THE
PRINCELY TRIUMPH:
OR,
England's Universal JOY,
IN THE
Proclaiming of a Glorious
PEACE,
Which was perform'd in LONDON, on the Nine-
tenth of this Instant October, 1697, to the general Comfort and Sa-
tisfaction of all Obedient SUBJECTS.
To the Tune of, O Billy, etc. Licensed according to Order.
|
YOu that would not our glorious Peace believe,
|
but wish'd we might to Ruine run;
|
Chose which you please either rejoyce or grieve,
|
'tis all a Case to us the Work is done;
|
You may repine while we with Wine
|
and Musick fine this Day adore:
|
Let Trumpets sound, and Healths go freely round,
|
at Peace proclaim'd in London Streets once more.
|
Behold, brave Boys, the Wars are at an end,
|
Joy sits enthron'd on e'ry Brow;
|
The Tydings through the Kingdom let us send,
|
for 'tis a Day, a Day of Triumph now,
|
Both far and near, let Joy appear,
|
for now 'tis clear the Wars are o're:
|
Let Musick play to celbrate the Day
|
of Peace proclaim'd, etc.
|
While loyal-hearted brave heroick Souls,
|
make known their universal Joy;
|
Through Court and Kingdom with full flowing Bowls,
|
it will the Thoughts of all our Griefs destroy;
|
With chearfulness, since we possess,
|
this happiness, let Cannons roar,
|
And Musick play to celebrate the Day,
|
of Peace proclaim'd, etc.
|
We come to take our leaves of bloody Wars,
|
with Reaths of Lawrel fresh and green,
|
A happy period to those Princely jars,
|
there's nothing now but Triumph to be seen;
|
A splendid show where-e're we go;
|
si[n]ce it is so, let Cannons roar,
|
And Musick play, to celbrate the Day,
|
Of Peace prclaim'd in London streets once more.
|
Great Jove the God of War shall sheath the Sword,
|
which has such dreadful havock made;
|
Since Heaven does a joyful Peace afford,
|
and now more chearful Streamers are display'd;
|
Sound Trumets, sound, while Healths go round,
|
with Joy we're crown'd, the Storm is o're;
|
Let Musick play to celebrate the Day
|
of Peace proclaim'd in London Streets once more.
|
Behold they flock from all adjacent Parts,
|
as Joy is on the the speedy Wing,
|
And with a Comfort of true Loyal Hearts;
|
they Cry, God save our Right Renowned King;
|
Long may he Reign, who plough'd the Main,
|
and now again does Joy restore,
|
Let Musick play, to celbrate the Day
|
Of Peace proclaim d, etc.
|
The dreadful Sword has rag'd this many Years,
|
and did the Christian World annoy;
|
Now since at length a glorious Peace appears,
|
who can forbear to Ring the Peels of Joy;
|
Sure there are none but what will own,
|
that Peace alone will joy restore;
|
Let Musick Play to celebrate the Day,
|
Of Peace proclaim'd, etc.
|
This may the unbelieveing World convince,
|
that Joy and Triumph was at hand,
|
Who would not scarce believe our gracious Prince,
|
altho' he strove to bless our native Land;
|
He cross'd the Seas, yet scarce could please
|
such Men as these, but not 'tis o're:
|
Let Musick play to celebrate the Day,
|
Of Peace proclaim'd in London Streets once more.
|
|
|
|
|
|