Classic Poem

An Ode to Mr Waple a great Faulkner upon Prince Ruperts defeat neer York and the thankes guiving day for it

True Victory on Fames winges taught
To flie aloft
Soe Covers all the Plash
Or stream wherin herr falser ridings wash
That none of them more rise
Upon our Faiths to Tyrannize
But put to plunge what shift to trie
Shunning the hawkes-pounce, meet the pole, soe die.

Now as in Aqueducts the Source
Must guide the Cource
And to the same degree
Haighten the reach of its humidite
Soe 'tis but just and even
That Benissons sent down from Heven
Should Thither rise again in Praise
And fill each Calender with Holy-dayes

Not such as wont make red-inke deer
Charging the year
In memory t'express
This or that man's a Saint, Could die noe less
But by such duties t'showe
Our thankfullnes and what we owe
As from that place alone we can
Conclude our spring of Blessings first began

Thus whilst for praise we set apart
Both Day and Hart
And sweetly doe embrace
Gods mercies meeting in his holy place
'Thout question He'l goe on
To perfect the Conclusion
And Crown the Conquest farther, soe
That that nere more be our Frend, He counts Foe.