felt
             his
             Courage
             ,
             when
             He
             burnt
             their
             Fleet.
             
          
        
         
           
             Thus
             what
             
               false
               France
            
             design'd
             for
             
               England's
               Woe
            
             ,
          
           
             Kind
             Prov'dence
             turns
             to
             
               France's
               Overthrow
            
             ,
          
           
             And
             ,
             
               well
               Improv'd
            
             ,
             will
             fix
             Your
             Interest
             more
          
           
             On
             Your
             
               People's
               Hearts
            
             than
             ever
             heretofore
             .
          
        
         
           
             But
             I
             must
             Crave
             your
             Majesty's
             Excuse
          
           
             For
             an
             Vnpollisht
             ,
             Melancholly
             Muse
             ,
          
           
             Who
             ,
             Vninstructed
             in
             the
             Arts
             of
             Verse
             ,
          
           
             Presumes
             Your
             
               Royal
               Story
            
             to
             Rehearse
             ,
          
           
             This
             might
             become
             
               fam'd
               Mouse
            
             ,
             or
             Dorset's
             Lyre
             ,
          
           
             Whose
             Eloquence
             can
             charm
             ,
             and
             
               Sence
               inspire
            
             :
          
           
             But
             ,
             if
             Hearty
             Zeal
             may
             for
             the
             rest
             Atone
             ,
          
           
             May
             
               Heav'n-sav'd
               William
            
             long
             wear
             
               England's
               Crown
               ▪
            
          
        
         
           FINIS
           .
        
         
      
    
     
  

