Scottish Presbyterian

Britains Jubilee

Robert Flemming (1630-1694) · 2,132 words · 9 min

The source for this document is https://quod.lib.umich.edu/e/eebo/A39751.0001.001

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

BRITAIN'S JUBILEE.

A Congratulatory Poem on the Descent of His Highness the Prince of Orange into England; and Their Highnesses Accession to the Crown; and Solemn Coronation April 11. 1689.

       (1)
       
        AM I
        
         awake,
        
        or in a
        
         dream?
        
        Are all
        
         Ideas
        
        real as they seem?
       
        If so; from whence the
        
         change?
        
        what mighty
        
         voice
        
        Could still the dreadful
        
         Hurricans
        
        loud noise,
       
        And calm the raging Billows of the Sea?
       
        Who could he be,
       
        Who with a
        
         look,
        
        who with a
        
         frown
        
        could tame
       
        Th'unruly Main,
       
        And with a
        
         smile
        
        bring back our Peace again,
       
        Making our shipwrecked State redound unto our gain?

       (2)
       
        T'was but the other day that all our
        
         Hopes
        
        were fled,
       
        By unruly
        
         Fear
        
        misled.
       
         Grief
        
        drew his aged Furrows on our Brow,
       
        And Joy almost we bid adieu:
       
        When lo a Divine
        
         Whisper
        
        comfort spoke,
       
        And bid us look above, the day was broke.
       
        Scarce did we hear it, when the illustrious
        
         Rays
        
        Of a bright Rising
        
         Sun
        
        Upon our long benighted
        
         Horizon,
        
        Broke open all our Eyes with great amaze.
       
        But still so dull and feeble is our sight,
       
        Used so long to the dark shades of Night,
       
        That we are not able to behold this bright
       
        And glorious Light.

       (3)
       
        But now the
        
         Sun
        
        is up, the
        
         Clouds
        
        are gone;
       
        The frightful
        
         Meteors
        
        fled, which lately shone;
       
        The cheerful Birds do chant upon the wing,
       
        And morning Larks salute the welcome Spring.
       
        Even
        
         Kites
        
        and
        
         Crows
        
        do smile to see
       
        Th'weather fair to be.
       
        All but the dismal
        
         Owls,
        
        do sing and play,
       
        And welcome in the Spring and Day.

       (4)
       
        Shall everyone his Joys then rehearse
       
        In Prose or Verse?
       
        Shall every
        
         Poetaster
        
        try
       
        To write, and shall not I?
       
        Shall the
        
         Pindarique Swan
        
        be only found
       
        To give no grateful sound?
       
        Shall not our
        
         Heroe
        
        be by her renowned?
       
        No, no,
        
         Great Prince,
        
        if none be found but I, to claim
       
        Th' honor of that Name,
       
        Your deeds shall ever live in thebook of fairest Fame.
       
        And though, 'tis like, I seem obscure and low;
       
        Yet know,
       
        'It is not th'deepest flood that with most noise doth flow.
       
        Howe'r, th'
        
         Ocean
        
        never doth upbraid
       
        Th'smallest Tribute that by Brooks is paid.
       
        What then, although obscure I be?
       
        Such diff'rent Notes, it is, makes all our harmony.

       (5)
       
        Long had our
        
         Isle
        
        put on
       
        The mourning Veil of Grief;
       
        And hopeless of Relief,
       
        Forgot almost her Name of
        
         Albion.
        
        Black mid-night deeds each place did fill,
       
        And mischief did distil
       
        Down from the
        
         Throne
        
        on all that sat below,
       
        And Justice and Religion both did overthrow.
       
        Th'
        
         Atheist, Debauchee,
        
        and
        
         Sycophant,
        
        Then to themselves did all their wishes grant;
       
        Whilst sober virtuous Souls did groan
       
        Under most sad oppression,
       
        Whilst few so much as did their case bemoan.
       
        Th'
        
         Orphans
        
        case, the
        
         Widows
        
        cries and tears
       
        Did pierce our hearts, our eyes and ears,
       
        Each Object helping to augment our fears.

       (6)
       
        The varnished pretence of
        
         Liberty,
        
        Though specious to the vulgar Eye,
       
        Prov'd but a
        
         veil,
        
        transparent, and too thin
       
        To hide the
        
         movement
        
        and the
        
         spring;
        
        We see the
        
         wheels
        
        and all their
        
         motions
        
        within.
       
        We see the
        
         hook
        
        through all the garnished
        
         bait:
        
        But here did seem to lie our fate;
       
        We knew not how to shun what did for us await.
       
        For lo, t' complete our Misery,
       
        And give the fatal blow to Law and Liberty,
       
        Religion and Property;
       
        A lusty Babe doth suddendly creep out;
       
        But whatsoever way he's Born,
       
        Though equally our
        
         Grief
        
        and
        
         Scorn,
        
        He is a Noble Prince of
        
         Wales
        
        no doubt.
       
        Thus
        
         Popery,
        
        being on the
        
         Throne, it's will
        
        the
        
         Law,
        
        All
        
         thinking
        
        Men the Consequences saw.

       (7)
       
        The generous
        
         Dutch
        
        did soon perceive our case,
       
        And did the Motion of the
        
         Prince
        
        embrace,
       
        With greatest Charge and greatest Care,
       
        Their
        
         Land
        
        and
        
         Naval
        
        Force they do prepare,
       
        And nothing needful spare.
       
        Unto Religions success they postpone
       
        That of their own,
       
        Resolved either all to lose, or that to carry on.

       (8)
       
        Thus aided, does our Noble
        
         Prince
        
        Embark,
       
        With all his gen'rous Train,
       
        But
        
         hark!
        
        The swelling and unstable
        
         Main,
        
        Proud of th' Glorious Load
       
        Which on its rough-hew'd Surface r
        
         •••
        
        Engag'd them in a Fight with Wind and Wave before,
       
        And drove them back again unto the
        
         Belgic
        
        Shore.

       (9)
       
        This might have damped, even gallant Souls, to be
       
        By Providence thus crossed,
       
        As a
        
         Presage
        
        of their being lost;
       
        But our brave
        
         thinking Hero
        
        further in it see
       
        He in it see and understood
       
        As a blest
        
         Omen
        
        for his good,
       
        That this would but increase th' haughty Pride
       
        Of the opposing Side,
       
        As a sure
        
         Praelude
        
        of their fall;
       
        He in it see the Divine
        
         Jonathan
        
        's
        
         Call.
        
        Th' Enemies Pride,
        
         Come over to us,
        
        did say;
       
        He see it was
        
         God's Call,
        
        and did obey

       (10)
       
        His
        
         floating Castle
        
        he again does enter;
       
        And who would fear with him to venture
       
        In whom th'
        
         Protestants
        
        Hopes and Prayers all do cen
        
         •
        
        er?
       
        Now, now, at length, the
        
         Sign
        
        is given
       
        Of Victory from Heaven.
       
        The Wind stands
        
         East,
        
        and whistling fills the Sail,
       
        The
        
         Fishes
        
        play, and
        
         Waves
        
        do smile to see them sail.
       
        In State they through the
        
         Channel
        
        thus do ride,
       
        Gladding th'
        
         one,
        
        frighting th'
        
         other side;
        
        Till in glad
        
         Tor-bay
        
        's bosom they do rest,
       
        Causing a day-spring in the long benighted
        
         West.
        
        And when the
        
         Sun
        
        doth in the
        
         West
        
        arise,
       
        No wonder, if we are seized with surprise.

       (11)
       
        Now
        
         Exeter
        
        doth joyful ope her Gates;
       
        Each other
        
         City
        
        the same fate awaits.
       
        All strive to harbor him, who s
        
         laboring
        
        Breast
       
        Extensive is for all our hopes to rest.
       
         Hell
        
        only and its
        
         Darkness
        
        strive t' oppose
       
        Th' Light which now arose.
       
         Sarum
        
        's wide Plain is chosen for the Fight,
       
        Where all prepare for to behold the sight.
       
        But when th' Heavens for one Side give assent,
       
        Who needs to fear th' event?

       (12)
       
        Come on,
        
         Brave Prince,
        
        dispel the cloudy Night,
       
        By the approach of Day, and Light
       
        Thy Sun-like virtue doth diffuse each where,
       
        And each Heart is its
        
         medium
        
        free as Air
       
        Thou need not fear that
        
         State
        
        can thee oppose,
       
        For whose help thou so seasonably rose.
       
        Thou need not fear that
        
         Church
        
        a
        
         Church
        
        can be,
       
        Who shall oppose their God and thee.
       
        Thou need not fear that
        
         Soldiers
        
        can pretend
       
        To bear that name, and not become thy friend.
       
        When hearts fly open, all things else do yield,
       
        Th'
        
         enclosures
        
        all are broke, and do become one
        
         field,
        
        What need we tell, who then unto the came?
       
        Since even all
        
         absent
        
        did the same.

       (13)
       
        Now into
        
         London
        
        thou directs thy Face
       
        That else unhappy place.
       
         London
        
        of
        
         blood
        
        the
        
         destined Stage;
        
         London
        
        of
        
         Rogues
        
        become th'
        
         Cage;
        
         London
        
        full of
        
         Villains, Tories,
        
         London
        
        filled with
        
         Lies
        
        and
        
         Stories.
        
        But lo, to it as thou approaches nigh,
       
         Hurries
        
        cease and
        
         Rogues
        
        do fly;
       
         Villains
        
        hence do run their race;
       
         Truth
        
        succeeds in
        
         Errors
        
        place;
       
         Griefs
        
        and
        
         Fears
        
        do fly away;
       
        And
        
         Joys
        
        and
        
         Comforts
        
        in their room do stay.

       (14)
       
        The
        
         Nobles
        
        now consult, and meet,
       
        How best they may our happiness complete.
       
        But what, alase! is left for them to do,
       
        Except more fully us to
        
         show,
        
        What God already does declare,
       
        That the Fair Virtuous
        
         Pair
        
        Are
        
         Britain
        
        's true undoubted heir?
       
        Old
        
         Saul
        
        already forfeited his place;
       
        But, blest be God, we need not seek
       
        A
        
         David
        
        from amongst the Sheep,
       
        We have one still left of the Royal
        
         Race,

       (15)
       
        We have a
        
         David,
        
        whom loud
        
         Fame
        
        does Crown
       
        With highest Titles of Renown.
       
        In whom all
        
         Graces
        
        center, and do meet,
       
        And all the
        
         Virtues
        
        make complete.
       
        Who
        
         Virtues race
        
        hath equally begun
       
        With that of days and years to run.
       
        We have a comely
        
         Michal
        
        sweet and fair,
       
        In
        
         Beauty
        
        chief, in
        
         Virtue
        
        rare,
       
        Adorned with each lovely
        
         Grace
        
        And all as charming as her Face.
       
        Who though she might a
        
         snare
        
        by
        
         Saul
        
        be given,
       
        Yet is to
        
         David
        
        and to
        
         us
        
        a sacred gift from Heaven.

       (16)
       
        Lo now the
        
         longed for day
        
        is come,
       
        The fame whereof is loudly rung;
       
         Lo, lo, the
        
        Music
        
         sweet almost my
        
        Muse strikes dumb.
       
        See, the
        
         Nobles
        
        passing by,
       
        See, the glorious
        
         Company,
        
        See, what
        
         Crouds
        
        are looking on,
       
        See, what
        
         State
        
        attends th'
        
         throne,
        
        But what of all this glorious show
       
        Is th'
        
         center
        
        of each eye,
       
        As of all hearts it was long, long ago,
       
        See tis th' glorious
        
         Pair
        
        draws nigh.

       (17)
       
        But why do we thus look and gaze,
       
        On Shadowy
        
         grandeur
        
        far below your praise?
       
        Could we but the
        
         Scales
        
        dispel,
       
        From the Eye and from the Ear,
       
        The
        
         Scales
        
        which hinder
        
         Spirits
        
        to be visible,
       
        Another sight would soon appear.
       
        Lo, lo, how the
        
         Angels
        
        come,
       
        Bright and flaming as the Sun.
       
        Lo, their
        
         Trains
        
        I do espy
       
        Hov'ring through th'
        
         smiling Sky.
        
        Their length from heaven to earth doth reach,
       
        And yet an
        
         Army
        
        each.
       
         Robes
        
        of purest light they wear;
       
        A
        
         Starry Crown
        
        their hands do bear.
       
        A
        
         Scepter,
        
        not of Gold, but Golden righteousness,
       
        Made to grow and to increase.
       
        Instead of
        
         Oil,
        
        they heavenly
        
         Nectar
        
        shed
       
        Upon your Sacred Head.
       
        Lo how gently down it flows,
       
        Smelling sweeter than the
        
         Rose;
        
        Lo, it trickling doth distill,
       
        And every Soul with fragrant Odor fill.

       (18)
       
        Arise, young
        
         Hero,
        
        from thy Throne,
       
        Thy Robes lay by, thy Sword gird on,
       
        Wars Rumors call thee to be gone.
       
        But fearless go, for
        
         Angels
        
        guard thy way,
       
        And every
        
         Saint
        
        does for thy Success pray.
       
        The Footstep of thy great
        
         Ancestors
        
        Trace
       
        In their Illustrious Race.
       
        Illustrious all; but far too short they be
       
        Compar'd, Great
        
         Prince,
        
        with thee.
       
        For all the Virtues, wherein each excel,
       
        In thee alone concenter, and united dwell.

       (19)
       
        Thy Ancient
        
         Scotland
        
        doth prepare,
       
        With greatest love and greatest care,
       
        To fix thy Scepter there.
       
        Religions interest
        
         and that of
        
        Thine,
       
        Which are indeed the same,
       
        Do equally there now begin to shine.
       
        And who can else that
        
         Country
        
        claim?
       
        'It is thou, that from
        
         oppressions
        
        rage,
       
        Whereof it was of late the dismal
        
         stage,
        
         Hast rescu'd all its
        
        Laws, Religion, Liberty,
       
        Which shackl'd were before, and ready to expire and die.

       (20)
       
        Poor mad-brained
        
         Ireland
        
        dreams it can withstand,
       
        Alone, that conqu'ring hand;
       
        Which everywhere victorious doth prove
       
        By
        
         force,
        
        if not before by
        
         love.
        
        Arise, Great
        
         Prince,
        
        here is a second step
       
        Another
        
         victory
        
        to get;
       
        A
        
         vict'ry
        
        not of
        
         Hearts,
        
        but cruel
        
         Foes,
        
        Who God and thee do equally oppose.
       
        That cursed
        
         Canaanitish
        
        Crew,
       
        Let's seriously but view,
       
        And sure we must confess,
       
        A
        
         fatal instinct
        
        doth their mind possess.
       
        God doth them for the
        
         slaughter-house
        
        prepare,
       
        That
        
         Israel
        
        may inhabit there.
       
        Long have they
        
         Pricks
        
        and
        
         Thorns
        
        to us been,
       
        As at all times we've seen.
       
        Wherefore let not a
        
         cruel mercy
        
        spare
       
        One
        
         Agag
        
        there,
       
        Which after may draw curses on us from our
        
         Heir.
        
        But if a
        
         Gibeonite
        
        we save,
       
        Forever let him be the
        
         Church
        
        and
        
         Country's Slave.

       (21)
       
        This is not all, a higher
        
         step
        
        remains,
       
        Which fully will reward the pains.
       
         France
        
        calls thee over, Great
        
         Prince,
        
        and groans to see
       
        It self a Slave, and us at Liberty.
       
        That
        
         Foe to God and Man,
        
        doth by his actions call
       
        Aloud for vengeance for his fall.
       
        His
        
         cup
        
        grows full, and the
        
         Almighty God
        
        Doth seem to call thee forth to burn th' rod.
       
        Thy old Possession,
        
         Orange,
        
        basely snatched away:
       
        This seems to say;
       
        Thy new acquired
        
         Title
        
        points thee out the way,
       
        And all th'
        
         Opprest
        
        and
        
         Martyrs
        
        for it pray;
       
        Turn thy just
        
         Claim
        
        into
        
         Possession,
        
         Justice,
        
        as well as
        
         Mercy,
        
        bids thee take thy own.

       (22)
       
        Go on, Brave
        
         Prince,
        
        thy after days are all serene,
       
        And
        
         Summer
        
        will succeed a
        
         Winters Scene.
        
        To tott'ring
        
         Rome
        
        thy arms extend,
       
        And bring that
        
         Sodom
        
        to an end.
       
        Its end draws on apace, and we await,
       
        To see its long expected
        
         Fate.
        
        Already sure its ruin were begun,
       
        If
        
         Protestants
        
        should once
        
         as one
        
        become.
       
        And never more hopeful this did seem to be,
       
        Since now we are all
        
         as one
        
        in thee.
       
        We'll march with thee, where e're thou shalt command;
       
        To any place, to any Land,
       
        From utmost
        
         India,
        
        to th'
        
         American
        
        Sand.
       
        Let thy just Arms ever but pursue
       
        The
        
         Babylonish
        
        Crew,
       
        And sure God then will fight for you.
       
        With cursed
        
         Am'lek
        
        wage perpetual War,
       
        Until at length thou prove the
        
         Morning Star;
        
        To usher in the glorious promised
        
         Reign
        
        Of
        
         Christ,
        
        till he do come again.
       
        Then shall thy
        
         Name
        
        endure, and ever fragrant be,
       
        Till
        
         Time
        
        yields up
        
         That Trust
        
        to blest
        
         Eternity.

FINIS.

London. Publisht by Randal Taylor near Stationers-Hall, 1689.