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.