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           1667
        
      
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             The second and third advice to a painter, for drawing the history of our navall actions, the two last years, 1665 and 1666 in answer to Mr. Waller.
             Denham, John, Sir, 1615-1669.
             Marvell, Andrew, 1621-1678.
          
           32 p.
           
             [s.n.],
             A Breda :
             1667.
          
           
             In verse.
             "Attributed to Sir John Denham, but most probably not by him. Sometimes attributed to Andrew Marvell." Cf. BM.
             Reproduction of originals in the Duke University Library and the British Library.
          
        
      
    
     
       
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           Waller, Edmund, 1606-1687. -- Instructions to a painter.
           Anglo-Dutch War, 1664-1667 -- Poetry.
        
      
    
     
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           THE
           Second
           ,
           and
           Third
           Advice
           TO
           A
           PAINTER
           ,
           For
           Drawing
           the
           HISTORY
           Of
           our
           NAVALL
           Actions
           ;
           The
           Two
           last
           Years
           ,
           1665.
           
           And
           1666.
           
           
             In
             Answer
             to
          
           Mr.
           Waller
           .
        
         
           
             
               —
               Pictoribus
               atque
               Poetis
               ,
            
             
               Quidlibet
               Audendi
               semper
               fuit
               oequa
               potestas
               .
            
          
           
             
               Humano
               Capiti
               cervicem
               pictor
               equinam
               ;
            
             
               Iangere
               si
               velit
               —
            
          
           
             Horat.
             de
             Arte
             Poet.
             
          
        
         
           A.
           Breda
           ,
           1667.
           
        
      
    
     
       
         
         
         
           THE
           Second
           Advice
           TO
           A
           PAINTER
           ,
           FOR
           Drawing
           the
           History
           of
           our
           NAVALL
           Business
           ;
           
             In
             Answer
             to
          
           Mr.
           Waller
           .
        
         
           NAy
           Painter
           ,
           if
           thou
           dar'st
           design
           that
           Fight
           ,
        
         
           Which
           Waller
           only
           Courage
           had
           to
           Write
           ;
        
         
           If
           thy
           bold
           hand
           ,
           can
           without
           shaking
           Draw
           ,
        
         
           What
           even
           the
           Actors
           trembled
           when
           they
           saw
           ;
        
         
           Enough
           to
           make
           thy
           Colours
           change
           like
           their's
           ,
        
         
           And
           all
           thy
           Pencills
           bristle
           ,
           like
           
             their
             Haires
          
           .
        
         
           First
           in
           fit
           distance
           of
           the
           prospect
           Vaine
           ,
        
         
           Paint
           Allen
           Tilting
           at
           the
           Coast
           of
           Spaine
           ;
        
         
           Heroick
           Act
           ,
           and
           never
           heard
           till
           now
           ,
        
         
           Steming
           of
           Her'cles
           Pillers
           with
           his
           Prow
           ,
        
         
           And
           how
           two
           Ships
           he
           left
           ,
           the
           Hills
           to
           waft
           ,
        
         
           And
           with
           new
           Sea-marks
           ,
           Dover
           and
           Calice
           graft
           .
        
         
           Next
           let
           the
           flaming
           London
           come
           in
           view
           .
        
         
           Like
           
             Nero's
             Rome
          
           ,
           burnt
           to
           Rebuild
           it
           new
           :
        
         
         
           What
           lesser
           Sacrifice
           then
           this
           was
           meet
           ,
        
         
           To
           offer
           for
           the
           fafty
           of
           the
           Fleet
           ?
        
         
           Blow
           one
           Ship
           up
           ,
           another
           thence
           doth
           grow
           ;
        
         
           See
           what
           free
           Cities
           ;
           and
           wise
           Courts
           can
           do
           .
        
         
           So
           some
           old
           Merchant
           to
           ensure
           his
           Name
           ,
        
         
           Marries
           a
           fresh
           ,
           and
           Courtiers
           share
           the
           Dame
           :
        
         
           So
           what
           soe're
           is
           broke
           ,
           the
           Servants
           pay
           't
           ,
        
         
           And
           Glasses
           are
           more
           durable
           then
           Plate
           .
        
         
           No
           Mayor
           till
           now
           ,
           so
           rich
           a
           Pageant
           fain'd
           ;
        
         
           Nor
           one
           Barge
           all
           the
           Companies
           contain'd
           .
        
         
           Then
           Painter
           draw
           
             Coerulean
             Coventry
          
           ,
        
         
           Keeper
           ,
           or
           rather
           Chancelor
           of
           the
           Sea
           ;
        
         
           Of
           whom
           the
           Captain
           buys
           his
           leave
           to
           dye
           ,
        
         
           And
           Barters
           it
           for
           Wounds
           ,
           or
           Infamy
           :
        
         
           And
           more
           exactly
           to
           express
           his
           hue
           ,
        
         
           Use
           nothing
           but
           
             ultra
             marinish
          
           blue
           ;
        
         
           To
           pay
           his
           Fees
           the
           
             Silver
             Trumpet
          
           spend
           ,
        
         
           And
           Boatswains
           whistles
           ;
           For
           his
           Place
           depends
           ;
        
         
           Pilots
           in
           vain
           repeat
           the
           Compass
           o're
           ,
        
         
           Untill
           of
           him
           ,
           they
           learn
           that
           one
           Point
           more
           ;
        
         
           The
           constant
           Magnet
           to
           the
           Pole
           doth
           hold
           ,
        
         
           Steel
           to
           the
           Magnet
           ,
           Coventry
           to
           Gold
           :
        
         
           Muscovy
           sells
           us
           Hemp
           ,
           and
           Pitch
           and
           Tar
           ?
        
         
           Iron
           and
           Copper
           
             Sweden
             ;
             Munster
          
           War
           ;
        
         
           Ashley
           Prizes
           ,
           Warwick
           Customs
           ,
           Cartret
           Pay
           ?
        
         
           But
           Coventry
           doth
           sell
           his
           Fleet
           away
           .
        
         
           Now
           let
           our
           Navy
           stretch
           its
           Canvas
           wings
           ,
        
         
           Swoln
           like
           his
           purse
           ,
           with
           tackling
           like
           its
           strings
           ,
        
         
           By
           slow
           degrees
           of
           the
           encreasing
           Gale
           ,
        
         
           First
           under
           Sale
           ,
           and
           after
           under
           Sail
           :
        
         
         
           Then
           in
           kind
           visit
           unto
           Opdams
           Gout
           ,
        
         
           Hedge
           the
           Dutch
           in
           ,
           only
           to
           let
           them
           out
           :
        
         
           So
           Huntsmen
           fair
           ,
           unto
           the
           Hares
           give
           law
           ,
        
         
           First
           find
           them
           ,
           and
           then
           civilly
           withdraw
           ,
        
         
           That
           the
           blind
           Archer
           ,
           when
           they
           take
           the
           Seas
           ,
        
         
           The
           Hamborough
           Convey
           may
           betray
           at
           ease
           .
        
         
           So
           that
           the
           Fish
           may
           more
           securely
           bite
           ,
        
         
           The
           Fisher
           baits
           the
           River
           over
           night
           .
        
         
           But
           Painter
           now
           prepare
           t'
           enrich
           thy
           Piece
           ,
        
         
           Pencills
           of
           Ermins
           ,
           Oyl
           of
           Ambergreece
           :
        
         
           See
           where
           the
           Dutches
           with
           triumphant
           tayl
        
         
           Of
           numerous
           Coaches
           .
           Harwich
           doth
           assayl
           ;
        
         
           So
           the
           Land-Crabs
           ,
           at
           Natures
           kindly
           call
        
         
           Down
           to
           engender
           ,
           at
           the
           Sea
           do
           crawl
           ;
        
         
           See
           then
           the
           Admiral
           with
           Navy
           whole
           ,
        
         
           To
           Harwich
           through
           the
           Ocean
           Caraloe
           :
        
         
           So
           Swallows
           buried
           in
           the
           Sea
           ,
           at
           Spring
           ,
        
         
           Return
           to
           Land
           ,
           with
           Summer
           in
           their
           wing
           .
        
         
           One
           thrifty
           Ferry-boat
           of
           Mother-Pearl
        
         
           Suffic'd
           of
           old
           ,
           the
           
             Citherian
             Girl
          
           :
        
         
           Yet
           Navies
           are
           but
           propperties
           ,
           when
           here
        
         
           A
           small
           Sea-mask
           ,
           built
           to
           court
           you
           Dear
           .
        
         
           Three
           Goddesses
           in
           one
           .
           Pallas
           for
           Art
           ,
        
         
           Venus
           for
           Sport
           ,
           and
           Juno
           in
           your
           heart
           .
        
         
           Oh
           Dutches
           !
           if
           thy
           Nuptial
           Pomp
           were
           mean
           ,
        
         
           It
           's
           paid
           with
           intrest
           ,
           in
           this
           Naval
           Scean
           :
        
         
           Never
           did
           
             Roman
             Mark
          
           within
           the
           Nyle
           ,
        
         
           So
           feast
           the
           fair
           
             Egyptian
             Crocodile
          
           ;
        
         
           Nor
           the
           Venetian
           Duke
           with
           such
           a
           State
           ,
        
         
           The
           Adriatique
           Marry
           at
           that
           Rate
           .
        
         
         
           Now
           Painter
           spare
           thy
           weaker
           Art
           ,
           forbear
        
         
           To
           draw
           her
           parting
           passions
           ,
           and
           each
           tear
           ,
        
         
           For
           love
           alass
           ,
           hath
           but
           a
           short
           delight
           ,
        
         
           The
           Winds
           ,
           the
           Dutch
           ,
           the
           King
           ,
           all
           calls
           to
           fight
           ;
        
         
           She
           therefore
           the
           Dukes
           person
           recommends
        
         
           To
           
             Brunker
             ,
             Pen
          
           and
           Coventry
           ,
           as
           friends
           ;
        
         
           Pen
           ,
           much
           more
           to
           Brunker
           ,
           most
           to
           Coventry
           .
        
         
           For
           they
           (
           she
           knew
           )
           were
           more
           '
           fraid
           then
           bee
           .
        
         
           Of
           flying
           Fishes
           ,
           one
           had
           fav'd
           the
           Finn
           ,
        
         
           And
           hop'd
           with
           that
           ,
           he
           through
           the
           Aire
           might
           spin
           :
        
         
           The
           other
           thought
           he
           might
           avoid
           his
           Knell
           ,
        
         
           In
           the
           Invention
           of
           the
           Diving
           Bell
           :
        
         
           The
           third
           had
           tri'd
           it
           ,
           and
           afirm'd
           ,
           a
           Cable
        
         
           Coil'd
           round
           about
           men
           ,
           was
           Impenetrable
           :
        
         
           But
           these
           the
           Duke
           rejected
           ;
           only
           chose
        
         
           To
           keep
           far
           off
           ,
           and
           others
           Interpose
           .
        
         
           Rupert
           that
           knew
           not
           fear
           ,
           but
           health
           did
           want
           ,
        
         
           Kept
           state
           suspended
           in
           his
           Chair
           volant
           ,
        
         
           All
           save
           his
           head
           shut
           in
           the
           wooden
           Case
           ,
        
         
           He
           shew'd
           but
           like
           a
           broken
           weather-Glasse
           ;
        
         
           But
           arm'd
           in
           a
           whole
           Lyon
           Cap-a-chin
           ,
        
         
           Did
           represent
           a
           Hercules
           within
           ;
        
         
           Dear
           ,
           shall
           the
           Dutch
           his
           twinging
           Anguish
           know
           ,
        
         
           And
           feel
           what
           Valour
           (
           whet
           with
           pain
           )
           can
           do
           :
        
         
           Curst
           in
           the
           mean
           time
           be
           that
           traitrous
           Iael
           ,
        
         
           That
           through
           his
           Princely
           temples
           drove
           the
           nail
           .
        
         
           Rupert
           resolv'd
           to
           fight
           it
           like
           a
           Lyon
           ,
        
         
           But
           Sandwich
           hop'd
           to
           fight
           it
           like
           Aryon
           :
        
         
           He
           to
           prolong
           his
           life
           in
           the
           dispute
           ,
        
         
           (
           And
           Charm
           the
           
             Holland
             Pyrats
          
           )
           tun'd
           his
           Lute
           ,
        
         
         
           Till
           some
           juditious
           Dolphin
           might
           approach
           ,
        
         
           And
           land
           him
           safe
           and
           sound
           as
           any
           Roach
           ;
        
         
           Hence
           by
           the
           Gazetteir
           he
           was
           mistooke
           ,
        
         
           As
           unconcern'd
           ,
           as
           if
           at
           Hinchinbrooke
           .
        
         
           Now
           Painter
           reassume
           thy
           Pencills
           care
           ,
        
         
           It
           has
           but
           Skirmisht
           yet
           ,
           Now
           Fight
           prepare
        
         
           And
           Battle
           draw
           ,
           more
           terrible
           to
           show
           ,
        
         
           Then
           the
           last
           judgement
           was
           of
           Angelo
           :
        
         
           First
           let
           our
           Navy
           scour
           through
           silver
           froth
           ,
        
         
           The
           Oceans
           burthen
           ,
           and
           the
           Kingdomes
           both
           ;
        
         
           Whos
           's
           every
           bulk
           doth
           represent
           it's
           birth
        
         
           From
           Hide
           ,
           and
           Paston
           ,
           burthens
           of
           the
           earth
           !
        
         
           Hide
           ,
           whose
           transcendent
           Paunch
           so
           swells
           of
           late
           .
        
         
           That
           he
           the
           Rupture
           seems
           of
           Law
           and
           State.
        
         
           Paston
           ,
           whose
           belly
           devours
           more
           Millions
        
         
           Then
           Indian
           Carracks
           ,
           and
           contains
           more
           Tuns
           .
        
         
           Let
           sholes
           of
           Porposes
           on
           every
           side
        
         
           Wonder
           in
           swimming
           ,
           by
           the
           Oakes
           out-vide
        
         
           And
           the
           Sea-fowls
           (
           at
           gaze
           )
           behold
           a
           thing
        
         
           So
           vast
           ,
           more
           strong
           and
           swift
           then
           they
           of
           wing
           :
        
         
           Both
           which
           presaging
           gorge
           ,
           yet
           keep
           in
           sight
           ,
        
         
           And
           follow
           for
           the
           Reliques
           of
           the
           Fight
           .
        
         
           Then
           let
           the
           Dutch
           with
           well
           disembling
           fear
           ,
        
         
           Or
           bold
           dispair
           ,
           more
           then
           we
           wish
           ,
           draw
           near
           ;
        
         
           At
           which
           our
           Gallants
           ,
           to
           the
           Sea
           but
           tender
           ,
        
         
           And
           more
           to
           fight
           ,
           Their
           squezy
           stomacks
           render
           ,
        
         
           With
           breasts
           so
           panting
           ,
           that
           at
           every
           stroake
        
         
           You
           might
           have
           felt
           their
           hearts
           beat
           through
           the
           Oke
           ;
        
         
           Whilst
           one
           concern'd
           most
           in
           the
           interval
        
         
           Of
           straining
           Choller
           ,
           thus
           did
           cast
           his
           Gall
           ;
        
         
         
           Noah
           be
           damb'd
           ,
           and
           all
           his
           Race
           accurst
           ,
        
         
           Who
           in
           Sea-brine
           did
           pickle
           Timber
           first
           ;
        
         
           Who
           ,
           though
           be
           planted
           Vines
           ,
           he
           Pines
           cut
           down
        
         
           He
           taught
           us
           how
           to
           drink
           ,
           and
           how
           to
           drown
           :
        
         
           He
           first
           built
           Ships
           ,
           and
           in
           the
           Woodden-Wall
           ,
        
         
           Saving
           but
           Eight
           ,
           e're
           since
           endangers
           All.
        
         
           And
           thou
           Dutch
           Negromantick
           Frier
           ,
           Damn'd
           ,
        
         
           And
           in
           thine
           own
           first
           Morter-piece
           be
           ram'd
           ,
        
         
           Who
           first
           inventedst
           Cannon
           in
           thy
           Cell
           ,
        
         
           Nitre
           from
           Earth
           ,
           and
           Brimstone
           fetcht
           from
           Hell.
        
         
           But
           Damn'd
           ,
           and
           treble
           Damn'd
           be
           Clarendine
           ,
        
         
           (
           Our
           Seventh
           Edward
           )
           with
           his
           House
           and
           Line
           ;
        
         
           Who
           ,
           to
           devert
           the
           danger
           of
           the
           War
        
         
           With
           Bristol
           ,
           hounds
           us
           on
           the
           Hallander
           :
        
         
           F●ls
           coated
           Gown-men
           ,
           sells
           to
           fight
           with
           Hans
        
         
           Dunkirk
           ,
           Dismantles
           Scotland
           ,
           quarrels
           France
           ;
        
         
           And
           hopes
           he
           now
           hath
           business
           shap'd
           ,
           &
           power
        
         
           T'
           out
           ●as●
           his
           life
           ,
           or
           ours
           ,
           and
           scape
           the
           Tower
           ,
        
         
           And
           that
           he
           yet
           may
           see
           ,
           e're
           he
           went
           down
           ,
        
         
           His
           dear
           Clarinda
           circled
           in
           a
           Crown
           .
        
         
           By
           this
           time
           both
           the
           Fleets
           in
           reach
           ,
           dispute
           ,
        
         
           And
           each
           the
           other
           mortally
           Salute
           :
        
         
           Draw
           pensive
           Neptune
           biting
           of
           his
           thumbs
           ,
        
         
           To
           think
           himself
           a
           Slave
           ,
           who
           e're
           o're
           comes
           ;
        
         
           And
           frighted
           Nymphs
           retreating
           to
           the
           Rocks
           ,
        
         
           Beating
           their
           blue
           breasts
           ,
           tearing
           their
           green
           locks
        
         
           Paint
           Ecchoes
           slain
           ,
           only
           the
           alternate
           sound
        
         
           From
           the
           repeating
           Cannon
           doth
           rebound
           ;
        
         
           Opdam
           sails
           up
           ,
           mounted
           on
           his
           Naval
           throne
           ,
        
         
           Assuming
           Courage
           greater
           then
           his
           own
           :
        
         
         
           Makes
           to
           the
           Duke
           ,
           and
           threatens
           him
           from
           far
           ,
        
         
           To
           nail
           himself
           to
           's
           Board
           like
           a
           Petar
           :
        
         
           But
           in
           this
           vain
           attempt
           ,
           takes
           fire
           too
           soon
           ,
        
         
           And
           flies
           up
           in
           his
           Ship
           to
           catch
           the
           Moon
           :
        
         
           Mounsiers
           ,
           like
           Rockets
           ,
           mount
           aloft
           and
           crack
        
         
           In
           thousand
           sparks
           ,
           then
           prancingly
           fall
           back
           ;
        
         
           Yet
           e're
           this
           hapned
           ,
           Destiny
           allow'd
        
         
           Him
           his
           Revenge
           ,
           to
           make
           his
           Death
           more
           proud
        
         
           A
           fatal
           Bullet
           from
           his
           side
           did
           range
        
         
           And
           battered
           Lawson
           ,
           Ah!
           too
           dear
           exchange
           :
        
         
           He
           led
           our
           Fleet
           (
           that
           day
           )
           too
           short
           a
           space
           ;
        
         
           But
           lost
           his
           Knee
           ,
           died
           since
           in
           honours
           Race
           :
        
         
           Lawson
           ,
           whose
           Valour
           beyound
           Fate
           doth
           go
           ,
        
         
           Doth
           still
           fight
           Opdam
           in
           the
           shades
           helow
           .
        
         
           The
           Duke
           himself
           ,
           though
           Pen
           did
           not
           forget
           ,
        
         
           Yet
           was
           not
           out
           of
           Dangers
           random
           set
           .
        
         
           Falmouth
           was
           there
           ,
           I
           know
           not
           what
           to
           act
           ,
        
         
           Unless
           it
           was
           to
           grow
           Duke
           by
           Contract
           ;
        
         
           An
           un-taught
           Bullet
           in
           its
           wanton
           scope
           ,
        
         
           Quashes
           him
           all
           to
           pieces
           and
           his
           hope
           :
        
         
           Such
           as
           his
           Rise
           ,
           such
           was
           his
           Fall
           ,
           unprais'd
           ,
        
         
           A
           chance-shot
           sooner
           took
           ,
           then
           chance
           him
           rais'd
        
         
           His
           shatter'd
           head
           the
           fearless
           Duke
           disdains
           ,
        
         
           Which
           gave
           the
           last
           ,
           first
           proof
           that
           he
           had
           brains
           .
        
         
           Berkley
           had
           heard
           it
           soon
           ,
           and
           thought
           not
           good
        
         
           To
           venter
           more
           of
           Royal
           Hardings
           blood
           ;
        
         
           To
           be
           immortal
           ,
           he
           was
           not
           of
           Age
           ,
        
         
           And
           did
           even
           now
           the
           Indian
           prize
           presage
           ;
        
         
           But
           judg'd
           it
           safe
           and
           decent
           (
           cost
           what
           cost
           )
        
         
           To
           loose
           the
           Day
           ,
           since
           his
           drar
           Brother
           's
           lost
           ,
        
         
         
           With
           his
           whole
           Squadron
           straight
           away
           he
           bore
           ,
        
         
           And
           like
           good
           Boy
           ,
           promis'd
           to
           fight
           no
           more
           .
        
         
           The
           
             Dutch
             Aurania
          
           careless
           at
           Us
           fail'd
           ,
        
         
           And
           promised
           to
           do
           ,
           what
           Opdam
           fail'd
           ;
        
         
           Smith
           (
           to
           the
           Duke
           )
           doth
           intercept
           her
           way
           ;
        
         
           And
           cleaves
           there
           ,
           closer
           then
           the
           Re-mo-ra
           :
        
         
           The
           Captain
           wonder'd
           ,
           and
           withall
           disdain'd
           ,
        
         
           So
           strongly
           ,
           by
           a
           thing
           so
           small
           ,
           to
           be
           detain'd
           ;
        
         
           And
           in
           a
           raging
           bravery
           to
           him
           runs
           ,
        
         
           They
           stab'd
           their
           Ships
           with
           one
           anothers
           Guns
           ;
        
         
           They
           fight
           so
           neer
           ,
           it
           seems
           to
           be
           on
           ground
           ,
        
         
           And
           even
           Bullets
           meeting
           Bullets
           wound
           ;
        
         
           The
           noise
           ,
           the
           smoak
           ,
           the
           sweat
           ,
           the
           fire
           ,
           the
           blood
           ,
        
         
           Is
           not
           to
           be
           exprest
           ,
           nor
           understood
           ;
        
         
           Each
           Captain
           from
           the
           quarter
           Deck
           Commands
           ,
        
         
           They
           wave
           their
           bright
           Swords
           glittering
           in
           their
           hands
           ;
        
         
           All
           luxury
           of
           war
           ,
           all
           Man
           can
           do
        
         
           In
           a
           Sea-fight
           ,
           did
           pass
           between
           them
           two
           :
        
         
           But
           one
           must
           conquer
           ,
           who
           so
           e're
           does
           Fight
           ;
        
         
           Smith
           took
           the
           Gyant
           ,
           and
           is
           since
           made
           Knight
           .
        
         
           Marlborow
           ,
           who
           knew
           ,
           &
           dar'd
           no
           more
           then
           All
           ,
        
         
           Falls
           undistinguish'd
           by
           an
           Iron-Ball
           ;
        
         
           Dear
           Lord
           ,
           but
           born
           under
           a
           Star
           ungrate
           ,
        
         
           No
           soul
           so
           clear
           ,
           nor
           none
           more
           gloomy
           fate
           :
        
         
           Who
           would
           set
           up
           Wars
           trade
           ,
           that
           means
           to
           thrive
           ,
        
         
           Death
           picks
           the
           Valliant
           out
           ,
           Cowards
           survive
           :
        
         
           What
           the
           brave
           merrit
           ,
           the
           Impudent
           do
           vaunt
           ,
        
         
           And
           none's
           rewarded
           ,
           but
           the
           Sicophant
           :
        
         
           Hence
           all
           his
           life-time
           ,
           he
           'gainst
           Fortune
           fenc'd
           ,
        
         
           Or
           not
           well
           known
           ,
           or
           not
           well
           recompenc'd
           ;
        
         
         
           But
           envy
           ,
           not
           this
           praise
           to
           's
           Memory
           ,
        
         
           None
           more
           prepar'd
           ,
           and
           none
           less
           fit
           to
           dye
           :
        
         
           Rupert
           did
           others
           ,
           and
           himself
           excell
           :
        
         
           
             Holmes
             ,
             Tiddiman
             ,
             Minns
          
           ;
           bravely
           Sanson
           fell
           .
        
         
           What
           Others
           did
           ,
           let
           none
           omitted
           ,
           blame
           ;
        
         
           I
           shall
           record
           ,
           who
           e're
           brings
           in
           his
           name
           ;
        
         
           But
           unless
           after
           stories
           disagree
           ,
        
         
           Nine
           only
           came
           to
           fight
           ,
           the
           rest
           to
           see
           .
        
         
           Now
           all
           conspire
           unto
           the
           Dutchmens
           loss
           ,
        
         
           The
           wind
           ,
           the
           fire
           ,
           Wee
           ,
           They
           themselves
           do
           cross
           .
        
         
           When
           a
           sweet
           sleep
           the
           Duke
           began
           to
           drown
           ,
        
         
           And
           with
           soft
           Diadems
           his
           Temples
           crown
           ;
        
         
           But
           first
           he
           orders
           all
           besides
           himself
           to
           watch
           ,
        
         
           That
           they
           the
           Foe
           (
           whilst
           he
           a
           Nap
           )
           shu'd
           catch
           :
        
         
           But
           Brunker
           by
           a
           secreter
           instinct
        
         
           Slept
           not
           ,
           nor
           needs
           hee
           ,
           he
           all
           day
           had
           wink'd
           ;
        
         
           The
           Duke
           in
           Bed
           ;
           he
           then
           first
           draws
           his
           Steel
           ,
        
         
           Whose
           Vertue
           makes
           the
           misled
           Compass
           reel
           :
        
         
           So
           er'e
           he
           wakes
           ,
           both
           Fleets
           are
           inocent
           ,
        
         
           And
           Brunker
           Member
           is
           of
           Parliament
           .
        
         
           And
           now
           dear
           Painter
           ,
           after
           pains
           like
           those
           ,
        
         
           'T
           were
           time
           that
           thou
           and
           I
           too
           should
           repose
           :
        
         
           But
           all
           our
           Navy
           scape
           so
           sound
           of
           Limb
           ,
        
         
           That
           a
           small
           space
           serv'd
           to
           Refresh
           its
           Trim
           :
        
         
           And
           a
           tame
           Fleet
           of
           theirs
           do
           Convoy
           want
           ,
        
         
           Laden
           with
           both
           the
           Indies
           and
           Levant
           :
        
         
           Paint
           but
           this
           one
           Scene
           more
           ,
           the
           worlds
           our
           own
        
         
           The
           Halcion
           Sandwich
           doth
           Command
           alone
           ;
        
         
           To
           Bergen
           now
           with
           better
           Maw
           we
           hast
           ,
        
         
           And
           the
           sweet
           spoiles
           in
           hope
           already
           taste
           :
        
         
         
           Though
           Clifford
           in
           the
           Caracter
           appears
           ,
        
         
           Of
           
             Super
             Cargo
          
           to
           our
           Fleet
           ,
           and
           Theirs
           .
        
         
           Wearing
           a
           Signet
           ready
           to
           clap
           on
           ,
        
         
           And
           ceaze
           on
           all
           for
           's
           Master
           Arlington
           .
        
         
           Ruiter
           ,
           whose
           little
           Sqadron
           skimes
           the
           Seas
           ,
        
         
           And
           wasteth
           our
           remotest
           Collonies
           ,
        
         
           With
           Ships
           all
           soul
           ,
           return
           upon
           our
           way
           .
        
         
           Sandwich
           would
           not
           disperse
           ,
           nor
           yet
           delay
           ;
        
         
           And
           therefore
           like
           Commander
           Grave
           and
           Wife
           ,
        
         
           To
           escape
           his
           sight
           and
           fight
           ,
           shuts
           both
           his
           eyes
           :
        
         
           And
           for
           more
           state
           and
           sureness
           ,
           Curtins
           drew
           ,
        
         
           He
           the
           left
           eye
           closes
           ,
           the
           right
           Mountegue
           .
        
         
           And
           even
           Clifford
           proffer'd
           in
           his
           Zeal
           ,
        
         
           To
           make
           all
           sure
           ,
           to
           apply
           to
           both
           his
           Seal
           .
        
         
           Vlisses
           so
           till
           he
           the
           Cyrens
           past
           ,
        
         
           Would
           by
           his
           Mates
           be
           Pinnioned
           to
           the
           Mast.
        
         
           Now
           can
           our
           Navy
           view
           the
           wish'd
           for
           Port
           ,
        
         
           But
           there
           (
           to
           see
           the
           fortune
           )
           was
           a
           Fort.
        
         
           Sandwich
           would
           not
           be
           beaten
           ,
           nor
           yet
           beat
           ,
        
         
           Fools
           only
           fight
           ,
           the
           Prudent
           use
           to
           Treat
           .
        
         
           His
           Conzen
           Mountegue
           by
           Court
           disaster
           ,
        
         
           Dwingled
           into
           a
           wooden
           Horses
           Master
           .
        
         
           To
           speak
           of
           Peace
           .
           seeem'd
           unto
           all
           most
           proper
           ,
        
         
           Had
           Talbot
           there
           treated
           of
           nought
           but
           Copper
           :
        
         
           What
           are
           Forts
           when
           void
           of
           Ammunition
           ,
        
         
           With
           friend
           or
           foe
           ?
           what
           would
           we
           more
           condition
        
         
           Yet
           we
           three
           days
           (
           till
           the
           
             '
             Dutch
          
           furnish'd
           all
           ,
        
         
           Men
           ,
           Money
           ,
           Cannon
           ,
           Powder
           )
           treat
           with
           Wall.
        
         
           Then
           Tiddy
           finding
           that
           the
           Dane
           would
           not
           ,
        
         
           Sends
           in
           six
           Captains
           bravely
           to
           be
           shot
           :
        
         
         
           And
           Mountague
           ,
           though
           drest
           like
           any
           Bride
           ,
        
         
           Though
           Aboard
           him
           too
           ,
           was
           reacht
           and
           died
           .
        
         
           Sad
           was
           this
           chance
           ,
           and
           yet
           a
           deeper
           care
           ,
        
         
           Wrinckled
           our
           Membrains
           under
           forehead
           fair
           :
        
         
           The
           
             Dutch
             Armado
          
           yet
           had
           impudence
           ,
        
         
           To
           put
           to
           Sea
           ,
           to
           waft
           their
           Merchants
           thence
           ;
        
         
           For
           as
           if
           all
           their
           Ships
           of
           Walnuts
           were
           ,
        
         
           The
           more
           we
           beat
           them
           ,
           still
           the
           more
           they
           bear
           .
        
         
           But
           a
           good
           Pilot
           ,
           and
           favouring
           wind
           ,
        
         
           Brings
           Sandwich
           back
           ,
           and
           once
           again
           doth
           blind
           .
        
         
           Now
           gentle
           Painter
           ,
           e're
           we
           leap
           on
           shore
           ,
        
         
           With
           thy
           last
           strokes
           ruffle
           a
           Tempest
           o're
           ;
        
         
           As
           if
           in
           our
           approach
           the
           Winds
           and
           Seas
           ,
        
         
           Would
           undertake
           the
           Dutch
           ,
           whilst
           we
           take
           ease
           :
        
         
           The
           Seas
           their
           spoils
           within
           our
           Hatches
           throw
           ,
        
         
           The
           Wind
           both
           Fleets
           into
           our
           mouths
           did
           blow
           ,
        
         
           Strew'd
           all
           their
           Ships
           along
           the
           Coast
           by
           ours
           ,
        
         
           As
           easie
           to
           be
           gathered
           up
           as
           Flowers
           .
        
         
           But
           Sandwitch
           fears
           for
           Marchants
           to
           mistake
        
         
           A
           man
           of
           War
           ,
           amongst
           these
           Flowers
           a
           Snake
           ,
        
         
           Two
           Indian
           Ships
           ,
           pregnant
           with
           
             Eastern
             Pearls
          
           ,
        
         
           And
           Diamonds
           ,
           sates
           the
           Officers
           and
           Earles
           ;
        
         
           Then
           warning
           of
           our
           Fleet
           ,
           he
           it
           divides
        
         
           Into
           the
           Ports
           ,
           and
           he
           to
           Oxford
           rides
           :
        
         
           Whilst
           the
           Dutch
           re-uniting
           to
           our
           shames
           ,
        
         
           Ride
           all
           insulting
           o're
           the
           Downs
           and
           Thames
           ;
        
         
           Now
           treating
           Sandwich
           seems
           the
           fittest
           choice
        
         
           For
           Spain
           ,
           there
           to
           condole
           and
           to
           rejoyce
           :
        
         
           He
           meets
           the
           French
           ,
           but
           to
           avoid
           all
           harms
           ,
        
         
           Slips
           into
           Groine
           ,
           Embassies
           bears
           no
           Arms.
        
         
         
           There
           let
           him
           languish
           a
           long
           Quarrentine
           ,
        
         
           And
           ne're
           to
           England
           come
           ,
           till
           he
           be
           clean
           .
        
         
           Henceforth
           (
           O
           Gemini
           )
           two
           Dukes
           Command
           ,
        
         
           Caster
           and
           
             Pollux
             ,
             Aumerle
             ,
             Cumberland
          
           :
        
         
           Since
           in
           one
           Ship
           ;
           It
           had
           been
           fit
           they
           went
        
         
           Io
           Pettyes
           double-keel'd
           Experiment
           .
        
      
       
         
           To
           the
           King.
           
        
         
           IMperial
           Prince
           !
           King
           of
           the
           Seas
           ,
           and
           Isles
           ,
        
         
           Dear
           Object
           of
           our
           Joyes
           ,
           and
           Heavens
           smiles
           ,
        
         
           What
           boots
           it
           ,
           that
           thy
           Light
           doth
           guild
           our
           dayes
        
         
           And
           we
           lye
           basking
           in
           thy
           milder
           Rayes
           ;
        
         
           Whilst
           swarms
           of
           Infects
           ,
           from
           thy
           warmth
           begun
           ,
        
         
           Our
           Land
           devour
           ,
           and
           Intercept
           thy
           Sun
           :
        
         
           Thou
           ,
           like
           
             Ioves
             Minos
          
           ,
           Rul'st
           a
           greater
           Creet
           ,
        
         
           And
           for
           its
           hundred
           Cities
           ,
           counts
           thy
           Fleet
           :
        
         
           Why
           wilt
           thou
           that
           State
           Daedalus
           allow
           ,
        
         
           Who
           builds
           thee
           but
           a
           Labyrinth
           ,
           and
           a
           Cow
           :
        
         
           If
           thou
           a
           Minos
           ,
           be
           a
           Judge
           severe
           ,
        
         
           And
           in
           's
           own
           Maze
           confine
           the
           Engineer
           .
        
         
           Or
           if
           our
           Sun
           ,
           since
           he
           so
           neer
           presumes
           ,
        
         
           Melt
           the
           soft
           wax
           ,
           with
           which
           he
           imps
           his
           Plumes
           ;
        
         
           Then
           let
           him
           falling
           ,
           leave
           his
           hated
           Name
           ,
        
         
           Unto
           those
           Seas
           ,
           his
           Wars
           have
           set
           on
           flame
           ;
        
         
           From
           that
           Enchanter
           ,
           having
           clear'd
           thine
           eyes
           ,
        
         
           Thy
           Native
           sight
           wild
           pierce
           within
           the
           Skies
           ,
        
         
         
           And
           view
           those
           Kingdoms
           full
           of
           Joy
           and
           Light
           ,
        
         
           Wher
           's
           Unevarsal
           Triumph
           ;
           but
           no
           Fight
           :
        
         
           Since
           both
           from
           heaven
           thy
           care
           &
           power
           descend
        
         
           Rule
           by
           its
           Pattern
           ,
           there
           to
           reascend
           ;
        
         
           Let
           Justice
           only
           Draw
           ,
           and
           Battel
           cease
           ;
        
         
           Kings
           are
           in
           War
           but
           Cards
           .
           they
           'r
           Gods
           in
           peace
           ,
        
         
           Thus
           having
           Fought
           ,
           we
           know
           not
           why
           ,
           nor
           yet
        
         
           W
           'ave
           done
           we
           know
           not
           what
           ,
           or
           what
           we
           get
           ;
        
         
           If
           to
           Espouse
           the
           Ocean
           ,
           all
           these
           pains
           ,
        
         
           Princes
           Unite
           ,
           and
           will
           forbid
           the
           Banes
           :
        
         
           If
           to
           discharge
           Phanaticks
           ,
           this
           makes
           more
           ,
        
         
           For
           all
           Phanaticks
           turn
           ,
           when
           sick
           or
           poore
           :
        
         
           Or
           if
           the
           
             House
             of
             Commons
          
           ,
           to
           repay
        
         
           Their
           
             Prize
             Commissions
          
           are
           transfer'd
           away
           .
        
         
           If
           for
           Triumphant
           Check
           ,
           Stones
           ,
           or
           a
           Shell
        
         
           For
           Dutches
           Closet
           ,
           'tas
           succeeded
           well
           .
        
         
           If
           to
           make
           Parliaments
           all
           odious
           pass
           ,
        
         
           If
           to
           reserve
           a
           standing
           Force
           ,
           alas
           :
        
         
           Or
           if
           (
           as
           just
           Orange
           )
           to
           reinstate
           ,
        
         
           Instead
           of
           that
           ,
           he
           is
           Regenerate
           .
        
         
           And
           with
           four
           Millions
           vainly
           given
           or
           spent
           ,
        
         
           And
           with
           five
           Millions
           more
           of
           detriment
           ;
        
         
           Our
           Sum
           amounts
           ,
           yet
           only
           to
           have
           won
           ,
        
         
           A
           Bastard
           Orange
           for
           Pimp
           Arlington
           .
        
         
           Now
           may
           Historians
           ,
           argue
           Con
           and
           Pro
           ,
        
         
           Denham
           saies
           thus
           ,
           though
           Waller
           alwaies
           so
           ;
        
         
           But
           he
           good
           man
           ,
           in
           his
           long
           Sheet
           and
           Staff
           ,
        
         
           This
           Pennance
           did
           for
           
           Cromwel's
           Epitaph
           ;
        
         
           And
           his
           next
           Theme
           must
           be
           the
           Dukes
           Mistrisse
           ,
        
         
           Advice
           to
           Draw
           Madam
           L'AEdificatresse
           .
        
         
           FINIS
           .
        
      
       
         
         
         
           THE
           Third
           Advice
           TO
           A
           PAINTER
           ,
           On
           our
           last
           Summers
           Success
           with
           French
           and
           Dutch
           ,
           1666.
           
        
         
           Written
           by
           the
           same
           hand
           as
           the
           former
           was
           .
        
         
           SAndwich
           in
           Spain
           now
           ,
           and
           the
           Duke
           in
           Love
           ,
        
         
           Ler's
           with
           new
           Generals
           ,
           a
           new
           Painter
           prove
        
         
           
           Lillie's
           a
           Dutchman
           dangerous
           in
           his
           Art
           ,
        
         
           His
           Pencils
           may
           intelligence
           impart
           .
        
         
           Thou
           Gibson
           who
           among
           the
           Navy
           small
           ,
        
         
           Of
           Marshal'd
           Shells
           ,
           Commandst
           Admiral
           ;
        
         
           Thy self
           so
           slender
           ,
           that
           thou
           shewst
           no
           more
        
         
           Then
           Barnicle
           new
           hatcht
           of
           them
           before
           :
        
         
           Come
           mix
           thy
           water
           Colours
           ,
           and
           express
           ,
        
         
           Drawing
           in
           Little
           ,
           what
           we
           do
           in
           Less
           :
        
         
           First
           paint
           me
           George
           and
           Rupert
           ,
           ratling
           far
           ,
        
         
           Within
           one
           Box
           ,
           like
           the
           two
           Dice
           of
           War
           ;
        
         
         
           And
           let
           the
           Terror
           of
           their
           linked
           Names
           ,
        
         
           Fly
           through
           the
           Air
           ,
           like
           Chain-shot
           ,
           tearing
           Flame
        
         
           Iove
           in
           one
           Cloud
           did
           scarcely
           wrap
        
         
           Lightning
           so
           fierce
           ,
           but
           never
           such
           a
           clap
           :
        
         
           Unighted
           Gen'rals
           ,
           sure
           the
           only
           spell
           ;
        
         
           Wherewith
           United-Provinces
           to
           quell
           :
        
         
           Alas
           ,
           even
           they
           (
           though
           shell'd
           in
           trebble
           Oak
           )
        
         
           Will
           prove
           an
           Adle-Egg
           ,
           with
           double
           Yoalk
           :
        
         
           And
           therefore
           next
           uncouple
           either
           Hound
           ,
        
         
           And
           Low-them
           at
           two
           Hares
           ,
           e're
           one
           be
           found
           ;
        
         
           Rupert
           to
           Beaufort
           ,
           Hollow-Ay
           there
           Rupert
           ;
        
         
           Like
           the
           fantastick
           Hunting
           of
           St
           -
           Hubert
           ,
        
         
           When
           he
           with
           Earthy
           Hound
           ,
           &
           Horn
           of
           Aire
           ,
        
         
           Pursues
           through
           Fountebleau
           the
           witchy
           Hare
           :
        
         
           Deep
           providence
           of
           State
           !
           that
           could
           so
           soon
        
         
           Fight
           Beaufort
           here
           ,
           e're
           he
           had
           quit
           Thoulon
           :
        
         
           So
           have
           I
           seen
           e're
           humane
           quarrels
           rise
           ,
        
         
           Forebodeing
           Meteors
           combat
           in
           the
           Skies
           ;
        
         
           But
           let
           the
           Prince
           to
           fight
           with
           rumours
           go
           ,
        
         
           The
           General
           meets
           a
           more
           substantial
           Foe
           ;
        
         
           Ruiter
           he
           spies
           ,
           and
           full
           of
           youthful
           heat
           ,
        
         
           (
           Though
           half
           their
           number
           )
           thinks
           has
           odds
           to
           great
        
         
           The
           Fowler
           watches
           so
           the
           watry
           spot
        
         
           And
           more
           the
           Fowl
           ,
           hopes
           for
           the
           better
           shot
           ;
        
         
           Though
           such
           a
           Limb
           were
           form
           his
           Navy
           torn
           ,
        
         
           He
           felt
           no
           weakness
           ,
           yet
           like
           Sampson
           shorn
           ,
        
         
           But
           swoln
           with
           sence
           of
           former
           Glory
           won
           ,
        
         
           Thought
           Monck
           must
           be
           by
           Albemarle
           out-done
           ;
        
         
           Little
           he
           knew
           ,
           with
           the
           same
           Arm
           and
           Sword
           ,
        
         
           How
           far
           the
           Gentleman
           out-cuts
           the
           Lord
           :
        
         
         
           Ruyter
           inferiour
           unto
           none
           for
           Heart
           ,
        
         
           Superior
           now
           in
           Number
           and
           in
           Art
           ;
        
         
           Askt
           if
           he
           thought
           ,
           as
           once
           our
           Rebel
           Nation
           ,
        
         
           To
           conquer
           them
           too
           by
           a
           Declaration
           ;
        
         
           And
           threatens
           ,
           though
           now
           he
           so
           proudly
           sayl
           ,
        
         
           He
           shall
           tread
           back
           his
           
             Iter
             Boreale
          
           :
        
         
           This
           said
           ,
           he
           the
           short
           period
           e're
           it
           ends
           ,
        
         
           With
           Iron
           words
           from
           Brazen
           mouths
           extends
           ;
        
         
           Monck
           yet
           prevents
           him
           ,
           e're
           the
           Navies
           meet
           ,
        
         
           And
           Charges
           in
           himself
           alone
           ,
           a
           Fleet
           ,
        
         
           And
           with
           so
           quick
           and
           frequent
           motion
           wound
           ,
        
         
           His
           murd'ring
           sides
           about
           the
           Ship
           seem'd
           round
           ,
        
         
           And
           the
           exchange
           of
           his
           incircling
           Tyre
           ,
        
         
           Like
           flaming
           Hoops
           shew'd
           like
           Triumphant
           fire
           ;
        
         
           Single
           he
           does
           at
           their
           whole
           Navy
           aim
           ,
        
         
           And
           shoots
           them
           tbrough
           a
           porcupine
           of
           Flame
           ;
        
         
           He
           plays
           with
           Danger
           ,
           and
           his
           Bullets
           trouls
           ,
        
         
           As
           't
           were
           at
           Tron-Madam
           through
           all
           the
           holds
           ;
        
         
           In
           noise
           so
           regular
           his
           Cannons
           met
           ,
        
         
           You
           'd
           think
           't
           was
           Thunder
           ,
           unto
           Musick
           set
           ;
        
         
           Ah
           ,
           had
           the
           rest
           but
           kept
           a
           time
           as
           true
           ,
        
         
           What
           Age
           could
           such
           a
           martial
           Confort
           shew
           ?
        
         
           The
           listning
           Air
           unto
           the
           distant
           shore
           ,
        
         
           Through
           secret
           Pipes
           conveys
           the
           tuned
           Roar
           ,
        
         
           Till
           as
           the
           Ecchoe
           vanishing
           abate
           ,
        
         
           Men
           feel
           a
           deaf
           sound
           ,
           like
           the
           Pulse
           of
           Fate
           :
        
         
           If
           Fate
           expire
           ,
           let
           Monck
           her
           place
           supply
           ,
        
         
           His
           Guns
           determine
           who
           shall
           live
           or
           die
           ;
        
         
           But
           Victory
           does
           alwayes
           hate
           a
           Rant
           ;
        
         
           Valours
           her
           Brave
           ,
           but
           Conducts
           her
           Gallant
           .
        
         
         
           Ruiter
           no
           less
           with
           vertuous
           envy
           burns
           ,
        
         
           And
           Prodigies
           for
           Miracles
           returns
           ,
        
         
           Yet
           he
           observ'd
           how
           still
           the
           Iron-Balls
        
         
           Brusled
           in
           vain
           against
           our
           Oaken
           walls
           ;
        
         
           And
           the
           hard
           Pellets
           fell
           away
           as
           dead
           ,
        
         
           Which
           our
           inchanted
           Timber
           filllipped
           :
        
         
           Leave
           then
           (
           said
           he
           )
           th'
           unvulnerable
           Keel
           ,
        
         
           We
           'l
           find
           them
           feeble
           lik
           Achilles
           heel
           :
        
         
           He
           quickly
           taught
           ,
           and
           pours
           in
           continnal
           Clouds
        
         
           Of
           chain'd
           Dilemnaes
           ,
           through
           our
           sinewy
           shrowds
        
         
           Forrests
           of
           Masts
           fall
           with
           their
           rude
           Embrace
           ,
        
         
           Our
           stiff
           Sails
           ,
           Masht
           and
           netted
           into
           Lace
           ,
        
         
           Till
           our
           whole
           Navy
           lay
           their
           wanton
           mark
           ,
        
         
           And
           no
           Ship
           now
           could
           sayl
           ;
           but
           as
           the
           Ark.
        
         
           Shot
           in
           the
           wing
           ,
           so
           at
           the
           Powders
           call
           ,
        
         
           The
           disappointed
           Bird
           does
           fluttering
           fall
           ;
        
         
           Yet
           Monck
           disabled
           ,
           still
           such
           Courage
           shows
           ,
        
         
           As
           none
           into
           his
           mortal
           gripes
           durst
           close
           :
        
         
           So
           an
           old
           Bustard
           maim'd
           ,
           yet
           loath
           to
           yield
           ,
        
         
           Duels
           the
           Fowler
           ,
           in
           
           Newmarket-field
           ;
        
         
           But
           soon
           he
           found
           it
           was
           in
           vain
           to
           fight
           ,
        
         
           And
           imps
           his
           Plumes
           the
           best
           he
           may
           for
           flight
           .
        
         
           This
           Painter
           were
           an
           noble
           task
           to
           tell
           ,
        
         
           What
           indignation
           his
           great
           breast
           did
           swell
           ;
        
         
           Not
           vertuous
           men
           unworthily
           abus'd
           ,
        
         
           Not
           constant
           Lovers
           without
           cause
           refus'd
           ;
        
         
           Not
           honest
           Merch●●r
           broke
           ,
           Not
           skilful
           Player
        
         
           Hist
           off
           the
           Stage
           ,
           Not
           Sinner
           in
           despair
           ,
        
         
           Not
           loosing
           Rooks
           ,
           Not
           Favourites
           disgrac'd
           ,
        
         
           Not
           Rump
           by
           
             '
             Oliver
          
           or
           Menck
           displac'd
           ,
        
         
         
           Not
           Kings
           depos'd
           ,
           Nor
           Prelats
           when
           they
           dye
           ,
        
         
           Feel
           half
           the
           rage
           of
           Generals
           when
           they
           flie
           :
        
         
           Ah!
           rather
           then
           transmit
           our
           scorn
           to
           Fame
           .
        
         
           Draw
           Curtains
           (
           gentle
           Artist
           )
           o're
           the
           shame
           .
        
         
           Cashier
           the
           memory
           of
           Dutel
           ,
           raised
           up
        
         
           To
           taste
           (
           instead
           of
           death
           )
           his
           Highness
           Cup
           :
        
         
           And
           if
           the
           thing
           were
           true
           ,
           yet
           paint
           it
           not
        
         
           How
           Berkley
           (
           as
           he
           long
           deserv'd
           )
           was
           shot
           ;
        
         
           Though
           others
           ,
           that
           survai'd
           the
           corps
           (
           too
           clear
           )
        
         
           Say
           onely
           ,
           he
           was
           putrifi'd
           with
           fear
           ,
        
         
           And
           the
           hard
           Statue
           Mummied
           without
           Gumme
           ,
        
         
           Might
           the
           Dutch
           Balm
           have
           ipar'd
           an
           English
           tomb
        
         
           But
           if
           thou
           wilt
           paint
           Minns
           turn'd
           all
           to
           soul
           ,
        
         
           And
           the
           great
           Harman
           charkt
           almost
           to
           cole
           ,
        
         
           And
           Iordan
           old
           ,
           thy
           Pencils
           worthy
           pain
           ,
        
         
           Who
           all
           the
           way
           held
           up
           the
           Dukal-train
           :
        
         
           But
           in
           a
           dark
           cloud
           cover
           Ascough
           ,
           when
        
         
           He
           quit
           the
           Prince
           ;
           t'imbarque
           in
           Lovesteain
           .
        
         
           And
           wounded
           Ships
           ,
           which
           we
           immortal
           boast
           ,
        
         
           Now
           first
           led
           Captive
           to
           an
           hostile
           coast
           ;
        
         
           But
           must
           with
           Story
           of
           the
           Hand
           or
           Thumb
        
         
           Conceal
           ,
           as
           Honour
           would
           ,
           his
           Graces
           Bum
           ,
        
         
           When
           the
           rude
           bullet
           a
           large
           collop
           tore
        
         
           Out
           of
           that
           buttock
           ,
           never
           turn'd
           before
           :
        
         
           Fortune
           it
           seems
           would
           give
           him
           by
           that
           lash
           ,
        
         
           Gentle
           correction
           ,
           for
           his
           fight
           so
           rash
           ;
        
         
           But
           should
           the
           Rump
           perceiv
           't
           ,
           they
           'd
           say
           that
           Mars
        
         
           Had
           now
           reveng'd
           them
           upon
           Aumar●s
           Arse
           .
        
         
           The
           long
           disaster
           better
           o're
           to
           vail
           ,
        
         
           Paint
           only
           Jonas
           three
           dayes
           in
           the
           Whale
           ;
        
         
         
           Then
           draw
           the
           youthful
           Perseus
           all
           in
           haste
           ,
        
         
           From
           a
           Sea-beast
           to
           free
           a
           Virgin
           chaste
           :
        
         
           But
           neither
           riding
           Pegasus
           for
           speed
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           with
           the
           Gorgon
           shielded
           at
           his
           need
           ;
        
         
           For
           no
           less
           time
           did
           conquering
           Ruyter
           chaw
           ,
        
         
           Our
           flying
           Gen'ral
           in
           his
           spungy
           Jaw
           ;
        
         
           So
           Rupert
           the
           Sea-Dragon
           did
           invade
           ,
        
         
           But
           to
           save
           George
           himself
           ,
           and
           not
           the
           Maid
           ;
        
         
           And
           so
           arriving
           safe
           ,
           he
           quickly
           mist
           ,
        
         
           Even
           Sails
           to
           fly
           ,
           not
           able
           to
           resist
           ;
        
         
           Not
           Greenland
           Seamen
           that
           survive
           the
           fright
        
         
           Of
           the
           cold
           Chaos
           ,
           and
           a
           half-years
           night
           ;
        
         
           So
           gladly
           the
           returning
           Sun
           adore
           ,
        
         
           Or
           run
           to
           spy
           their
           next
           years
           Fleet
           from
           shore
           ,
        
         
           Hoping
           yet
           once
           within
           the
           Oily
           side
        
         
           Of
           the
           fat
           Whale
           ,
           again
           their
           spears
           to
           hide
           ,
        
         
           Or
           our
           glad
           Fleet
           with
           universal
           shout
           ,
        
         
           Salute
           the
           Prince
           ,
           and
           wish
           the
           other
           bout
           :
        
         
           Nor
           Winds
           long
           Pris'ners
           in
           Earths
           hollow
           vault
           ,
        
         
           The
           fallow
           Seas
           so
           eagerly
           assault
           ;
        
         
           As
           fiery
           Rupert
           with
           revengeful
           joy
           ,
        
         
           Does
           on
           the
           
             '
             Dutch
          
           his
           hungry
           courage
           cloy
           :
        
         
           But
           soon
           unrigg'd
           ,
           lay
           like
           a
           useless
           board
           ,
        
         
           As
           wounded
           in
           the
           wrist
           ,
           Men
           drop
           the
           sword
           :
        
         
           When
           a
           propitious
           Cloud
           hetwixt
           us
           stept
           ,
        
         
           And
           in
           our
           Aid
           did
           Ruyter
           intercept
           ;
        
         
           Old
           Homer
           yet
           did
           never
           introduce
           ,
        
         
           To
           save
           his
           Heroes
           ,
           mist
           of
           better
           use
           .
        
         
           Worship
           the
           Sun
           ,
           who
           dwells
           where
           he
           does
           rise
           ,
        
         
           This
           Mist
           doth
           more
           deserve
           our
           Sacrifice
           ,
        
         
         
           Now
           joyful
           fires
           and
           the
           exalted
           Bell
           ,
        
         
           With
           Court
           Gazets
           ,
           our
           empty
           Triumphs
           tell
           ,
        
         
           Alas
           ,
           the
           time
           dr●ws
           near
           ,
           when
           over-turn'd
           ,
        
         
           The
           lying
           Bells
           will
           through
           the
           tongue
           be
           burn'd
        
         
           Paper
           shall
           want
           to
           Print
           that
           Lye
           of
           State
           ,
        
         
           And
           our
           false
           fires
           ,
           true
           fires
           shall
           explate
           :
        
         
           Stay
           Painter
           here
           a
           while
           ,
           and
           I
           will
           stay
           ,
        
         
           Not
           vex
           the
           future
           times
           with
           nice
           survey
           ;
        
         
           Seest
           not
           the
           
             Monkey
             Dutchess
          
           all
           undrest
           ,
        
         
           Paint
           thou
           but
           her
           ,
           and
           she
           will
           Paint
           the
           rest
           ;
        
         
           The
           sad
           fate
           found
           her
           in
           her
           outward
           Room
           ,
        
         
           Nailing
           up
           Hanging
           ,
           not
           of
           Persian
           Loom
           ,
        
         
           Like
           chast
           Penelope
           ,
           that
           ne'r
           did
           rome
           ,
        
         
           But
           made
           all
           fine
           ,
           against
           her
           George
           came
           home
           ;
        
         
           Upon
           a
           Ladder
           in
           a
           Coat
           much
           shorter
           ,
        
         
           She
           stood
           with
           Groom
           and
           Porter
           for
           supporter
           ,
        
         
           And
           careless
           what
           they
           saw
           ,
           or
           what
           they
           thought
        
         
           With
           
             Honi
             Pensi
          
           ,
           honestly
           she
           wrought
           ;
        
         
           For
           in
           she
           Gen'rals
           breech
           ,
           none
           could
           she
           knows
        
         
           Carry
           away
           the
           piece
           with
           Eyes
           or
           Nose
           ;
        
         
           One
           Tenter
           drove
           ,
           to
           loose
           no
           time
           or
           place
           ,
        
         
           At
           once
           the
           Ladder
           they
           remove
           and
           grace
           ;
        
         
           Whilst
           thus
           they
           her
           translate
           from
           North
           to
           East
           ,
        
         
           In
           posture
           of
           a
           foul-footed
           Beast
           ,
        
         
           She
           heard
           the
           News
           ,
           but
           altered
           yet
           no
           more
           ,
        
         
           Then
           that
           which
           was
           behind
           she
           turn'd
           before
           :
        
         
           Nor
           would
           come
           down
           ,
           but
           with
           a
           Handkercher
           ,
        
         
           Which
           pocket
           foul
           ,
           did
           to
           her
           Neck
           prefer
           ;
        
         
           She
           dry'd
           no
           tears
           ,
           for
           she
           was
           so
           Viraginous
           ,
        
         
           But
           only
           snuffling
           her
           Trunk
           Cartilaginous
           ;
        
         
         
           From
           Scaleing-ladder
           she
           begun
           a
           Story
           ,
        
         
           Worthy
           to
           think
           on
           ,
           as
           
             Memento
             Mori
          
        
         
           Arraigning
           past
           ,
           and
           present
           ,
           and
           futuri
           ,
        
         
           With
           a
           Prophetick
           ,
           if
           not
           Spirit
           fury
           ;
        
         
           Her
           Hair
           began
           to
           creep
           ,
           her
           Belly
           sound
           ,
        
         
           Her
           Eyes
           to
           startle
           ,
           with
           her
           Udder
           bound
           ;
        
         
           Half
           Witch
           ,
           half
           Prophet
           ,
           thus
           she
           Albemarle
        
         
           Like
           
             Presbyterian
             Sibel
          
           out
           did
           snarl
           ,
        
         
           Traytors
           both
           to
           my
           Lord
           ,
           and
           to
           the
           King
           ,
        
         
           Nay
           now
           it
           grows
           beyond
           all
           suffering
           ;
        
         
           One
           valiant
           man
           at
           Land
           ,
           and
           he
           must
           be
        
         
           Commanded
           out
           to
           stop
           their
           Leaks
           at
           Sea.
        
         
           Yet
           send
           him
           Rupert
           ,
           as
           a
           helper
           meet
           ,
        
         
           First
           the
           Command
           dividing
           ,
           then
           the
           Fleet.
        
         
           One
           may
           may
           if
           they
           be
           beat
           ,
           or
           both
           be
           hit
           ,
        
         
           But
           if
           they
           overcome
           ,
           yet
           honours
           split
           :
        
         
           But
           Reckoning
           George
           already
           knockt
           o'
           th'
           head
           ,
        
         
           They
           cut
           him
           out
           like
           Beef
           e're
           he
           be
           dead
           ;
        
         
           Each
           for
           a
           Quarter
           hopes
           ,
           the
           first
           doth
           skip
           ,
        
         
           But
           shall
           fall
           short
           ,
           though
           at
           the
           Generalship
           .
        
         
           Next
           they
           for
           Master
           of
           the
           Horse
           agree
           ;
        
         
           A
           third
           the
           Cock-pit
           begs
           ,
           not
           any
           me
           ,
        
         
           But
           they
           shall
           know
           ,
           I
           marry
           shall
           they
           do
           ;
        
         
           That
           who
           the
           Cock-pit
           has
           ,
           shall
           have
           me
           too
           .
        
         
           I
           told
           George
           first
           ,
           as
           Calamy
           told
           me
           ,
        
         
           If
           the
           King
           these
           brought
           over
           ,
           thus
           't
           would
           be
           .
        
         
           Men
           that
           have
           pickt
           his
           pocket
           to
           his
           face
           ;
        
         
           To
           sell
           Intelligence
           ,
           or
           buy
           a
           Place
           :
        
         
           That
           their
           Religion
           pawn'd
           for
           Cloaths
           ,
           nor
           care
        
         
           'Tas
           ●un
           so
           long
           ,
           now
           to
           redeem
           't
           ,
           or
           dare
           .
        
         
         
           Oh!
           what
           egregious
           Loyalty
           to
           Cheat
           ,
        
         
           Oh!
           what
           fidelity
           it
           was
           to
           eat
           ,
        
         
           Whilst
           
             Langdale
             ,
             Hopton
             ,
             Glenham
          
           starv'd
           abroad
           ,
        
         
           And
           here
           true
           Loyalists
           sunk
           beneath
           their
           load
           .
        
         
           Men
           that
           did
           there
           affront
           ,
           defame
           ,
           betray
        
         
           The
           King
           ,
           and
           do
           so
           here
           ,
           now
           who
           but
           they
           .
        
         
           What
           say
           I
           men
           ?
           nay
           rather
           monsters
           :
           men
        
         
           Only
           in
           bed
           ;
           nor
           to
           my
           knowledge
           then
           :
        
         
           See
           how
           they
           home
           return
           with
           Revel
           Rout
           ,
        
         
           With
           the
           same
           measure
           that
           they
           first
           went
           out
           ,
        
         
           No
           better
           grown
           ,
           nor
           wiser
           all
           this
           while
           ,
        
         
           Renew
           the
           causes
           of
           their
           first
           Exile
           .
        
         
           As
           is
           to
           shew
           you
           Fools
           ,
           what
           't
           is
           I
           mean
           ;
        
         
           I
           chuse
           a
           foul
           smock
           ,
           when
           I
           might
           have
           clean
           .
        
         
           First
           they
           for
           fear
           disband
           the
           Army
           tame
           ,
        
         
           And
           leave
           good
           George
           an
           empty
           Generals
           name
           :
        
         
           Next
           Bishops
           must
           revive
           ,
           and
           all
           unfix
           ,
        
         
           With
           discontents
           ,
           for
           contents
           twenty
           six
           ;
        
         
           The
           Lords
           House
           drains
           the
           Houses
           of
           the
           Lord
           ;
        
         
           For
           Bishops
           voices
           silencing
           the
           Word
           .
        
         
           O
           Bartholmew
           ,
           Saint
           of
           their
           Callender
           ,
        
         
           What
           's
           worse
           ,
           their
           ejection
           ,
           or
           their
           massacre
           .
        
         
           Then
           
             Culp'per
             ,
             Glocester
          
           ,
           e're
           the
           Princess
           dy'd
           ,
        
         
           Nothing
           can
           live
           ,
           that
           interrupts
           a
           Hide
           :
        
         
           O
           more
           then
           humane
           Glocester
           ,
           Fate
           did
           shew
        
         
           Thee
           to
           the
           Earth
           ,
           and
           back
           again
           with-drew
           .
        
         
           Then
           the
           fat
           Scrivener
           durst
           begin
           to
           think
           ,
        
         
           'T
           was
           time
           to
           mix
           the
           Royal
           blood
           with
           Ink.
        
         
           Berkeley
           who
           swore
           ,
           as
           oft
           as
           he
           had
           toes
           ,
        
         
           Does
           kneeling
           now
           her
           Chastity
           depose
           ,
        
         
         
           Just
           as
           the
           first
           French
           Cardinal
           could
           restore
           ,
        
         
           Maidenhead
           to
           his
           Widdow
           ,
           Neece
           ,
           and
           Whore
           :
        
         
           For
           portion
           if
           she
           should
           prove
           light
           when
           weigh'd
        
         
           Four
           Millions
           shall
           within
           four
           years
           be
           paid
           .
        
         
           To
           raise
           it
           we
           must
           have
           a
           Naval
           War
           ,
        
         
           As
           if
           't
           were
           nothing
           but
           Taratantar
           ,
        
         
           Abroad
           all
           Princes
           disobliging
           first
           ,
        
         
           At
           home
           all
           Parties
           ,
           but
           the
           very
           worst
           .
        
         
           To
           tell
           of
           
             Ireland
             ,
             Scotland
             ,
             Dunkirk
          
           ,
           't
           is
           sad
           ,
        
         
           Of
           the
           Kings
           Marriage
           ,
           (
           but
           he
           thinks
           I
           'me
           mad
           .
           )
        
         
           A
           sweeter
           Creature
           never
           saw
           the
           Sun
           ,
        
         
           If
           we
           the
           King
           wish'd
           Monck
           ,
           or
           Queen
           a
           Nun
           ,
        
         
           But
           a
           Dutch
           War
           must
           all
           these
           rumours
           still
           ,
        
         
           Bleed
           out
           these
           humours
           ,
           and
           our
           Purses
           spill
           ;
        
         
           Yet
           after
           one
           dayes
           Fight
           ,
           trembling
           they
           saw
           ,
        
         
           'T
           was
           too
           much
           danger
           for
           a
           Son-in-Law
           .
        
         
           Hire
           him
           to
           leave
           with
           fixscore
           thousand
           pound
           ,
        
         
           As
           with
           the
           Kings
           drums
           ,
           men
           for
           sleep
           componnd
           .
        
         
           The
           modest
           Sandwich
           thought
           it
           might
           agree
           ,
        
         
           With
           the
           State-prudence
           to
           do
           less
           then
           he
           ;
        
         
           And
           to
           excuse
           their
           timerousness
           &
           sloth
           ,
        
         
           They
           've
           found
           how
           George
           now
           might
           do
           less
           then
           both
           .
        
         
           First
           ,
           Smith
           must
           to
           Legorn
           with
           force
           enough
           ,
        
         
           To
           venture
           back
           again
           ,
           but
           not
           go
           through
           ;
        
         
           Beaufort
           is
           there
           ,
           and
           to
           their
           dazeling
           eyes
        
         
           The
           distance
           more
           the
           Object
           magnifies
           ;
        
         
           Yet
           this
           they
           gain
           ,
           that
           Smith
           his
           time
           shall
           loose
           ,
        
         
           For
           my
           Duke
           too
           he
           cannot
           interpose
           .
        
         
           But
           fearing
           that
           our
           Navy
           George
           to
           break
           ,
        
         
           Might
           not
           be
           found
           sufficiently
           weak
           ;
        
         
         
           The
           Secretary
           that
           had
           never
           yet
           ,
        
         
           Intelligence
           ,
           but
           from
           his
           own
           Gazett
           ,
        
         
           Discovers
           a
           great
           Secret
           fit
           to
           sell
           ,
        
         
           And
           payes
           himself
           for
           '
           te're
           he
           would
           it
           tell
           :
        
         
           Beaufort
           is
           in
           the
           
             Channel
             ,
             Hixy
          
           here
           ,
        
         
           
             Doxy
             Thoulon
             ,
             Beaufort
          
           is
           every
           where
           :
        
         
           Herewith
           assembles
           the
           Supream
           Divan
           ,
        
         
           Where
           enters
           none
           but
           
             Devil
             ,
             Ned
          
           ,
           and
           Nan
           ;
        
         
           And
           upon
           this
           pretence
           they
           straight
           design'd
           ,
        
         
           The
           Fleet
           to
           separate
           ,
           and
           the
           World
           to
           blind
           ;
        
         
           Monck
           to
           the
           Dutch
           ,
           and
           Rupert
           (
           here
           the
           Wench
        
         
           Could
           not
           but
           smile
           )
           was
           destin'd
           to
           the
           French
           ;
        
         
           To
           write
           the
           Order
           ,
           Bristols
           Clerk
           they
           chose
           ,
        
         
           One
           slit
           in
           's
           Pen
           ,
           another
           in
           his
           Nose
           ;
        
         
           For
           he
           first
           brought
           the
           News
           ,
           and
           't
           is
           his
           place
           ,
        
         
           He
           'l
           see
           the
           Fleet
           divided
           like
           his
           face
           ,
        
         
           And
           through
           the
           Cranny
           in
           that
           Grifly
           part
           ,
        
         
           To
           th'
           
             '
             Dutch
          
           ,
           thinks
           Intelligence
           may
           start
           .
        
         
           The
           Plot
           succeds
           ,
           the
           Dutch
           in
           haste
           prepare
           ,
        
         
           And
           poor
           Peel-Garlick
           Georges
           Arse
           they
           share
           .
        
         
           And
           now
           presuming
           of
           his
           certain
           Rack
           ,
        
         
           To
           help
           him
           late
           ,
           they
           write
           for
           Rupert
           back
           ;
        
         
           Officious
           Will
           seems
           fittest
           ,
           as
           afraid
        
         
           Lest
           George
           should
           look
           too
           far
           into
           his
           trade
           ;
        
         
           On
           the
           first
           draught
           they
           pause
           with
           Statesmens
           care
           ,
        
         
           They
           write
           it
           fair
           ,
           then
           coppy't
           out
           as
           fair
           ;
        
         
           These
           they
           compare
           ,
           and
           then
           at
           last
           't
           is
           sign'd
           ,
        
         
           Will
           soon
           his
           Purse-strings
           ,
           but
           no
           Seal
           could
           find
           .
        
         
           At
           night
           he
           sends
           it
           by
           the
           common
           Post
           ,
        
         
           To
           save
           the
           King
           of
           an
           Express
           ,
           the
           cost
           ;
        
         
         
           Lord
           !
           what
           a-do
           to
           pack
           one
           Letter
           hence
           ?
        
         
           Some
           Pattents
           pass
           with
           less
           circumference
           ;
        
         
           Well
           George
           ,
           in
           spite
           of
           them
           thou
           safe
           dost
           ride
           ,
        
         
           Lessen'd
           in
           nought
           ,
           I
           hope
           ,
           but
           thy
           backside
           ;
        
         
           For
           as
           to
           Reputation
           ,
           this
           Retreat
        
         
           Of
           thine
           exceeds
           their
           Victory
           so
           great
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           shalt
           thou
           stir
           from
           thence
           by
           my
           consent
           ,
        
         
           Till
           thou
           hast
           made
           the
           Dutch
           ,
           and
           them
           repent
           :
        
         
           'T
           is
           true
           ,
           I
           want
           ,
           so
           long
           the
           Nuptial
           gift
           ,
        
         
           But
           (
           as
           I
           oft
           have
           done
           )
           I
           'le
           make
           a
           shift
           ;
        
         
           Nor
           with
           vain
           pomp
           will
           I
           accost
           the
           shore
           ,
        
         
           To
           try
           the
           Valour
           of
           the
           
             Buoy
             i'
             th'
             Nore
          
           :
        
         
           Fall
           to
           thy
           work
           George
           there
           ,
           as
           I
           do
           here
           ,
        
         
           Cherish
           the
           Valiant
           ,
           and
           the
           Coward
           Cashier
           ,
        
         
           See
           that
           the
           men
           have
           Pay
           ,
           and
           Beef
           ,
           and
           Beer
           ,
        
         
           Find
           out
           the
           Cheats
           of
           the
           four
           Millioneer
           ;
        
         
           Out
           of
           the
           very
           Beer
           they
           steal
           the
           Malt
           ,
        
         
           Powder
           from
           Powder
           ,
           and
           from
           Beef
           the
           Salt
           ;
        
         
           Put
           thy
           hand
           into
           th'
           Tub
           ,
           instead
           of
           Ox
           ,
        
         
           They
           victual
           with
           
           French-Pork
           that
           hath
           the
           Pox
           :
        
         
           Never
           such
           Cotqueans
           by
           small
           Arts
           to
           ring
           ,
        
         
           Ne're
           such
           ill
           Huswives
           in
           the
           managing
           ;
        
         
           Purssers
           at
           Sea
           know
           fewer
           cheats
           then
           they
           ;
        
         
           Marriners
           on
           shore
           less
           madly
           spend
           their
           Pay.
        
         
           See
           that
           thou
           hast
           new
           Sails
           thy self
           ,
           and
           spoyl
        
         
           All
           their
           Sea-markets
           ,
           and
           their
           Cable
           coyl
           ;
        
         
           Tell
           the
           King
           all
           ,
           who
           do
           him
           Countermine
           ,
        
         
           Trust
           not
           ,
           till
           done
           ,
           him
           with
           thy
           own
           design
           ;
        
         
           Look
           that
           good
           Chaplains
           on
           each
           Ship
           do
           waite
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           Sea
           Diocess
           ,
           to
           be
           Impropriate
           .
        
         
         
           Look
           to
           the
           Pris'ners
           sick
           ,
           and
           wounded
           all
           ,
        
         
           As
           Prize
           ,
           they
           rob
           the
           very
           Hospital
           ;
        
         
           Recover
           back
           the
           Prizestoo
           ,
           in
           vain
        
         
           We
           fight
           ,
           if
           all
           be
           taken
           which
           is
           tane
           ,
        
         
           Along
           our
           Coasts
           ,
           the
           Dutchmen
           ,
           like
           a
           flight
        
         
           Oh
           feeding
           Ducks
           ,
           Morning
           and
           Evening
           light
           .
        
         
           How
           our
           Land-Hectors
           tremble
           ,
           void
           of
           fence
           ,
        
         
           As
           if
           they
           came
           straight
           to
           transport
           them
           hence
           ,
        
         
           Some
           Ship
           are
           stoln
           ,
           the
           Kingdom
           all
           array'd
        
         
           And
           even
           Presbyters
           now
           call'd
           to
           aid
           ;
        
         
           They
           wish
           even
           George
           ,
           divided
           ,
           to
           Command
        
         
           One
           half
           of
           him
           the
           Sea
           ,
           tother
           the
           Land.
        
         
           What
           's
           that
           I
           see
           ;
           ha
           !
           't
           is
           my
           George
           agen
        
         
           It
           seems
           in
           seven
           weeks
           they
           've
           rigg'd
           him
           then
           ,
        
         
           That
           curious
           Heaven
           with
           lightning
           him
           surrounds
        
         
           To
           view
           him
           ,
           and
           his
           Name
           in
           Thunder
           sounds
           ,
        
         
           But
           with
           the
           same
           shaft
           gores
           his
           Navy
           neer
           ,
        
         
           So
           e're
           we
           hunt
           ,
           the
           Keeper
           shoots
           the
           Deer
           .
        
         
           Stay
           Heaven
           a
           while
           ,
           and
           thou
           shalt
           see
           him
           sayl
           ,
        
         
           And
           how
           George
           too
           can
           Lighten
           ,
           Thunder
           ,
           Hail
           ,
        
         
           Happy
           the
           time
           that
           I
           thee
           wedded
           George
           ,
        
         
           The
           Sword
           of
           England
           ,
           and
           of
           Holland
           scourge
           .
        
         
           Avant
           Roterdam-dog
           !
           Ruiter
           Avant
           ,
        
         
           Thou
           Water-Rat
           ,
           thou
           Shark
           ,
           thou
           Cormorant
           ;
        
         
           I
           'le
           teach
           thee
           to
           shoot
           Sizers
           ,
           I
           'le
           repair
           ,
        
         
           Each
           Rope
           thou
           loosest
           George
           ,
           out
           of
           this
           Hair
           ,
        
         
           E're
           thou
           shalt
           lack
           a
           Sail
           ,
           and
           lye
           a
           drift
           ,
        
         
           (
           'T
           is
           strong
           ,
           and
           course
           enough
           )
           I
           'le
           cut
           this
           Shift
           ,
        
         
           Bring
           home
           the
           Old
           ones
           ,
           I
           again
           will
           few
           ,
        
         
           And
           darne
           them
           up
           to
           be
           as
           good
           as
           new
           .
        
         
         
           What
           I
           twice
           disabled
           ?
           never
           such
           a
           thing
           ;
        
         
           Now
           (
           Sovereign
           )
           help
           him
           that
           brought
           in
           the
           King
        
         
           Guard
           thy
           Posterior
           lest
           ,
           left
           all
           be
           gone
           ,
        
         
           Though
           Jury-Masts
           ,
           th'
           hast
           Jury-Buttocks
           none
           .
        
         
           Courage
           ;
           how
           bravely
           whet
           with
           this
           disgrace
        
         
           He
           turns
           ,
           and
           Bullets
           spits
           in
           Ruiters
           face
           .
        
         
           They
           flie
           !
           they
           flie
           !
           their
           Fleet
           does
           now
           divide
           ,
        
         
           But
           they
           discard
           their
           Trump
           ,
           our
           Trump
           is
           Hide
           .
        
         
           Where
           are
           you
           now
           
             de
             Ruiter
          
           with
           your
           Bears
           ?
        
         
           See
           how
           your
           Merchants
           burn
           about
           your
           ears
           .
        
         
           Fire
           out
           the
           wasps
           ,
           George
           ,
           from
           their
           hollow
           trees
           ,
        
         
           Cram'd
           with
           the
           Honey
           of
           our
           English
           Bees
           .
        
         
           Ay
           now
           they
           're
           paid
           for
           Guiny
           ,
           e're
           they
           steer
        
         
           To
           the
           hot
           Coast
           ,
           they
           find
           it
           hotter
           here
           .
        
         
           Turn
           all
           your
           Ships
           to
           Stoves
           ere
           you
           set
           forth
           ,
        
         
           To
           warm
           your
           Traffique
           in
           the
           frozen
           North.
        
         
           Ah!
           Sandwich
           had
           thy
           Conduct
           been
           the
           same
           ,
        
         
           Bergen
           had
           seen
           a
           less
           ,
           but
           richer
           Flame
           ;
        
         
           Nor
           Ruiter
           liv'd
           new
           Battel
           to
           repeat
           ,
        
         
           And
           oftner
           beaten
           be
           than
           we
           can
           beat
           .
        
         
           Scarce
           has
           George
           leasure
           after
           all
           this
           pain
           ,
        
         
           To
           tye
           his
           Breeches
           ,
           Ruiter's
           out
           again
           :
        
         
           Thrice
           in
           one
           year
           ?
           why
           sure
           the
           man
           is
           wood
           ,
        
         
           Beat
           him
           like
           Stock-fish
           ,
           or
           he
           'l
           nere
           be
           good
           .
        
         
           I
           see
           them
           both
           again
           ,
           prepar'd
           to
           try
           ,
        
         
           They
           first
           shoot
           through
           each
           other
           with
           the
           Eye
           .
        
         
           Then
           —
           but
           that
           ruling
           Providence
           that
           must
        
         
           With
           humane
           projects
           play
           ,
           as
           Wind
           with
           Dust
           ,
        
         
           Raised
           a
           Storm
           ,
           (
           so
           Constables
           a
           Fray
           ,
        
         
           Knock
           down
           )
           and
           send
           them
           both
           well
           cuft
           away
           .
        
         
         
           Plant
           now
           Virginy
           Firrs
           in
           English
           Oak
           ,
        
         
           Build
           your
           Ship-ribs
           proof
           ,
           to
           the
           Cannon
           stroak
           ;
        
         
           To
           get
           a
           Fleet
           to
           Sear
           exhaust
           the
           Land
           ,
        
         
           Let
           longing
           Princes
           pine
           for
           the
           Command
           ;
        
         
           Strong
           Merchants
           !
           Wafers
           ,
           so
           thin
           a
           puff
        
         
           Of
           angry
           Air
           ,
           can
           ruine
           all
           that
           nuff
           .
        
         
           So
           Champions
           having
           shar'd
           the
           List
           ,
           and
           Sun
           ,
        
         
           The
           Judge
           throws
           down
           his
           Warder
           ,
           &
           they
           've
           don
        
         
           For
           shame
           come
           home
           George
           ,
           't
           is
           for
           thee
           too
           much
        
         
           To
           fight
           at
           once
           with
           Heaven
           ,
           and
           the
           Dutch.
        
         
           Woe
           's
           me
           !
           what
           see
           I
           next
           ?
           alass
           the
           Fate
        
         
           I
           see
           of
           England
           ,
           and
           its
           utmost
           date
           ;
        
         
           These
           flames
           of
           theirs
           ,
           at
           which
           we
           fondly
           smile
           ,
        
         
           Kindled
           like
           Torches
           ,
           our
           Sepuchral
           Pile
           ?
        
         
           War
           ,
           Fire
           ,
           and
           Plague
           ,
           against
           us
           all
           conspire
           ;
        
         
           We
           the
           Fire
           ,
           God
           the
           Plague
           ,
           who
           rais'd
           the
           Fire
           ?
        
         
           See
           how
           men
           all
           like
           Ghosts
           ,
           while
           London
           burns
        
         
           Wander
           ,
           and
           each
           o're
           his
           Ashes
           mourns
           .
        
         
           Dear
           George
           !
           sad
           fate
           !
           vain
           mind
           !
           that
           did
           me
           please
        
         
           To
           meet
           thine
           with
           far
           other
           flames
           then
           these
           .
        
         
           Curst
           be
           that
           man
           that
           first
           began
           this
           War
           ;
        
         
           In
           an
           ill
           hour
           under
           a
           blazing
           Star
           :
        
         
           For
           others
           sport
           ,
           two
           Nations
           fight
           a
           Prize
           ,
        
         
           Between
           them
           both
           ,
           Religion
           mounded
           dies
           .
        
         
           So
           of
           first
           Troy
           the
           angry
           Gods
           unpaid
           ,
        
         
           Rac'd
           the
           foundations
           which
           themselves
           had
           laid
           .
        
         
           Welcome
           ,
           though
           late
           dear
           George
           ,
           here
           hadst
           thou
           been
        
         
           W'nad
           scap'd
           ,
           let
           Rupert
           bring
           the
           Navy
           in
           ;
        
         
           Thou
           still
           must
           help
           them
           out
           ,
           when
           in
           the
           mire
           ,
        
         
           General
           at
           Land
           ,
           at
           Sea
           ,
           at
           Plague
           ,
           at
           Fire
           .
        
         
         
           Now
           thou
           art
           gone
           ,
           Beaufort
           dares
           here
           approach
           ,
        
         
           And
           our
           Fleet
           Angling
           ,
           hath
           caught
           a
           Roach
           .
        
         
           Gibson
           ,
           farewel
           till
           next
           we
           put
           to
           Sea
           ,
        
         
           Faith
           thou
           hast
           drawn
           her
           in
           Effigie
           .
        
      
       
         
           
             To
             the
             King.
             
          
           
             GReat
             Prince
             ,
             and
             so
             much
             greater
             ,
             as
             more
             wise
          
           
             Sweet
             as
             our
             life
             ,
             and
             dearer
             than
             our
             eyes
             ;
          
           
             What
             Servants
             will
             conceal
             ,
             and
             Counsellors
             spare
             ;
          
           
             To
             tell
             the
             Painter
             ,
             and
             the
             Poet
             dare
             ;
          
           
             And
             the
             assistance
             of
             an
             heavenly
             Muse
             ,
          
           
             And
             Pencils
             ,
             Represent
             the
             Times
             abstruce
             .
          
           
             Here
             needs
             no
             Fleet
             ,
             no
             Sword
             ,
             no
             Forreign-Foe
             ;
          
           
             Only
             let
             Vice
             be
             damn'd
             and
             Justice
             flow
             :
          
           
             Shake
             but
             (
             like
             Iove
             )
             thy
             Locks
             Divine
             ,
             and
             frown
             ,
          
           
             Thy
             Scepter
             will
             sffice
             to
             guard
             thy
             Crown
             .
          
           
             Hark
             to
             Cassandras
             song
             '
             ere
             Fate
             destroy
             ,
          
           
             By
             thy
             own
             Navies
             Wooden-Horse
             ,
             thy
             Troy.
          
           
             Us
             ,
             our
             Apollo
             ,
             from
             the
             Tumults
             wave
             ,
          
           
             And
             gentle
             Gales
             ,
             though
             but
             in
             Oars
             will
             save
             .
          
           
             So
             Philomel
             ,
             her
             sad
             embrohdery
             strung
             ,
          
           
             And
             vocal
             Silks
             tun'd
             with
             her
             vocal
             Tongue
             ;
          
           
             The
             picture
             dumb
             ,
             in
             Colours
             loud
             reveal'd
             ,
          
           
             The
             Tragedies
             of
             Court
             ,
             so
             long
             conceal'd
             .
          
           
             but
             when
             restor'd
             to
             voice
             ,
             inclosed
             with
             wings
             ,
          
           
             To
             Woods
             and
             Groves
             ,
             which
             once
             she
             painted
             sings
             .
          
        
         
           FINIS
           .
        
         
         
         
      
    
     
  

