English Puritan & Reformed

A Poem on the City Royal Regiment of Horse

John Tutchin (1661-1707) · 1,129 words · 5 min

The source for this document is https://quod.lib.umich.edu/e/eebo/A63957.0001.001

Project Note

This is licensed under Creative Commons CC BY-NC-ND. This license allows reusers to copy and distribute the material in any medium or format in unadapted form only, for noncommercial purposes only, and only so long as attribution is given to the creator.

The source of this document is the Early English Books Online (EEBO-TCP) website. Those books were transcribed in a character for character manner and can be very cumbersome to read since there was no standard spelling during that time. Many spelling variations such as "unlesse", "vnlesse", and "vnles" regularly appear.

This project was conceived to clean up those books as much as possible and make them more accessible to the interested reader, leading to the creation of a massive list of variant spellings and their corrections. This was used to clean up the text, but is of course only as complete as the list itself. Because of the nature of the original transcription, some words have missing characters or places where the original language (e.g., Greek) was not transcribed. This effort does not change that. Be aware that the original transcription can also be faulty and in some cases entire sentences may be missing.

Although this is no substitute for a properly compared, proofed, and scholarly edition, I believe that the result is a document which is far more accessible, particularly for searching for terms using standard spelling. The document has been cleaned and presented in what I hope is a pleasing and useful format for the vast majority of Christian brothers and sisters who just want access to read these spiritually nourishing works.

However, a word of warning: The Puritans were a very diverse group of people and their age was characterized with godliness, but also much upheaval, disputation and strife. They disagreed on many doctrines and some of these works contain less orthodox or Scriptural views than others. The reader is strongly advised to read with discernment, particularly if it is unknown whether author is trustworthy.

This project took a huge amount of time and skill to bring to fruition. I would particularly like to thank David Jonescue for the initial list of Puritans he found on EEBO and the concept behind this project as well as the continuous, unceasing efforts toward seeing this complete. Without his labor, this would not be available. Alex Sarrouf was invaluable in providing the initial list of over 7,000 spelling variations he had identified and corrected, as well as continuing to review more than 16,000 additions to that list for any typos.

Logan West
(with David Jonescue and Alex Sarrouf)
www.puritansearch.org

Civitas Militaris.

OR, A POEM ON THE City Royal Regiment OF HORSE.

By JOHN TVTCHIN, Gent.

Non exercitus, ne{que} Thesauri praesidia regni sunt, Verum amici.
Salust. in Bell. Jugurth.

LONDON: Printed for Langly Curtis, at Sir Edmund-Bury-Godfry's-Head, near Fleet-Bridge. 1689. 30. Octob.

Civitas Militaris. OR, A POEM ON THE City Royal Regiment OF HORSE.

        THE
        
         Roman
        
        Gallantry long since retired,
       
        Its City Valour in its Flames expired;
       
        But
        
         London
        
        's Fame Immortal Glory bears,
       
        Preservd from wasting Age, and Flames, and Wars;
       
        Yet though we can a new built City show,
       
        We had our
        
         Nero's,
        
        and damned
        
         Praetors
        
        too,
       
        Who with the Tyrant Flement Conspir'd,
       
        And with resistless Rage our City Fir'd:
       
        But as the Deluge did o'reflow the Earth,
       
        Only to give a better World a Birth,
       
        So from devouring Flames, once caused our fear,
       
        New Houses, and bright Pyramids appear;
       
        And Warlike Youths, for mighty Deeds arise,
       
        Their Cities Glory, and their Nations Prize.

        Such, such are you, you Mighty Sons of
        
         Mars,
        
        The Happy Omens of succeeding Wars!
       
        In Bloody Fields, the surest Conquest falls,
       
        Where Heroes March, and Kings are Generals.
       
        No greater Patriot Mankind could Espouse;
       
        Great is your Leader, and as good your Cause:
       
        Tyrants have oft whole Provinces Subdu'd,
       
        And in their Subjects Blood their Hands Imbru'd.
       
        Our King does Regal Clemency impart;
       
        A King that's after God's and's Peoples Heart.
       
        Methinks I see him Landing on the Strand,
       
        Lord of the Ocean first, and then of Land;
       
        Fame runs before him like the Morning-Star,
       
        And tells his Skill, and Mighty Feats in War:
       
        The Mighty
        
         Nassaw
        
        shows his Goodness forth;
       
        The Mighty Nations all Applaud his Worth:
       
        The Nobler Citizens themselves present,
       
        To Guard his Person, and his Government.
       
        No Hireling Soldiers for their Countries good,
       
        But freely spend their Treasure as their Blood;
       
        Unlike the Gloomy Days we lately saw,
       
        When Sovereign Will devourd the Peoples Law;
       
        When
        
         Irish Teagues
        
        were by its Bounty fed,
       
        Hir'd to Cut Throats, and Murder for their Bread.
       
        Now a Serener Ray of Bliss appears,
       
        After a Series of sad rolling years:
       
        Our Prince shall be in Story much Renown'd,
       
        And's City Combatants with Lawrels Crown'd,
       
        Whilst Youthful Blood and Vigour swell our Veins,
       
        And Chivalry's the Theam of Nobler Pens;
       
        Whilst in the Field the Martial Heroe walks,
       
        Of Wars fierce God, and Blood and Slaughter talks;
       
        Whilst Warlike Steeds beat with their Hoofs the Ground,
       
        And Neigh and Prance, to the Shrill Trumpets sound;
       
        In every Clime, where Heat and Cold do waste,
       
        Our Mighty Warriours and their Fame shall last.
       
        Our little
        
         London,
        
        on the
        
         Irish
        
        Coast,
       
        Can Mighty Wonders, and Brave Actions boast?
       
        There Warlike
        
         Baker
        
        a firm Bulwark stood,
       
        Gainst
        
         French
        
        and
        
         Irish,
        
        an
        
         Augean
        
        Brood.
       
        The Mighty
        
         Baker
        
        is in War Renown'd,
       
        With deathless Wreaths, and lasting Lawrels Crown'd.
       
        The Mighty
        
         Baker
        
        is the Muses Theam,
       
        My daily Subject, and my nightly Dream;
       
        Skilld in the Arts, that do to War belong,
       
        Soft were his Passions, as his Hand was strong:
       
        But cursed Fate! we paying Tribute, come
       
        To his Immortal Worth, and to his Tomb!
       
        Ah! Partial Destiny! Thou tookest the best;
       
        Thou Lop'st the Heroe, and thou sav'st the Priest!
       
         Baker
        
        obtained an Everlasting Name,
       
         Walker
        
        was only Heir to his Fame.

        If little
        
         London
        
        such great Trophies gains,
       
        For greater
        
         London,
        
        what just praise remains?
       
        In this good Soil, how many Warriours grow?
       
        How many Glorious
        
         Bakers
        
        can we show?
       
        Though loss of Charters might deject the mind,
       
        Yet even when Slaves, we could true Courage find;
       
        And when a Papist had forsook the Throne,
       
        We gave a Juster Monarch the lost Crown.
       
        With Generous Rage, and Manly Virtue Arm'd,
       
        With Kingly Goodness, and the Soldier Charm'd,
       
        We sit securely underneath his Shade,
       
        And prop the Righteous King our Hand have made.
       
        Hail Happy Monarch! Leader in our Tears,
       
        And Partner of our Joys, and of our Fears!
       
        Lead on, we'll follow to the utmost bound,
       
        Where Danger's seen, and Grizly Death is found;
       
        Through Winters Frost, through driven Snow and Dirt,
       
        Where Marching's tedious, and the days but short:
       
        Where no Provision's found to cheer our Swords,
       
        But what the Hedges and the Brook affords.
       
        Let
        
         Tories
        
        Snarle, and view the envied Crown,
       
        You may dissolve their Malice in a frown;
       
        And if the Gangrene should too far o'respread,
       
        Bring down the Royal Thunder on their Head.
       
        Our Trusty Swords are keen, prepared all
       
        To Guard your Life, or to Revenge your fall,
       
        On
        
         Rome
        
        's black Agents, the
        
         Egyptian
        
        Sots,
       
        Their Poisnous Draughts, and
        
         Brandy-Bottle
        
        Plots.
       
        He's
        
         Belzebubs
        
        own Child, who not content,
       
        Does hate his King, and curse his Government:
       
        In times large Chronicles, we cannot find
       
        Men hated Kings for being good and kind,
       
        But these disown the very Act they've done;
       
        And who misled the Father, would the Son.

        Unhappy
        
         James
        
        ! Undone by Knaves and Beasts;
       
        He never thriv'd was Influenc'd by Priests:
       
        When thou with Foreign Troops so much wast scared,
       
        How well their boasted Loyalty appeared?
       
        Tho by thy breach of Statute-Law they thriv'd,
       
        And on the Ruin of their Country lived,
       
        In times of Danger, left thee to the Rage
       
        Of Injur'd Subjects, nothing could asswage;
       
        From Ease, from Pleasure, and from Empire torn,
       
        By all Deserted, and alone forlorn:
       
        Unpitied by his Friends, does groveling lie,
       
        The poor Remains of Tyrant Monarchy.

        Thus have I known a well-fed Race of Mice,
       
        Within some Regal Dome keep Paradise,
       
        Feed on the daintiest Cates, the Wheat and Pease,
       
         Westphalia
        
        -Bacon, and fat
        
         Cheshire
        
        -Cheese,
       
        But when they find the House begin to fall,
       
        And spy the flaws, and view the tottering Wall,
       
        By Natural Instinct, cautioned of their stay,
       
        Forewarn'd in time, they wisely run away,
       
        Mourning the Bread and Cheese they now must loose,
       
        But more the Fate of the declining House.

        Our Prince a better Fate must sure attend,
       
        Whom willing Subjects at their charge Defend;
       
        Tyrants cannot force a Regiment for the Wars,
       
        Our King Commands large Troops of Volunteers.
       
        Such once our former Monarchs did attend,
       
        And from Invading Foes the Land Defend:
       
        Hail, Mighty Warriours! Heaven direct your Course,
       
        Each Man a Knight, a
        
         Pegasus
        
        each Horse;
       
        Sworn to Destroy the Holds of Hell and
        
         Rome,
        
        For better Ages, and brave Times to come;
       
        When Peace and Plenty shall surround our Shore,
       
        And Defunct Tyrants shall be seen no more:
       
        When Hells devouring Womb shall be quite filled,
       
        With the fat Sacrifice your Swords have killed:
       
        Then you returning from the Scenes of Wars,
       
        Adorn'd with Wounds, and Beautify'd with Scars,
       
        Shall by the numerous Crowd receive Applause,
       
        And tender Virgins bless you as you pass:
       
        The Ransom'd Nations shall Exalt your Praise,
       
        Structures of Marble to your Fame shall raise.

FINIS.