Peace Triumphant
The source for this document is https://quod.lib.umich.edu/e/eebo2/B08740.0001.001
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
PEACE TRIUMPHANT. OR, A Congratulatory Poem. To Celebrate the Unspeakable Benefits and Blessings of Peace, together with some Grateful Reflections upon King William the III. His Excellent Majesty's first coming to the Crown, as a happy Instrument in the Hand of Divine Providence, to Settle the Affairs of the Nation, and with the Hazard of his own Life to deliver us from near Approaching Ruin.
Written by Tho. Cheeseman, A. M. And formerly of Pemb. Coll. Oxford. Preacher of the Gospel now in East-Ilsly, Bark-shire.
GIve me a Quill, snatchit from the Golden Wing
Of some bright Seraphim, that I may Sing
Loud Praises to the God of
Israel,
Who doth in Heavens Starry Palace dwell:
Let the whole World his glorious Works declare,
And all adore his Majesty with fear.
The Seas proud Roaring Waves are in his Hand,
He chains them up with Fetters made of Sand:
The Sun that great resplendent King of Day,
Compar'd with him, is but a lump of Clay;
Yea if a thousand Suns in one could join
His dazzling brightness would them all out-shine.
Hail, Lightning, Thunder, Winds that fiercely blow,
At his commanding Word both come and go;
The Nations of the Earth are in his Eyes
But as a poor despised swarm of Flies.
Their murmuring Tumults he can quickly still,
And crush the stoutest that shall cross his Will:
If he but hide his Face, the People mourn,
But when he Smiles, their Comforts all return:
The raging Storms of War are over blown,
And
Peace
appears Triumphant in her Throne:
Her Head with Olive-boughs is fairly crowned,
Chaste Turtles flutter all about her round:
Her Garments made of Rain-bows to behold,
With greater Luster shine than Cloth of Gold;
Her Breath perfumes the Air, where e're she comes,
Like costly Spices, or
Arabian
Gumms;
Her Eyes resemble Stars, that still dispence,
Heart-cheering Beams, and precious influence;
Her Lips with Balsam and rich Nectar flow,
Under her Feet sweet blushing Roses grow,
And painted Violets lift up their Heads,
As newly starting from their fragrant Beds:
Mirth, Joy and Gladness wait upon this Queen,
And youthful Pleasure clothed all in Green;
An Adamantine Chain is in her Hand,
Binding the Hearts of Men at her Command:
Her charming Beauty sweetly does entice,
Her smile alone creates a Paradise.
Where ere she looks abroad or turns her Face,
Wrath and Contention fly away apace:
Weapons no more with purple Blood are stained,
Heart-conquering Love the Victory has gained;
No quarrels now, but harmless, free from Crime,
Such as may happen in the Summer-time;
When murmuring Streams of Water seem to chide,
To find our Fields dressed up with too much Pride,
Or Flowers contend which shall the sweetest smell,
Or Birds in Music, which can most excel:
Music that Lulls the stubborn Winds asleep,
And gently strokes them till they silence keep.
The Stratagems of War are changed quite
Into Devices used for Delight,
To cheat the Feather'd Fowl, or Scalely Fish,
Which furnish Riot with some costly Dish:
And look what Skill the best Commanders show,
Ordering their Men, when they to Battle go;
The same must Cooks now use with greater Care,
Setting each Mess in Order to prepare
A Dinner for nice Gallants at some Feast,
So as to please the fancy of each Guest.
No Trumpets sound, no hollow rattling Drum,
Is heard to strike the neighbouring Echo's dumb:
Nor thundering Canons groan, that so much Death
Should be accomplisht by their fatal Breath;
Bright Swords to Plow-shares turned, can only wound
By making Furrows in the fruitful Ground.
Armor hangs Rusty, by the naked Walls,
None for his idle Pike or Musket calls:
But rather take such Instruments in Hand
As serve to cut the Corn, or Till the Land:
No Warlike Troops the Traveler molest,
But Shepherds in the Shade lie down to rest
Their weary Limbs, and there in
Safety
sleep,
Or when they Watch their bleating Flocks of
Sheep
They sound their
Oaten-Pipes,
and loudly sing,
Till winding Valleys with their Echo ring:
The Trades-man in his Shop may live at Ease,
And Ships securely Sail upon the Seas;
No sad Alarm, or disturbing Noise
Of War-like Arms, shall spoil the Scholars Joys;
But in pursuit of Learning may go on,
Till he can climb the Top of
Helicon.
Orpheus,
they say, in Music had such Skill,
That he could Tame fierce Tigers at his Will;
The Hound would Court the Hare, and Lions play
With tender Lambs, forgetful of their Prey:
This witty Fiction does to us declare,
What Miracles by
Peace
performed are;
By which the hardest Hearts are mollified,
Wrath reconciled, and Malice laid aside,
Oh! that these Halcyon Days might always last,
And no black Cloud our Sun should over-cast:
Let all grow Wise before it be too Late,
And prize God's Mercies at a higher Rate;
Let Dove-like Meekness and Compassion Reign,
And tender-hearted Charity restrain
Bitter revengeful Thoughts, let everyone
Weep for his Brothers Faults, and mend his own.
Let Moderation sad Divisions heal,
And cool the Heat of our mistaken Zeal;
Let none in Oil and Butter steep his Words,
While spite within is sharper than drawn Swords;
Rather let us in weighty Truths Unite;
And not for painted Ceremonies Fight;
Let none be lifted up with swelling Pride,
As if he thought in
Sol
's bright Coach to Ride;
Forgetful of the dark and silent Grave
Where he e're long a Bed of Dust must have.
Let none his Soul for short-lived Pleasures sell,
Such as may cost him endless Pains in Hell;
Let Riot no more turn Men in to Swine,
Or Envy at his Neighbors Good repine:
Nor let the Covetous Worldling anymore
That Death may prove him Rich, choose to live Poor,
Let all Repent of such provoking Crimes,
'It is Reformation that must mend the Times.
So shall the Earth bring forth a large Increase,
And give us Plenty to maintain our
Peace;
Both Hill and Vale, shall laugh with store of Corn,
And pleasant Fruits our loaded Trees adorn;
While People all with Health and Safety blessed;
In the soft Bosom of sweet Concord rest:
The Name of
Peace
makes Music, all Rejoice,
And welcome that with one consenting Voice.
Loud Bells proclaim their Joy from Steeples high,
And Flaming Bonfires kiss the Starry Sky:
While Conduits flowing with rich sparkling Wine,
Of public Gladness give a costly Sign.
But as when Morning, not yet fully dressed,
Peeps from her Rosie Chamber in the
East,
Those glist'ring Pearls of Dew that hang upon
The Blades of Grass, are melted soon and gone;
Though for a time they make a goodly show,
'It is thus with all our Comforts here below:
The best Estate on Earth is like a Flower,
That flourishes and fadeth in an Hour:
Then let not present Joys too much entice,
Or make us fond to build upon the Ice;
Nor may such cheating Shadows us allure,
As if they were forever to endure:
But let us set our Hearts on things above,
A Treasure there is worth our dearest Love;
Where Christ, the King of Saints, in Glory Reigns,
And for his Church Eternal Rest remains.
Amidst both Foreign and Domestic Foes,
Who can but wonder at our safe Repose?
That sounding Trumpets should no more awake
Blood-thirsty War, his Sword in hand to take;
But lovely Concord with heart-winning Charms,
Doth Silence everywhere the noise of Arms.
Next unto God, I boldly may conclude,
We owe the Tribute of our Gratitude,
For this Transcendent Gift, to Him alone,
Whom Providence has placed in the Throne.
Were I a Poet whose rich Fancy stood
Up to the Chin in the
Castalian
Flood;
Great
Caesar!
had I now an hundred Tongues,
A Throat of Brass, and Adamantine Lungs,
Yet could I not your Virtues all rehearse,
Much less contain them in this narrow Verse.
Your hatred of Profaneness, flaming Zeal
For true Religion; nor may I conceal
Your Military Skill, and Courage bold,
Venturing through showers of Bullets to uphold
The Cause of God; your choice Fidelity,
Temperance, Justice, and sweet Clemency:
Those rare Perfections which divided shine
In other Men, and make them half Divine,
In the fair Temple of your Royal Breast,
They all con-center, and take up their rest.
That prudent Monarch in whose Nuptial Bed,
The White Rose grew united to the Red;
Or his Progenitors, which did advance
Victorious Ensigns in the Heart of
France,
Never such Honor, nor such Glory wan,
As you in managing this War have done.
England
oppressed with a load of Grief,
Not knowing where to find the least Relief,
Was like a Ship without a Pilot driven
By angry Winds and Waves; she cried to Heaven
And Earth for Succor, at a Time of Need,
You heard the cry, and pitying her with speed;
You but came over, and you over-came
Whole Armies with the Terror of your Name;
You freed this Nation in a happy Hour,
From
Popish
Slavery, and lawless Power.
Our great Physician, Wise and Fortunate,
To heal the Bleeding Wounds of Church and State.
Most of those Conquerors which have such glory,
Both in the
Roman
and the
Grecian
Story,
Did but for Gold, or vain Ambition Fight,
But your just Arms do still maintain the Right
Of poor oppressed People, and the Blood
You shed, is but the Price of public Good.
What Wonders have been wrought by Sea and Land
From time to time by the Almighty's Hand,
Your Sacred Person to Defend and Save,
From going down to an untimely Grave?
To strike at Heaven's Darling is but lost
Labor, Your Foes have found it to their cost:
The Lord of Hosts, great King, will be your Friend,
While you his Church, and Gospel-Truth Defend;
The Golden Shield of His Protecting Grace,
Will be your strongest Guard in every place.
Under the Wings of Mercy you shall dwell,
Secure from all the Plots of
Rome
and Hell:
Success shall never fail, then may your Hand
Exceed the Work performed in
Ireland,
Upon that Day when
Boyn
's fair Silver Flood,
Did blush for shame, as stained with so much Blood;
Your Valour then gave such a fatal Blow
To self-exalting
France,
as brought her low:
Nor does your Matchless Bounty come behind
The high Heroic Courage of your Mind;
Those Banish'd ones in
France
by you restored,
How will they bless and magnify the Lord,
For prosp'ring your just Arms! What Flouds of Tears
Have been dry'd up by you? what vexing Cares
And heavy loads of Life-consuming Grief,
Your Charitable Hand bringing Relief,
Has taken off from many, and so turned
The sad Complaints of those that long had mourned,
Into Triumphant Songs of joyful Praise,
Above the Stars this shall your Honor raise?
But must I strive in vain to count those Flowers,
That paint the pleasant Springs perfumed Bowers;
Or tell the Fish that swim in Crystal Flouds,
Or all the Leaves that grow in shady Woods;
That were an easier Task, than in this place
To reckon all your Works of Princely Grace:
You are the only Phoenix of this Age,
All other Princes coming on the Stage
Of Action, matched with you, but Cyphers are,
You the great Figure both in Peace and War.
Happy the Royal Womb that brought you forth;
Happy the Country where you had your Birth:
You to that People bring a greater Joy,
And more Defense, than
Hector
did to
Troy.
Carthage
no more of
Hannibal
shall boast,
Nor
Italy
of
Marius,
though the Host
Of Fierce Invading
Cymbrians
slain by him,
Made Neighbouring Fields, with Streams of Blood to Swim:
Nor may bold
Scipio
with you compare,
Whom
Virgil
calls the Thunderbolt of War.
These must give place to you, your Praises still
The Silver Trumpet of loud Fame shall fill.
Without a bleeding Heart none can declare
What were the late Calamities of War;
Alecto
Periwig'd with hissing Snakes,
And her Two Sisters from the
Stygian
Lakes,
Coming abroad, might Dance for Joy to see
Their Rage exceeded by
French
Cruelty.
When Towns in their own Ruines buried lay,
And Wealthy Provinces became a Prey
To proud, oppressing
Lewis,
whose desire
Was to fill all with Storms of Blood and Fire;
Pale-Visag'd Death might as in Triumph Ride;
Those which the Sword did spare, by Famine died;
Both Young and Old went to the Grave as fast
As Leaves in Autumn from the Trees are cast:
But Your great Wisdom doth sweet Peace restore,
And call back Plenty banished before.
Instead of Battels, Banquets may abound,
Instead of Trumpets, Harp and Viol sound,
Instead of mournful Cries, soft Music may
Charm list'ning Ears, and drive sad Care away.
Tyrants have dreadful Desolations made,
While they their Neighbors by strong force invade;
All Law and Civil Justice, treading down,
But You have gotten a Resplendent Crown
By doing Good, and acts of Grace Divine,
Which make you like the Sun itself to shine.
WILLIAM
the First by Arms his Throne did gain,
But You the Third, as
King
of Hearts shall
Reign:
He by the Dint of Sword his Right did prove,
You Conquer by the Potent Charmes of Love.
Sworn Enemies of Piety and Peace,
They needs must be whose Heads can never cease
To hatch black Treason, and his Death conspire,
Whose Worth none can Express, all must Admire.
Atlas,
as learned Poets used to fain,
Did the whole
Weight
of Heavens Frame sustain,
Thus as a Golden
Pillar
You now stand
Bearing up
all
our Hopes throughout the Land:
If
Hellish Malice
should procure your Fall,
'Twoud soon make way for
England's Funeral.
The Sky plow'd up shall yield large Crops of Corn,
And glistering Stars this dunghill Earth adorn:
Proteus
his scalely Flocks shall all resort
To Flowery Meadows, there to play and sport.
Moist Streams of Water shall to Fire turn,
And the salt Sea like
Aetna
's Furnace burn.
All Nature's Statutes shall be changed quite,
The Night shall turn to Day, and Day to Night,
Sooner than your Renowned Works shall be
Lost or Forgotten by Posterity.
Your Royal Name shall make our Annals swell,
And in our thankful Minds forever dwell.
Let then the King of Heaven on you pour
The choicest Blessings in a Fruitful Shower,
That Children yet unborn may Celebrate
The Day when first you wore the Crown in State:
Let all Success and Happiness attend
Your Peaceful Reign, and Prosperit to
THE END.
LONDON: Printed for Tho. Parkhurst, at the Bible and Three Crowns, in Cheap-side, 1697.