







 
   
     
       
         A poem on the present assembling of the Parliament, March the 6th. 1678
         Waller, Edmund, 1606-1687.
      
       
         
           1679
        
      
       Approx. 6 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 3 1-bit group-IV TIFF page images.
       
         Text Creation Partnership,
         Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) :
         2003-03 (EEBO-TCP Phase 1).
         A67340
         Wing W509
         ESTC R1049
         12241586
         ocm 12241586
         56790
         
           
            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. This Phase I text is available for reuse, according to the terms of
             Creative Commons 0 1.0 Universal
            . The text can be copied, modified, distributed and performed, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission.
          
        
      
       
         Early English books online.
      
       
         (EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A67340)
         Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 56790)
         Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1641-1700 ; 904:6)
      
       
         
           
             A poem on the present assembling of the Parliament, March the 6th. 1678
             Waller, Edmund, 1606-1687.
          
           4 p.
           
             s.n.,
             [London? :
             1679]
          
           
             Reproduction of original in Huntington Library.
             Attributed to Edmund Waller. cf. NUC pre-1956.
             Caption title.
          
        
      
    
     
       
         Created by converting TCP files to TEI P5 using tcp2tei.xsl, TEI @ Oxford.
         Re-processed by University of Nebraska-Lincoln and Northwestern, with changes to facilitate morpho-syntactic tagging. Gap elements of known extent have been transformed into placeholder characters or elements to simplify the filling in of gaps by user contributors.
      
       
         EEBO-TCP is a partnership between the Universities of Michigan and Oxford and the publisher ProQuest to create accurately transcribed and encoded texts based on the image sets published by ProQuest via their Early English Books Online (EEBO) database (http://eebo.chadwyck.com). The general aim of EEBO-TCP is to encode one copy (usually the first edition) of every monographic English-language title published between 1473 and 1700 available in EEBO.
         EEBO-TCP aimed to produce large quantities of textual data within the usual project restraints of time and funding, and therefore chose to create diplomatic transcriptions (as opposed to critical editions) with light-touch, mainly structural encoding based on the Text Encoding Initiative (http://www.tei-c.org).
         The EEBO-TCP project was divided into two phases. The 25,363 texts created during Phase 1 of the project have been released into the public domain as of 1 January 2015. Anyone can now take and use these texts for their own purposes, but we respectfully request that due credit and attribution is given to their original source.
         Users should be aware of the process of creating the TCP texts, and therefore of any assumptions that can be made about the data.
         Text selection was based on the New Cambridge Bibliography of English Literature (NCBEL). If an author (or for an anonymous work, the title) appears in NCBEL, then their works are eligible for inclusion. Selection was intended to range over a wide variety of subject areas, to reflect the true nature of the print record of the period. In general, first editions of a works in English were prioritized, although there are a number of works in other languages, notably Latin and Welsh, included and sometimes a second or later edition of a work was chosen if there was a compelling reason to do so.
         Image sets were sent to external keying companies for transcription and basic encoding. Quality assurance was then carried out by editorial teams in Oxford and Michigan. 5% (or 5 pages, whichever is the greater) of each text was proofread for accuracy and those which did not meet QA standards were returned to the keyers to be redone. After proofreading, the encoding was enhanced and/or corrected and characters marked as illegible were corrected where possible up to a limit of 100 instances per text. Any remaining illegibles were encoded as <gap>s. Understanding these processes should make clear that, while the overall quality of TCP data is very good, some errors will remain and some readable characters will be marked as illegible. Users should bear in mind that in all likelihood such instances will never have been looked at by a TCP editor.
         The texts were encoded and linked to page images in accordance with level 4 of the TEI in Libraries guidelines.
         Copies of the texts have been issued variously as SGML (TCP schema; ASCII text with mnemonic sdata character entities); displayable XML (TCP schema; characters represented either as UTF-8 Unicode or text strings within braces); or lossless XML (TEI P5, characters represented either as UTF-8 Unicode or TEI g elements).
         
          Keying and markup guidelines are available at the
           Text Creation Partnership web site
          .
        
      
       
         
         
      
    
     
       
         eng
      
       
         
           Political poetry, English.
        
      
    
     
        2002-11 TCP
        Assigned for keying and markup
      
        2002-12 Aptara
        Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images
      
        2003-01 Judith Siefring
        Sampled and proofread
      
        2003-01 Judith Siefring
        Text and markup reviewed and edited
      
        2003-02 pfs
        Batch review (QC) and XML conversion
      
    
  
   
     
       
         
         
         
           A
           POEM
           ON
           THE
           Present
           Assembling
           OF
           THE
           PARLIAMENT
           .
           March
           the
           6
           th
           .
           1678.
           
        
         
           
             BREAK
             ,
             Sacred
             Morn
             ,
             on
             our
             expecting
             Isle
             ,
          
           
             And
             make
             our
             
             Albion's
             sullen
             Genius
             smile
             ;
          
           
             His
             Brightest
             Glories
             let
             the
             Sun
             Display
             ,
          
           
             He
             Rose
             not
             with
             a
             more
             important
             Day
          
           
             Since
             CHARLES
             Return'd
             on
             his
             Triumphant
             way
             :
          
           
             Gay
             as
             a
             Bridegroom
             then
             our
             Eyes
             he
             drew
             ,
          
           
             And
             now
             seems
             Wedded
             to
             his
             Realms
             anew
             .
          
           
             Great
             Senate
             ,
             hast
             ,
             to
             joyn
             your
             Royal
             Head
             ,
          
           
             Best
             Councell
             by
             the
             best
             of
             Monarchs
             swai'd
             :
          
           
             Methinks
             our
             Fears
             already
             are
             o're-blown
             ,
          
           
             And
             on
             our
             
               Enemies
               Coast
            
             their
             Terrour
             thrown
             .
          
        
         
           
             Darlings
             of
             Fame
             ,
             you
             
               British
               Bards
            
             that
             wrote
          
           
             Of
             Old
             ,
             as
             warmly
             as
             our
             Heroes
             fought
             ,
          
           
             Aid
             me
             a
             bold
             Advent'rer
             for
             the
             Fame
          
           
             O'
             th'
             
               British
               State
            
             ,
             and
             Touch
             me
             with
             your
             Flame
             ;
          
           
           
             Steep
             my
             rude
             Quill
             in
             your
             diviner
             Stream
             ,
          
           
             And
             raise
             my
             Daring
             Fancy
             to
             my
             Theam
             .
          
           
             Give
             me
             th'
             Heroick
             Wings
             to
             Soar
             as
             High
          
           
             As
             Icarus
             did
             ,
             I
             wou'd
             like
             Icarus
             Die
             !
          
        
         
           
             Now
             I
             behold
             the
             bright
             Assembly
             Met
             ,
          
           
             And
             'bove
             the
             Rest
             our
             Sacred
             Monarch
             Set
             ,
          
           
             Charm'd
             with
             the
             dazling
             Scene
             ,
             without
             a
             Crime
             ,
          
           
             My
             Thoughts
             reflect
             on
             th'
             Infancy
             of
             Time
             ,
          
           
             And
             wrap
             me
             in
             Idea's
             most
             Sublime
             .
          
           
             I
             think
             how
             at
             the
             new
             Creation
             ,
             Sate
          
           
             Th'
             Eternal
             Monarch
             in
             his
             Heaven
             's
             fresh
             State
             ;
          
           
             The
             Stars
             yet
             wondring
             at
             each
             others
             Fires
             ,
          
           
             And
             all
             the
             Sons
             of
             Glory
             Rankt
             in
             Quires
             .
          
        
         
           
             Hail
             ,
             awfull
             Patriots
             ,
             
               Peers
               by
               Birth
            
             ,
             and
             you
          
           
             The
             Commons
             ,
             for
             high
             Vertues
             ,
             Noble
             too
             !
          
           
             The
             First
             by
             Heav'n
             ,
             in
             this
             Assembly
             plac't
             ,
          
           
             And
             by
             
               Heav'ns
               Voice
            
             ,
             the
             People's
             Votes
             the
             Last
             .
          
        
         
           
             As
             Various
             Streams
             from
             distant
             Regions
             fall
             ,
          
           
             And
             in
             the
             Deep
             their
             general
             Council
             call
             ;
          
           
             Conveying
             thence
             Supplies
             to
             their
             first
             Source
             ,
          
           
             And
             fail
             not
             to
             maintain
             their
             rowling
             Course
             :
          
           
             Our
             Senate
             thus
             ,
             from
             every
             Quarter
             Call'd
             ,
          
           
             And
             in
             Compleat
             Assembly
             Here
             Install'd
             ,
          
           
             Shall
             deal
             their
             Influence
             to
             each
             Province
             round
             ,
          
           
             And
             in
             our
             Isle
             no
             Barren
             Spot
             be
             found
             .
          
           
           
             Iustice
             as
             plenteous
             as
             our
             Thames
             shall
             Flow
          
           
             In
             Peace
             the
             Sailer
             Steer
             ,
             and
             Peasant
             Plow
             .
          
           
             From
             Foreign
             wrongs
             safe
             shall
             our
             Publick
             be
             ,
          
           
             And
             
               Private
               Rights
            
             from
             Home
             Oppressours
             free
             :
          
           
             Degrees
             observ'd
             ,
             Customs
             and
             Laws
             obey'd
             ,
          
           
             Dues
             ,
             less
             through
             Force
             ,
             than
             Fear
             of
             Scandal
             ,
             paid
             .
          
        
         
           
             Proceed
             ,
             brave
             Worthies
             then
             ,
             to
             your
             Debates
             ;
          
           
             Nor
             to
             Decree
             alone
             our
             Private
             Fates
             ,
          
           
             But
             to
             Judge
             Kingdoms
             and
             Dispose
             of
             States
             .
          
           
             From
             You
             ,
             their
             Rise
             ,
             or
             Downfall
             ,
             they
             assume
             ,
          
           
             Expecting
             from
             our
             Capitol
             their
             Doom
             :
          
           
             You
             Form
             their
             Peace
             and
             War
             ,
             as
             You
             approve
          
           
             They
             close
             in
             Leagues
             ,
             or
             to
             fierce
             Battele
             move
             .
          
        
         
           
             And
             though
             the
             Pride
             of
             France
             has
             swell'd
             so
             high
          
           
             A
             Warlike
             Empire's
             Forces
             to
             Defie
             ,
          
           
             To
             crush
             th'
             United
             Lands
             Confed'rate
             Pow'r
             ,
          
           
             And
             silence
             the
             loud
             Belgian
             Lion's
             Roar
             ;
          
           
             Yet
             let
             their
             Troops
             in
             
               Silent
               Triumph
            
             come
          
           
             From
             Vanquisht
             Fields
             ,
             and
             steal
             their
             Trophies
             Home
             ,
          
           
             Take
             care
             their
             Cannon
             at
             
               Iust
               Distance
            
             Roar
             ,
          
           
             Nor
             with
             too
             near
             a
             Volley
             rouze
             our
             Shore
             ;
          
           
             Lest
             our
             disdaining
             Islanders
             Advance
          
           
             With
             Courage
             taught
             
               long
               since
            
             to
             Conquer
             France
             ,
          
           
             Seizing
             at
             Once
             their
             Spoils
             of
             many
             a
             Year
             ,
          
           
             And
             Cheaply
             Win
             what
             they
             oft
             bought
             
               too
               Dear
            
             :
          
           
             Their
             late
             Success
             but
             juster
             Fear
             affords
             ,
          
           
             For
             they
             are
             now
             grown
             Worthy
             of
             our
             Swords
             .
          
           
           
             Howe're
             't
             must
             be
             confest
             ,
             the
             
               Gallick
               Pow'rs
            
          
           
             Can
             ne're
             Engage
             on
             
               Equal
               Terms
            
             with
             Ours
             .
          
           
             In
             Nature
             we
             have
             th'
             Odds
             ,
             they
             Dread
             ,
             we
             Scorn
             ,
          
           
             The
             English
             o're
             the
             French
             are
             Conq'rors
             Born.
             
          
        
         
           
             The
             Terrour
             still
             of
             our
             Third
             EDWARD's
             Name
          
           
             Rebukes
             their
             Pride
             ,
             and
             Damps
             their
             tow'ring
             Fame
             ;
          
           
             Nor
             can
             the
             Tide
             of
             many
             rouling
             Years
          
           
             Wash
             the
             stain'd
             Fields
             of
             Cressey
             and
             Poictiers
             .
          
           
             A
             pointed
             Horrour
             strikes
             their
             Bosomes
             still
             ,
          
           
             When
             they
             survey
             that
             famous
             ,
             fatall
             Hill
             ,
          
           
             Where
             EDWARD
             with
             his
             Host
             Spectator
             stood
             ,
          
           
             And
             left
             the
             Prince
             to
             make
             the
             Conquest
             good
             .
          
           
             The
             Eagle
             thus
             from
             her
             fledg'd
             Young
             withdraws
             ,
          
           
             Trusts
             'em
             t'
             engage
             whole
             Troops
             of
             Kites
             and
             Daws
          
           
             Nor
             has
             the
             black
             Remembrance
             left
             their
             Brest
          
           
             How
             our
             Fifth
             HARRY
             to
             their
             Paris
             prest
             ,
          
           
             Whilst
             France
             wept
             Blood
             for
             their
             hot
             
             Dauphin's
             Jest.
          
           
             We
             forc't
             their
             Cavalry
             their
             Foot
             t'ore-run
             ,
          
           
             As
             Tides
             withstood
             ,
             bear
             their
             own
             Billows
             down
             :
          
           
             Such
             was
             the
             Virtue
             of
             our
             Ancestours
             ,
          
           
             And
             such
             ,
             on
             just
             Resentment
             ,
             shall
             be
             Ours
             ;
          
           
             Our
             Temper'd
             Valour
             just
             Pretence
             requires
             ,
          
           
             As
             Flints
             are
             Struck
             ,
             before
             they
             shew
             their
             Fires
             .
          
        
         
           FINIS
           .
        
         
      
    
     
  

