The Storm. an Essay.

Part 1

THE STORM.

AN ESSAY.

1704 title: An Elegy on the Author of the True-Born-English-Man. With an essay on the late storm. By the author of the Hymn to the Pillory.

THE STORM. AN ESSAY.

I'm told, for we have News among the Dead, Heaven lately spoke, but few knew what it said; The Voice, in loudest Tempests spoke, And Storms, which Nature's strong Foundation shook. I felt it hither, and I'd have you know I heard the Voice, and knew the Language too. Think it not strange I heard it here, No Place is so remote, but when he speaks, they hear. Besides, tho' I am dead in Fame, I never told you where I am. 10

Tho' I have lost Poetick Breath, I'm not in perfect State of Death: From whence this Popish Consequence I draw, I'm in the Limbus of the Law. Let me be where I will I heard the Storm, From every Blast it eccho'd thus, REFORM; I felt the mighty Shock, and saw the Night, When Guilt look'd pale, and own'd the Fright; And every Time the raging Element Shook London's lofty Towers, at every Rent 20 The falling Timbers gave, they cry'd, REPENT.

I saw, when all the stormy Crew, Newly commission'd from on high, Newly instructed what to do, In Lowring, Cloudy, Troops drew nigh: They hover'd o'er the guilty Land, As if they had been backward to obey; As if they wondred at the sad Command, And pity'd those they shou'd destroy. But Heaven, that long had gentler Methods tried, 30 And saw those gentler Methods all defied, Had now resolv'd to be obey'd. The Queen, an Emblem of the soft, still, Voice, Had told the Nation how to make their Choice; Told them the only Way to Happiness Was by the Blessed Door of Peace. But the unhappy Genius of the Land, Deaf to the Blessing, as to the Command, Scorn the high Caution, and contemn the News, And all the blessed Thoughts of Peace refuse. 40 Since Storms are then the Nation's Choice, Be Storms their Portion, said the Heavenly Voice: He said, and I could hear no more, So soon th' obedient Troops began to roar: So soon the blackning Clouds drew near, And fill'd with loudest Storms the trembling Air: I thought I felt the World's Foundation shake, And lookt when all the wondrous Frame would break. I trembl'd as the Winds grew high, And so did many a braver Man than I: 50 For he whose Valour scorns his Sence, Has chang'd his Courage into Impudence. Man may to Man his Valour show, And 'tis his Vertue to do so. But if he's of his Maker not afraid, He's not courageous then, but mad.

Soon as I heard the horrid Blast, And understood how long 'twould last, View'd all the Fury of the Element, Consider'd well by whom 'twas sent, 60 And unto whom for Punishment: It brought my Hero to my Mind, William, the Glorious, Great, and Good, and Kind. Short Epithets to his Just Memory; The first he was to all the World, the last to me.

The mighty Genius to my Thought appear'd, Just in the same Concern he us'd to show, When private Tempests us'd to blow, Storms which the Monarch more than Death or Battel fear'd. When Party Fury shook his Throne, 70 And made their mighty Malice known, I've heard the sighing Monarch say, The Publick Peace so near him lay, It took the Pleasure of his Crown away. It fill'd with Cares his Royal Breast; Often he has those Cares Prophetickly exprest, That when he should the Reins let go, Heaven would some Token of its Anger show, To let the thankless Nation see How they despis'd their own Felicity. 80 This robb'd the Hero of his Rest, Disturb'd the Calm of his serener Breast.

When to the Queen the Scepter he resign'd, With a resolv'd and steady Mind, Tho' he rejoic'd to lay the Trifle down, He pity'd Her to whom he left the Crown: Foreseeing long and vig'rous Wars, Foreseeing endless, private, Party Jarrs, Would always interrupt Her Rest, And fill with Anxious Cares Her Royal Breast. 90 For Storms of Court Ambition rage as high Almost as Tempests in the Sky.

Could I my hasty Doom retrieve, And once more in the Land of Poets live, I'd now the Men of Flags and Fortune greet, And write an Elegy upon the Fleet. First, those that on the Shore were idly found, Whom other Fate protects, while better Men were drown'd, They may thank God for being Knaves on Shore, But sure the Q---- will never trust them more. 100

They who rid out the Storm, and liv'd, But saw not whence it was deriv'd, Sensless of Danger, or the mighty Hand, That could to cease, as well as blow, command, Let such unthinking Creatures have a Care, For some worse End prepare. Let them look out for some such Day, When what the Sea would not, the Gallows may.

Those that in former Dangers shunn'd the Fight, But met their Ends in this Disast'rous Night, 110 Have left this Caution, tho' too late, That all Events are known to Fate. Cowards avoid no Danger when they run, And Courage scapes the Death it would not shun; 'Tis Nonsence from our Fate to fly, All Men must once have Heart enough to die.

Those Sons of Plunder are below my Pen, Because they are below the Names of Men; Who from the Shores presenting to their Eyes The Fatal Goodwin, where the Wreck of Navies Lyes, 120 A thousand dying Saylors talking to the Skies. From the sad Shores they saw the Wretches walk, By Signals of Distress they talk; There with one Tide of Life they're vext, For all were sure to die the next. The Barbarous Shores with Men and Boats abound, The Men more Barbarous than the Shores are found; Off to the shatter'd Ships they go, And for the Floating Purchase Row. They spare no Hazard, or no Pain, 130 But 'tis to save the Goods, and not the Men. Within the sinking Supplaints Reach appear, As if they'd mock their dying Fear. Then for some Trifle all their Hopes supplant, With Cruelty would make a Turk relent.

If I had any Satyr left to write, Cou'd I with suited Spleen Indite, My Verse should blast that Fatal Town, And Drowned Saylors Widows pull it down; No Footsteps of it should appear, 140 And Ships no more Cast Anchor there. The Barbarous Hated Name of Deal shou'd die, Or be a Term of Infamy; And till that's done, the Town will stand A just Reproach to all the Land.

The Ships come next to be my Theme, The Men's the Loss, I'm not concern'd for them; For had they perish'd e'er they went, Where to no Purpose they were sent, The Ships might ha' been built again, 150 And we had sav'd the Money and the Men. There the Mighty Wrecks appear, Hic Jacent, Useless Things of War. Graves of Men, and Tools of State, There you lye too soon, there you lye too late. But O ye Mighty Ships of War! What in Winter did you there? Wild November should our Ships restore To Chatham, Portsmouth, and the Nore, So it was always heretofore, 160 For Heaven it self is not unkind, If Winter Storms he'll sometimes send, Since 'tis suppos'd the Men of War Are all laid up, and left secure.

Nor did our Navy feell alone, The dreadful Desolation; It shook the Walls of Flesh as well as Stone, And ruffl'd all the Nation. The Universal Fright Made Guilty H---- expect his Fatal Night; 170 His harden'd Soul began to doubt, And Storms grew high within, as they grew high without.

Flaming Meteors fill'd the Air, But Asgil miss'd his Fiery Chariot there; Recall'd his black blaspheming Breath, And trembling paid his Homage unto Death.

Terror appear'd in every Face, Even Vile Blackbourn felt some shocks of Grace; Began to feel the Hated Truth appear, Began to fear, 180 After he had Burlesqu'd a God so long, He should at last be in the wrong. Some Power he plainly saw, (And seeing, felt a strange unusual Awe;) Some secret Hand he plainly found, Was bringing some strange thing to pass, And he that neither God nor Devil own'd, Must needs be at a loss to guess. Fain he would not ha' guest the worst, But Guilt will always be with Terror Curst. 190

Hell shook, for Devils Dread Almighty Power, At every Shock they fear'd the Fatal Hour, The Adamantine Pillars mov'd, And Satan's Pandemonium trembl'd too; The tottering Seraphs wildly rov'd, Doubtful what the Almighty meant to do; For in the darkest of the black Abode, There's not a Devil but believes a God. Old Lucifer has sometimes try'd To have himself be Deify'd; 200 But Devils nor Men the Being of God deny'd, Till Men of late found out New Ways to sin, And turn'd the Devil out to let the Atheist in. But when the mighty Element began, And Storms the weighty Truth explain, Almighty Power upon the Whirlwind Rode, And every Blast proclaim'd aloud There is, there is, there is, a God.

Continue reading The Storm. an Essay. free in the Wunder reader →