Thomas Shadwell, The Address of John Dryden, Laureate to his Highness the Prince of Orange (1689)

In all the hosannas, our whole world’s applause,
Illustrious champion of our church and laws,
Accept, great Nassau, from unworthy me,
Amongst the adoring crowd, a bended knee;
Nor scruple, Sir, to hear my echoing lyre,
Strung, tuned, and joyned to th’ universal choir:
For my suspected mouth thy glories told,
A known outlier from the English fold,
Rome’s votary, the Protestant’s sworn foe,
Rome my religion half an hour ago.
My Roman Dagon’s by thy arm o’rethrown,
And now my prostituted soul’s thy own:
Thy glory could convert that infidel
That had whole ages stood immovable;
No wonder then thou could’st affections sway
In tender breasts, like mine, such pliant clay,
As could even bear new moulding every day;
Nor doubt thy convert true, I who could raise
Immortal trophies, even to Cromwell’s praise;
I who my Muse’s infant quill could fledge,
With high-sung murder, treason, sacrilege.