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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=457095" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>An English Ballad, On The Taking Of Namur, By The King Of Great Britain</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Dulce est desipere in loco. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Some Folks are drunk, yet do not know it:<br>So might not Bacchus give You Law?<br>Was it a Muse, O lofty Poet,<br>Or Virgin of St. Cyr, You saw?<br>Why all this Fury? What's the Matter,<br>That Oaks must come from Thrace to dance?<br>Must stupid Stocks be taught to flatter?<br>And is there no such Wood in France? <br>Why must the Winds all hold their Tongue?<br>If they a little Breath should raise;<br>Would that have spoil'd the Poet's Song;<br>Or puff'd away the Monarch's Praise?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">II.<br>Pindar, that Eagle, mounts the Skies;<br>While Virtue leads the noble Way:<br>Too like a Vultur Boileau flies,<br>Where sordid Interest shows the Prey.<br>When once the Poet's Honour ceases,<br>From Reason far his Transports rove:<br>And Boileau, for eight hundred Pieces,<br>Makes Louis take the Wall of Jove.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">III.<br>Neptune and Sol came from above,<br>Shap'd like Megrigny and Vauban:<br>They arm'd these Rocks; then show'd old Jove <br>Of Marli Wood, the Wond'rous Plan.<br>Such Walls, these three wise Gods agreed,<br>By Human Force could ne'er be shaken:<br>But You and I in Homer read<br>Of Gods, as well as Men, mistaken.<br>Sambre and Maese their Waves may join;<br>But ne'er can William's Force restrain:<br>He'll pass them Both, who pass'd the Boyn:<br>Remember this, and arm the Sein.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">IV.<br>Full fifteen thousand lusty Fellows<br>With Fire and Sword the Fort maintain:<br>Each was a Hercules, You tell us;<br>Yet out they march'd like common Men.<br>Cannons above, and Mines below<br>Did Death and Tombs for Foes contrive:<br>Yet Matters have been order'd so,<br>That most of Us are still alive.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">V.<br>If Namur be compar'd to Troy;<br>Then Britain's Boys excell'd the Greeks:<br>Their Siege did ten long Years employ:<br>We've done our Bus'ness in ten Weeks.<br>What Godhead does so fast advance,<br>With dreadful Pow'r those Hills to gain?<br>'Tis little Will, the Scourge of France;<br>No Godhead, but the first of Men.<br>His mortal Arm exerts the Pow'r,<br>To keep ev'n Mons's Victor under:<br>And that same Jupiter no more<br>Shall fright the World with impious Thunder.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">VI.<br>Our King thus trembles at Namur,<br>Whilst Villeroy, who ne'er afraid is,<br>To Bruxelles marches on secure,<br>To bomb the Monks, and scare the Ladies.<br>After this glorious Expedition,<br>One Battle makes the Marshal Great:<br>He must perform the King's Commission:<br>Who knows, but Orange may retreat?<br>Kings are allow'd to feign the Gout,<br>Or be prevail'd with not to Fight:<br>And mighty Louis hop'd, no doubt,<br>That William wou'd preserve that Right.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">VII.<br>From Seyn and Loyre, to Rhone and Po,<br>See every Mother's Son appear:<br>In such a Case ne'er blame a Foe,<br>If he betrays some little Fear.<br>He comes, the mighty Vill'roy comes;<br>Finds a small River in his Way:<br>So waves his Colours, beats his Drums;<br>And thinks it prudent there to stay.<br>The Gallic Troops breath Blood and War:<br>The Marshal cares not to march faster:<br>Poor Vill'roy moves so slowly here,<br>We fancy'd all, it was his Master.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">VIII.<br>Will no kind Flood, no friendly Rain<br>Disguise the Marshal's plain Disgrace?<br>No Torrents swell the low Mehayne?<br>The World will say, he durst not pass.<br>Why will no Hyades appear,<br>Dear Poet, on the Banks of Sambre?<br>Just as they did that mighty Year,<br>When You turn'd June into December.<br>The Water-Nymphs are too unkind<br>To Vill'roy; are the Land-Nymphs so?<br>And fly They All, at Once Combin'd<br>To shame a General, and a Beau?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">IX.<br>Truth, Justice, Sense, Religion, Fame<br>May join to finish William's Story:<br>Nations set free may bless his Name;<br>And France in Secret own his Glory.<br>But Ipres, Mastrich, and Cambray,<br>Besancon, Ghent, St. Omers, Lysle,<br>Courtray, and Dole—Ye Criticks, say,<br>How poor to this was Pindar's Style?<br>With Eke's and Also's tack thy Strain,<br>Great Bard; and sing the deathless Prince,<br>Who lost Namur the same Campaign,<br>He bought Dixmude, and plunder'd Deynse.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">X.<br>I'll hold Ten Pound, my Dream is out:<br>I'd tell it You, but for the Rattle<br>Of those confounded Drums: no doubt<br>Yon' bloody Rogues intend a Battel.<br>Dear me! a hundred thousand French <br>With Terror fill the neighb'ring Field;<br>While William carries on the Trench,<br>'Till both the Town and Castle yield.<br>Vill'roy to Boufflers should advance,<br>Says Mars, thro' Cannons Mouths in Fire;<br>Id est , one Mareschal of France <br>Tells t'other, He can come no nigher.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XI.<br>Regain the Lines the shortest Way,<br>Vill'roy; or to Versailles take Post:<br>For, having seen it, Thou can'st say<br>The Steps, by which Namur was lost.<br>The Smoke and Flame may vex thy Sight:<br>Look not once back: but as thou goest,<br>Quicken the Squadrons in their Flight;<br>And bid the D—l take the slowest.<br>Think not what Reason to produce,<br>From Louis to conceal thy Fear:<br>He'll own the Strength of thy Excuse;<br>Tell him that William was but there.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XII.<br>Now let us look for Louis' Feather,<br>That us'd to shine so like a Star:<br>The Gen'rals could not get together,<br>Wanting that Influence, great in War.<br>O Poet! Thou had'st been discreeter,<br>Hanging the Monarch's Hat so high;<br>If Thou had'st dubb'd thy Star, a Meteor,<br>That did but blaze, and rove, and die.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XIII.<br>To animate the doubtful Fight,<br>Namur in vain expects that Ray:<br>In vain France hopes, the sickly Light<br>Shou'd shine near William's fuller Day.<br>It knows Versailles, it's proper Station;<br>Nor cares for any foreign Sphere:<br>Where You see Boileau's Constellation,<br>Be sure no Danger can be near.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XIV.<br>The French had gather'd all their Force;<br>And William met them in their Way:<br>Yet off they brush'd, both Foot and Horse.<br>What has Friend Boileau left to say?<br>When his high Muse is bent upon't,<br>To sing her King, that Great Commander,<br>Or on the Shores of Hellespont,<br>Or in the Valleys near Scamander;<br>Wou'd it not spoil his noble Task,<br>If any foolish Phrygian there is,<br>Impertinent enough to ask,<br>How far Namur may be from Paris? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">XV.<br>Two Stanza's more before we end,<br>Of Death, Pikes, Rocks, Arms, Bricks, and Fire:<br>Leave 'em behind You, honest Friend:<br>And with your Country-Men retire.<br>Your Ode is spoilt; Namur is freed;<br>For Dixmuyd something yet is due:<br>So good Count Guiscard may proceed;<br>But Boufflers, Sir, one Word with you.—</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XVI.<br>'Tis done. In Sight of these Commanders,<br>Who neither Fight, nor raise the Siege,<br>The Foes of France march safe thro' Flanders;<br>Divide to Bruxelles, or to Liege.<br>Send, Fame, this News to Trianon;<br>That Boufflers may new Honours gain:<br>He the same Play by Land has shown,<br>As Tourville did upon the Main.<br>Yet is the Marshal made a Peer:<br>O William, may thy Arms advance;<br>That He may lose Dinant next Year,<br>And so be Constable of France.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Matthew+Prior">Matthew Prior</a><div class=q>
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Some Folks are drunk, yet do not know it:
So might not Bacchus give You Law?
Was it a Muse, O lofty Poet,
Or Virgin of St. Cyr, You saw?
Why all this Fury? What's the Matter,
That Oaks must come from Thrace to dance?
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