The Credit Of The Conqueror.

In battles what disasters fall,
The king he bears the blame of all.

The same who crowns the conqueror, will be
A coadjutor in the agony.

Among disasters that dissension brings,
This not the least is, which belongs to kings:
If wars go well, each for a part lays claim;
If ill, then kings, not soldiers, bear the blame.

This day is yours, great Charles! and in this war
Your fate, and ours, alike victorious are.
In her white stole now Victory does rest
Ensphered with palm on your triumphant crest.
Fortune is now your captive; other Kings
Hold but her hands; you hold both hands and wings.

For brave comportment, wit without offence,
Words fully flowing, yet of influence:
Thou art that man of men, the man alone,
Worthy the public admiration:
Who with thine own eyes read'st what we do write,
And giv'st our numbers euphony, and weight.
Tell'st when a verse springs high, how understood
To be, or not born of the Royal blood.
What state above, what symmetry below,
Lines have, or should have, thou the best canst show.
For which (my Charles) it is my pride to be,
Not so much known, as to be loved by thee.
Long may I live so, and my wreath of bays,
Be less another's laurel, than thy praise.

Kings must be dauntless; subjects will contemn
Those who want hearts and wear a diadem.