May the supplies for reducing the exorbitant power of France be such, as may soon turn your wreaths of laurel into branches of olive: that, after the toils of a just and honourable war, carried on by a confederacy of which your majesty is most truly, as of the faith, styled Defender, we may live to enjoy, under your majesty's auspicious government, the blessings of a profound and lasting peace; a peace beyond the power of him to violate, who, but for his own unreasonable conveniency, destructive always of his neighbours, never yet kept any. And, to complete our happiness, may your majesty again prove to _your own family_, what you have been so eminently to the true church, a nursing mother. So wish, and so pray, may it please your majesty, your majesty's most dutiful and loyal subjects, and devoted humble servants. This Address was presented January 17, 1704-5. MR. WILLIAM CROWE'S ADDRESS TO HER MAJESTY, TURNED INTO METRE From a town that consists of a church and a steeple, With three or four houses, and as many people, There went an Address in great form and good order, Composed, as 'tis said, by Will Crowe, their Recorder.[1] And thus it began to an excellent tune: Forgive us, good madam, that we did not as soon As the rest of the cities and towns of this nation Wish your majesty joy on this glorious occasion. Not that we're less hearty or loyal than others, But having a great many sisters and brothers, Our borough in riches and years far exceeding, We let them speak first, to show our good breeding. We have heard with much transport and great satisfaction Of the victory obtain'd in the late famous action, When the field was so warm'd, that it soon grew too hot For the French and Bavarians, who had all gone to pot, But that they thought best in great haste to retire, And leap into the water for fear of the fire. But says the good river, Ye fools, plague confound ye, Do ye think to swim through me, and that I'll not drown ye? Who have ravish'd, and murder'd, and play'd such damn'd pranks, And trod down the grass on my much-injured banks? Then, swelling with anger and rage to the brink, He gave the poor Monsieur his last draught of drink. So it plainly appears they were very well bang'd, And that some may be drown'd, who deserved to be hang'd. Great Marlbro' well push'd: 'twas well push'd indeed: Oh, how we adore you, because you succeed! And now I may say it, I hope without blushing, That you have got twins, by your violent pushing; Twin battles I mean, that will ne'er be forgotten, But live and be talk'd of, when we're dead and rotten. Let other nice lords sculk at home from the wars, Prank'd up and adorn'd with garters and stars, Which but twinkle like those in a cold frosty night; While to yours you are adding such lustre and light, That if you proceed, I'm sure very soon 'Twill be brighter and larger than the sun or the moon: A blazing star, I foretell, 'twill prove to the Gaul, That portends of his empire the ruin and fall.