LONDON's JOY:
OR,
ENGLAND's Happiness
In the safe Return of Our
Royal Monarch King William,
From the
Country of FLANDERS , to his Royal Court and Kingdom.
Licensed according to Order . To the Tune of, The Guinney wins her .
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KIng William , Heaven's Bless him,
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he's safe return'd from Flanders ,
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With Loyalty Address him,
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the Head of chief Commanders;
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His very Enemies will own,
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That the like of him was never known,
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A right Heroic Soul,
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Then fill the flowing Bowl,
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A Bumper to the King,
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While Bells in Triumph Ring,
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And Subjects sweetly Sing
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This strain, King William is return'd again.
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Tho's Persons disaffected,
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may seem to Frown and Lower,
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That he is still protected
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by so Divine a Power,
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But yet their Frowns are all in vain,
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For Great William is return'd again,
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In Triumph to the Shore,
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O, bid him welcome o're,
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With pleasant Peals of Joy;
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He did of late Annoy
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Proud France , who would Destroy
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This Land, if they could get the upper-hand.
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Proud France begins to Fear him,
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and so does Teague and Tory ,
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Who did not dare come near him;
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King William gains the Glory,
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For Luxemburgh cry'd out, Begar ,
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If we Fight the English Guns will Tear
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Our Troops of armed Men,
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And prove our Ruin then.
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This said, in Camp they lay,
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And dar'd not to Display
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Their Flags in Battel-ray,
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But our King, does to the Nation Triumph bring.
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He fears no foreign Strangers,
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but like a Heroe ventures
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His Life in midst of Dangers;
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the field of War he enters,
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Where often peals of Cannons roar,
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Britain ne'er had such a King before,
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Then let his Health go round,
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While Drums and Trumpets sound,
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Since with his Royal Train,
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He plow'd the Ocean Main,
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And is return'd again
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To his own, sweet Partner in the Royal Throne.
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In Triumph, State, and Grandure,
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Dukes, Lords, and Commons meet him,
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Their King and Faith's Defender,
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where Subjects like they greet him;
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So sweetly did the Music play,
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For to Celebrate the joyful day
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Of his return to shore,
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While Tower Guns did roar,
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And Subjects wishing he
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Might still Victorious be,
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With lasting Dignity,
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For none, did ever like him Grace the Throne.
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When Romish Superstition,
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and cruel Userpation,
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Took Wings of Expedition
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to overflow the Nation,
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Those Enemies he chas'd away,
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And pursues them to this very day:
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Therefore let Joy appear,
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As he returns each Year,
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In Triumph to the Town,
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Let Lorels of Renown
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His Royal Temples Crown,
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For none, did ever like him Grace the Throne.
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