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         Smith, William, fl. 1660-1686.
      
       
         
           1665
        
      
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             Ingratitude reveng'd, or, A poem upon the happy victory of His Majesties naval forces against the Dutch, June the 3 and 4, 1665 under the auspicious conduct of His Royal Highness James Duke of York, Lord Admiral of England &c.
             Smith, William, fl. 1660-1686.
          
           [2], 8 p.
           
             Printed by T.J. for Dixy Page,
             London :
             1665.
          
           
             "Epistle dedicatory" signed: William Smith.
             Reproduction of original in the Harvard University Library.
          
        
      
    
     
       
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           James -- II, -- King of England, 1633-1701 -- Poetry.
           Anglo-Dutch War, 1664-1667 -- Poetry.
        
      
    
     
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           Ingratitude
           Reveng'd
           :
           OR
           ,
           A
           POEM
           UPON
           THE
           HAPPY
           VICTORY
           OF
           HIS
           Majesties
           Naval
           Forces
           AGAINST
           THE
           DUTCH
           ;
           June
           the
           3.
           and
           4.
           1665.
           
        
         
           Under
           the
           Auspicious
           CONDUCT
           of
           His
           
             ROYAL
             HIGHNESS
          
           ,
           JAMES
           DUKE
           of
           YORK
           ,
           Lord
           High
           Admiral
           of
           
             England
             ,
             &c.
          
           
        
         
           
             Non
             ego
             ventosae
             plebis
             suffragia
             venor
             ,
          
           
             Contentus
             paucis
             lectoribus
             .
             —
          
           
             Horat.
             
          
        
         
           LONDON
           :
           Printed
           by
           
             T.
             J.
          
           for
           
             Dixy
             Page
          
           ,
           at
           the
           Turks-head
           in
           Cornhil
           ,
           near
           the
           
             Royal
             Exchange
          
           ,
           1665.
           
        
      
       
         
         
           TO
           HIS
           ROYAL
           HIGHNESS
           ,
           JAMES
           Duke
           of
           York
           &
           Albanie
           ,
        
         
           Earl
           of
           Ulster
           ,
           Constable
           of
           Dover
           Castle
           ,
           Lord
           Warden
           of
           the
           Cinque-Ports
           ,
           Governor
           of
           the
           Town
           of
           Portsmouth
           ,
           Knight
           of
           the
           most
           Noble
           Order
           of
           the
           Garter
           ,
           Lord
           High
           Admiral
           of
           
             England
             ,
             Ireland
          
           and
           Wales
           ,
           and
           the
           Dominions
           and
           Islands
           thereto
           belonging
           ,
           of
           the
           Town
           of
           Calis
           ,
           and
           Marches
           of
           the
           same
           ;
           of
           
             Normandy
             ,
             Gascoigne
          
           ,
           and
           Aquitane
           ;
           And
           One
           of
           His
           Majesties
           Most
           Honorable
           Privy
           Council
           .
        
         
           May
           it
           please
           Your
           Highness
           ,
        
         
           THough
           I
           may
           be
           supposed
           to
           undertake
           vainly
           ,
           like
           him
           ,
           who
           would
           needs
           read
           Lectures
           of
           Martial
           Stratagems
           to
           the
           Great
           Carthaginian
           ,
           yet
           Your
           Highness
           his
           innate
           Candour
           ,
           and
           Command
           in
           the
           late
           
           Happy
           Victory
           ,
           obliged
           me
           to
           prostrate
           these
           Lines
           at
           Your
           feet
           .
           And
           in
           this
           Pamphlet
           is
           as
           much
           dutiful
           Affection
           ,
           as
           if
           it
           were
           a
           greater
           Volume
           of
           the
           Authors
           ,
           who
           humbly
           implores
           the
           honour
           to
           subscribe
           himself
           ,
        
         
           
             Your
             
               ROYAL
               HIGHNESS
            
             Most
             obedient
             Servant
             ,
             William
             Smith
             .
          
        
      
    
     
       
         
         
           INGRATITUDE
           REVENGD
           .
        
         
           
             SCarce
             had
             poor
             Holland
             baffl'd
             potent
             Spain
             ,
          
           
             When
             she
             usurps
             upon
             the
             spacious
             Main
             ;
          
           
             And
             (
             oh
             ingrateful
             !
             )
             first
             affronts
             that
             Crown
             ,
          
           
             Whose
             Pow'r
             alone
             kept
             her
             from
             sinking
             down
             ,
          
           
             Whose
             kinder
             pity
             and
             relieving
             grace
             ,
          
           
             Stampt
             
               High
               and
               Mighty
            
             on
             her
             Brazen-face
             .
          
        
         
           
             So
             the
             revived
             Snake
             seeks
             to
             destroy
          
           
             That
             Life
             ,
             by
             which
             she
             did
             her
             own
             enjoy
             .
          
        
         
           
             No
             sooner
             had
             our
             mis-imployed
             Sword
          
           
             Dissolv'd
             their
             Yoke
             ,
             expell'd
             their
             
               Nat'ral
               Lord
            
             ,
          
           
             But
             (
             oh
             perfidious
             !
             )
             these
             
               Dutch
               Fisher-men
            
          
           
             Their
             Patrons
             quite
             forget
             ,
             demonstrate
             plain
          
           
             How
             they
             'l
             requite
             us
             .
             And
             our
             Merchants
             finde
          
           
             To
             whom
             i'
             th
             Indies
             they
             had
             been
             so
             kinde
             .
          
        
         
           
             Their
             baseness
             had
             un-sheath'd
             our
             *
             Sov'reign's
             Blade
             ,
          
           
             If
             th'
             
               High
               and
               Mighty
            
             had
             not
             quickly
             made
          
           
             Humble
             Requests
             for
             Peace
             ;
             which
             got
             ,
             how
             soon
          
           
             Broke
             ?
             witness
             Lantoree
             and
             Poleroon
             ,
          
           
             And
             that
             unparallel'd
             dire
             Cruelty
          
           
             AMBOYNA
             saw
             ,
             of
             all
             the
             Epitomy
             .
          
        
         
           
             Not
             any
             Heathen
             ,
             any
             Christian
             Prince
             ,
          
           
             But
             breaking
             Leagues
             ,
             they
             have
             abused
             since
             ;
          
           
             And
             if
             their
             sly
             Endeavors
             had
             not
             fail'd
             ,
          
           
             The
             World
             from
             Holland
             must
             have
             all
             retayl'd
             .
          
        
         
           
             His
             Sacred
             MAJESTY
             now
             taking
             Care
             ,
          
           
             A
             Nest
             of
             Pyrats
             should
             not
             Christians
             scare
             ,
          
           
             (
             A
             Crew
             of
             Infidels
             ,
             that
             domineers
          
           
             In
             thieving
             Tunis
             ,
             and
             in
             proud
             Argiers
             )
          
           
           
             With
             th'
             Dutch
             contracts
             by
             joyned
             Power
             t'
             invade
          
           
             These
             Vile
             Obstructors
             of
             all
             Publique
             Trade
             .
          
           
             But
             (
             oh
             !
             the
             like
             can
             any
             Age
             produce
             ?
             )
          
           
             These
             treacherous
             Toads
             with
             Argiers
             strikes
             a
             Truce
             ;
          
           
             Intending
             to
             make
             LONDON
             stoop
             as
             low
          
           
             To
             pedling
             Amsterdam
             ,
             as
             Antwerp
             now
             .
          
        
         
           
             When
             Reparation's
             sought
             for
             ,
             with
             fresh
             throngs
          
           
             They
             do
             require
             us
             of
             renewed
             Wrongs
             ,
          
           
             And
             will
             with
             Arms
             ,
             and
             armed
             Fleets
             maintain
             ,
          
           
             Forgetting
             their
             
               last
               Fate
            
             ,
             their
             Pride
             again
             .
          
        
         
           
             All
             this
             yet
             our
             Heroick
             Neptune
             views
          
           
             With
             un-disturbed
             looks
             ,
             no
             passion
             shews
             ;
          
           
             Yet
             doth
             at
             last
             with
             a
             Majestick
             Frown
          
           
             Tell
             them
             ,
             
               Myn
               Heer
            
             must
             vail
             to
             th'
             
               English
               Crown
            
             .
          
        
         
           
             Now
             is
             His
             
               ROYAL
               HIGHNESS
            
             out
             at
             Sea
             ,
          
           
             And
             wondring
             Thetis
             is
             amaz'd
             to
             see
          
           
             Whole
             Forrests
             float
             upon
             her
             face
             ,
          
           
             Whilest
             her
             soft
             Bosom
             moving
             Castles
             grace
             .
          
           
             Neptune
             displeas'd
             to
             finde
             his
             Tritons
             caught
          
           
             Within
             a
             
               Wooden
               City
            
             ,
             lab'ring
             sought
          
           
             To
             make
             's
             Escape
             ,
             cryes
             out
             ;
             Here
             's
             one
             that
             reigns
          
           
             O're
             me
             ,
             and
             bindes
             my
             vaster
             arms
             in
             chains
             ;
          
           
             Here
             's
             he
             ,
             who
             Rules
             as
             far
             as
             Windes
             do
             blow
             ,
          
           
             Or
             winged
             Fleets
             upon
             my
             Surface
             go
             ;
          
           
             Whose
             weighty
             Navies
             make
             my
             shoulders
             crack
             ,
          
           
             Whose
             daring
             Subjects
             plough
             my
             ample
             back
             ,
          
           
             Who
             have
             toucht
             all
             by
             their
             Discoveries
             ,
          
           
             That
             rising
             ,
             or
             that
             setting
             Phoebus
             sees
             .
          
        
         
           
             Then
             his
             affrighted
             head
             th'
             astonish'd
             God
          
           
             Sunk
             down
             again
             into
             his
             moist
             Abode
             .
          
        
         
           
             Now
             had
             kinde
             Zeph'rus
             with
             auspicious
             Gales
          
           
             Stretch'd
             out
             our
             Canvas
             ,
             fill'd
             our
             pregnant
             Sayls
             ,
          
           
             And
             in
             triumphant
             order
             wafted
             o're
          
           
             Our
             well-mann'd
             Fleet
             to
             view
             the
             Belgian
             shore
             ,
          
           
             Our
             still-victorious
             Flags
             there
             riding
             ,
             made
          
           
             The
             poor
             
               Dutch
               Lyon
            
             shrink
             into
             a
             shade
             .
          
           
             Straight
             angry
             Corus
             doth
             usurp
             the
             Deep
             ,
          
           
             Their
             Festivals
             the
             wanton
             Porpus
             keep
             ,
          
           
           
             Presaging
             Storms
             ;
             but
             ours
             ,
             some
             Tackling
             lost
             ,
          
           
             Recover
             safe
             again
             the
             Brittish
             Coast
             :
          
           
             These
             Storms
             at
             last
             the
             bragging
             Dutch
             bring
             out
             ,
          
           
             Storms
             or
             more
             kinde
             or
             cruel
             ,
             is
             a
             doubt
             ,
          
           
             Which
             though
             permitting
             to
             joyn
             with
             their
             Friends
             ,
          
           
             Hurry'd
             them
             on
             to
             their
             approaching
             ends
             .
          
        
         
           
             *
             Unwilling
             Phoebus
             slowly
             hastened
             ,
          
           
             As
             very
             loth
             to
             leave
             his
             Eastern
             Bed
             :
          
           
             Desiring
             rather
             to
             eclipse
             his
             Ray
             ,
          
           
             Than
             view
             the
             Slaughters
             of
             th'
             ensuing
             day
             .
          
           
             Heavens
             smaller
             Lights
             then
             seem'd
             to
             cease
             to
             burn
             ,
          
           
             Dreading
             the
             ancient
             Chaos
             might
             return
             .
          
           
             And
             now
             our
             Fleet
             bears
             up
             ,
             enrag'd
             (
             they
             say
             )
          
           
             That
             Winds
             and
             Ocean
             were
             more
             calm
             than
             they
             .
          
           
             The
             Cyclades
             you
             might
             have
             then
             believ'd
             ,
          
           
             Torn
             from
             their
             firm
             Foundations
             ,
             had
             been
             heav'd
          
           
             On
             the
             rude
             Waves
             ;
             or
             that
             vast
             Mountains
             had
          
           
             Strongly
             'gainst
             Mountains
             there
             encountered
             ;
          
           
             Or
             two
             unfixed
             Towns
             ,
             or
             floating
             Woods
             ,
          
           
             Or
             Islands
             rolling
             on
             the
             curled
             Floods
             .
          
        
         
           
             The
             War-presaging
             Trumpet
             and
             loud
             Drum
             ,
          
           
             In
             horrid
             accents
             tell
             the
             
               Dutch
               We
               come
            
             ;
          
           
             Who
             after
             Brandy-wine
             and
             Gunpowder
          
           
             Had
             well
             provok't
             their
             
               duller
               Souls
            
             draw
             near
             ,
          
           
             Such
             Morning-Draughts
             Sarmatians
             never
             take
             ,
          
           
             Nor
             those
             that
             border
             on
             Meotis
             Lake
             ;
          
           
             The
             Dutch
             those
             Cannibals
             intend
             t'
             out-vie
             ,
          
           
             As
             well
             in
             Barbarism
             ,
             as
             in
             Cruelty
             .
          
           
             The
             Tyger
             ,
             Lyon
             ,
             Elephant
             and
             Bear
             ,
          
           
             The
             Leopard
             ,
             Wolf
             ,
             the
             Boar
             ,
             the
             Dog
             appear
          
           
             Fiercely
             advancing
             ,
             threatning
             bloody
             strife
             ,
          
           
             With
             an
             aspect
             far
             grimmer
             than
             the
             Life
             ,
          
           
             Making
             depressed
             Amphitrite
             show
          
           
             A
             salvage
             Wilderness
             ,
             or
             like
             unto
          
           
             Old
             
             Rome's
             great
             Circus
             ,
             where
             these
             beasts
             did
             breathe
          
           
             Their
             last
             ,
             in
             acting
             serious
             parts
             of
             Death
             .
          
        
         
           
             The
             Tempest-breathing
             Brass
             soon
             spoke
             aloud
             ,
          
           
             Muffling
             Day
             's
             Visage
             in
             a
             dusky
             cloud
             ,
          
           
           
             Forthwith
             involving
             in
             a
             sable
             Cloak
          
           
             Contending
             Fleets
             ,
             whilest
             Seas
             lay
             hid
             in
             smoak
             ;
          
           
             And
             from
             its
             angry
             Mouth
             fierce
             Bullets
             flie
             ,
          
           
             Impartial
             Messengers
             of
             Destinie
             .
          
           
             If
             some
             old
             Greek
             ,
             or
             Roman
             Poet
             had
          
           
             But
             heard
             this
             dismal
             Noise
             ,
             and
             view'd
             the
             sad
          
           
             And
             never-equall'd
             Slaughters
             here
             ,
             no
             words
          
           
             Had
             now
             been
             left
             us
             in
             the
             fam'd
             Records
          
           
             Of
             Troy
             or
             
               Thebs
               ;
               Ulysses
            
             still
             had
             lay
          
           
             Forgotten
             in
             his
             Native
             Ithaca
             :
          
           
             Aeneas
             too
             had
             un-remembred
             come
          
           
             From
             the
             Sigiean
             shore
             to
             Latium
             ;
          
           
             
               Sicilian
               Aetna
            
             ne're
             had
             kept
             such
             coil
             ,
          
           
             Nor
             the
             loud
             Cataracts
             of
             Seven
             mouth'd
             Nile
             .
          
        
         
           
             Fiercely
             each
             Ship
             in
             a
             resolved
             Rage
             ,
          
           
             All
             terrors
             of
             grim
             Death
             forgot
             ,
             engage
             ;
          
           
             Upon
             each
             other
             a
             tempestuous
             Shower
          
           
             Of
             fatal
             Broad-sides
             never-ceasing
             powre
             ,
          
           
             Whilest
             meagre
             Death
             (
             but
             then
             in
             Purple
             clad
             )
          
           
             Is
             satiated
             with
             the
             wounds
             they
             made
             :
          
           
             Cross
             Charon
             rails
             at
             him
             with
             winged
             feet
             ,
          
           
             Because
             he
             had
             not
             rigg'd
             him
             out
             a
             Fleet
             ,
          
           
             Or
             tallow'd
             his
             old
             Boat
             ;
             Legions
             of
             Ghosts
          
           
             Vex
             the
             old
             Sculler
             ,
             fill
             the
             Stygian
             Coasts
             .
          
           
             The
             sense
             of
             Hearing
             is
             by
             hearing
             crost
             ,
          
           
             All
             Fear
             by
             too
             much
             cause
             of
             fear
             is
             lost
             ;
          
           
             The
             loud-mouth'd
             Cannons
             roaring
             silenc'd
             then
          
           
             The
             groans
             of
             wounded
             ,
             and
             of
             dying
             men
             :
          
           
             Nought
             left
             but
             Valour
             ,
             here
             's
             no
             way
             to
             run
             ,
          
           
             No
             means
             approaching
             Dangers
             left
             to
             shun
             ,
          
           
             Here
             all
             men
             know
             (
             if
             they
             come
             any
             more
             )
          
           
             Their
             hands
             ,
             not
             feet
             ,
             must
             bring
             them
             to
             the
             shore
             .
          
           
             Here
             might
             be
             seen
             a
             helpless
             Pine
             ,
             had
             got
          
           
             'Twixt
             winde
             and
             water
             an
             unlucky
             Shot
             ;
          
           
             But
             whilest
             the
             colder
             Element
             steals
             in
             ,
          
           
             She
             burns
             ;
             then
             a
             grand
             Combate
             doth
             begin
          
           
             Between
             old
             Neptune
             and
             the
             God
             of
             Fire
             ,
          
           
             Till
             in
             the
             conquering
             Waves
             he
             must
             expire
             ;
          
           
           
             Mean
             while
             her
             men
             need
             take
             no
             care
             for
             Graves
             ,
          
           
             Both
             crackling
             Flames
             ,
             and
             rough
             devouting
             Waves
          
           
             Are
             ready
             ;
             Death
             sits
             in
             's
             Majestick
             weeds
             ,
          
           
             The
             furious
             Bullets
             take
             away
             their
             Heads
             ;
          
           
             Next
             comes
             a
             whistling
             Chain-shot
             ,
             sweeps
             away
          
           
             Hundreds
             from
             Vulcans
             rage
             into
             the
             Sea
             ;
          
           
             Though
             different
             Planets
             ,
             various
             Aspects
             reign'd
          
           
             When
             they
             were
             born
             ,
             they
             center
             in
             one
             end
             .
          
        
         
           
             Let
             antique
             dayes
             forget
             their
             Actium
             now
             ,
          
           
             The
             stout
             Agrippa
             and
             Augustus
             too
             ,
          
           
             And
             let
             the
             Legends
             never
             more
             be
             seen
          
           
             Of
             mad
             Antonius
             ,
             or
             th'
             Egyptian
             Queen
             ;
          
           
             Nor
             let
             the
             Austrian
             Prince
             Lepanto
             name
          
           
             His
             Naval
             Conquest
             ,
             nor
             the
             Turkish
             shame
             .
          
        
         
           
             Audacious
             Opdam
             toward
             the
             Duke
             does
             stear
          
           
             His
             Gouty
             Limbs
             ,
             included
             in
             a
             Chair
             ,
          
           
             Kindly
             salutes
             with
             his
             Broad-sides
             ,
             and
             then
          
           
             His
             Highness
             sharply
             answers
             him
             agen
             ;
          
           
             His
             
               ROYAL
               HIGHNESS
            
             on
             whose
             Conquering
             Brow
          
           
             So
             many
             Naval
             Coronets
             shall
             grow
             .
          
           
             Here
             's
             Eight
             of
             theirs
             with
             Four
             of
             ours
             engag'd
             ;
          
           
             *
             Never
             till
             now
             thus
             dire
             Bellona
             rag'd
             :
          
           
             One
             Ball
             by
             a
             sad
             inauspicious
             blow
             ,
          
           
             
               Muskerry
               ,
               Boyl
            
             ,
             and
             loved
             Falmouth
             slew
             ,
          
           
             Close
             by
             His
             HIGHNESS
             ,
             who
             undaunted
             stood
             ,
          
           
             Although
             besprinkled
             with
             their
             purple
             blood
             .
          
           
             Now
             
             Opdam's
             wounded
             ,
             when
             a
             happy
             Shot
          
           
             Alters
             the
             Scene
             ,
             and
             spoils
             the
             present
             Plot.
          
           
             Oh
             happy
             Shot
             !
             whose
             sure
             unerring
             blow
          
           
             Reliev'd
             His
             HIGHNESS
             ,
             and
             procured
             too
          
           
             Brave
             Smith
             an
             Honor
             ,
             and
             a
             lasting
             Name
             ,
          
           
             To
             live
             in
             the
             Eternal
             Books
             of
             Fame
             ;
          
           
             Whilest
             
             Opdam's
             End
             ,
             or
             th'
             
             Oriana's
             Fate
             ,
          
           
             Shall
             be
             lamented
             by
             the
             
               Hogen
               State.
            
          
           
             Now
             
             Opdam's
             Ship
             takes
             fire
             ,
             high
             thunder
             spoke
             ,
          
           
             Belching
             up
             horrid
             Waves
             of
             flames
             and
             smoke
             ,
          
           
             Obnubilating
             the
             disturbed
             Skies
             ,
          
           
             A
             pitchy
             Cloud
             of
             Powder
             roaring
             flies
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             Not
             so
             the
             vast
             Enceladus
             doth
             roar
             ,
          
           
             Shaking
             the
             Basis
             o'
             th'
             Trinacrian
             shore
             ,
          
           
             VVhen
             from
             hot
             
             Aetna's
             subterranean
             Caves
             ,
          
           
             Huge
             cinder'd
             Rocks
             ,
             curl'd
             Flames
             and
             Fumes
             he
             heaves
             .
          
        
         
           
             This
             Tempest
             bears
             up
             all
             ;
             torn
             Members
             there
          
           
             Of
             half-dead
             Mortals
             flie
             i'
             th
             yielding
             Air
             ,
          
           
             Using
             an
             Art
             beyond
             Dedalian
             skill
             ,
          
           
             To
             mount
             Air
             's
             Regions
             with
             no
             feathered
             Quill
             ;
          
           
             Men
             ,
             Decks
             ,
             Guns
             ,
             Tackling
             ,
             broken
             Planks
             and
             tall
          
           
             Masts
             ,
             i'
             th'
             same
             Chaos
             are
             evolved
             all
             ;
          
           
             And
             into
             Step-dame
             Thetis
             must
             fall
             low
             ,
          
           
             As
             Phaethon
             into
             the
             River
             Poe.
             
          
        
         
           
             Now
             might
             be
             seen
             upon
             the
             liquid
             Plain
          
           
             Two
             Foes
             ,
             though
             swimming
             ,
             fierce
             t'
             engage
             again
             ,
          
           
             Strugling
             together
             ,
             till
             both
             loose
             their
             breath
             ;
          
           
             Poor
             souls
             !
             though
             foes
             in
             life
             ,
             yet
             friends
             in
             death
             .
          
           
             Two
             brothers
             shaking
             hands
             forsake
             the
             light
             ,
          
           
             Both
             slain
             together
             ,
             take
             their
             last
             Good-night
             ,
          
           
             And
             dying
             thus
             in
             their
             own
             blood
             they
             lye
             ,
          
           
             Truely
             conjoyn'd
             in
             Consanguinity
             .
          
           
             Here
             's
             one
             whose
             Arms
             are
             gone
             ,
             (
             then
             useful
             Limbs
             )
          
           
             Yet
             wanting
             them
             (
             alas
             !
             )
             a
             while
             he
             swims
             ,
          
           
             Thinking
             to
             catch
             kinde
             Planks
             ;
             till
             out
             of
             breath
             ,
          
           
             And
             wearied
             ,
             armless
             he
             embraceth
             Death
             .
          
        
         
           
             But
             you
             thrice
             Noble
             ,
             thrice
             Illustrious
             Souls
             ,
          
           
             Whom
             immaturer
             Destiny
             Enrols
          
           
             Dear
             Victims
             to
             your
             grateful
             Countreys
             good
             ,
          
           
             VVho
             for
             your
             KING
             and
             Countrey
             spent
             your
             blood
             ,
          
           
             How
             must
             we
             mourn
             you
             !
             Oh!
             those
             colder
             VVaves
          
           
             VVhereon
             you
             dy'd
             ,
             whereon
             such
             horror
             raves
             ,
          
           
             Are
             scarce
             with
             all
             their
             brackish
             Floods
             ,
             Supplies
          
           
             Enough
             to
             furnish
             our
             lamenting
             Eyes
             !
          
           
             These
             HEROES
             knew
             it
             was
             a
             gallant
             toil
          
           
             To
             lose
             their
             Lives
             to
             save
             their
             
               Native
               Soil
            
             .
          
           
             These
             were
             our
             Decii
             ;
             let
             our
             Matrons
             mourn
             ,
          
           
             Let
             th'
             Peoples
             Hearts
             be
             their
             eternal
             Urn
             ;
          
           
             And
             ,
             though
             the
             chiller
             Seas
             Entomb
             them
             now
             .
          
           
             Tell
             the
             next
             Age
             what
             they
             ,
             and
             theirs
             do
             owe
          
           
           
             To
             such
             Deserts
             !
             whilest
             in
             a
             doleful
             Knell
          
           
             We
             give
             our
             Salve
             ,
             and
             our
             last
             Farewel
             .
          
           
             Oh
             happy
             Worthies
             !
             if
             my
             humble
             Pen
          
           
             Could
             here
             have
             reacht
             the
             
               old
               Poetick
               Strain
            
             ,
          
           
             You
             should
             have
             lived
             !
             —
             Yet
             your
             lasting
             Fame
          
           
             Shall
             be
             Eterniz'd
             by
             a
             purer
             Flame
             .
          
        
         
           
             The
             Dutch
             thus
             worsted
             ,
             and
             five
             Admirals
             slain
             ,
          
           
             Nine
             taken
             ,
             Eighteen
             sunk
             ,
             they
             strive
             to
             gain
          
           
             The
             Texel
             with
             the
             rest
             ;
             but
             many
             come
          
           
             A
             great
             way
             short
             of
             their
             desired
             Home
             .
          
        
         
           
             But
             oh
             !
             
               GREAT
               SIR
            
             ,
             the
             Title
             's
             due
             to
             You
             ,
             
          
           
             Of
             
               Brittains
               Parent
            
             ,
             and
             its
             Refuge
             too
             !
          
           
             In
             Your
             long
             ,
             happy
             ,
             and
             successful
             Raign
             ,
          
           
             Saturnian
             Ages
             will
             return
             again
             .
          
           
             You
             many
             careful
             Nights
             
               (
               Great
               Prince
            
             )
             do
             make
             ,
          
           
             That
             we
             may
             all
             our
             rest
             securely
             take
             .
          
           
             You
             by
             Your
             Royal
             Care
             and
             Wisdom
             ,
             know
          
           
             To
             guard
             us
             from
             our selves
             ,
             and
             from
             our
             Foe
             .
          
           
             The
             proudest
             Nations
             on
             the
             Globe
             must
             Greet
             ,
          
           
             With
             stooping
             Sayls
             ,
             each
             Vessel
             of
             the
             Fleet
             ;
          
           
             Whilest
             by
             most
             Potent
             
               Princes
               ,
               YOU
            
             alone
          
           
             For
             the
             World
             's
             feared
             Neptune
             shall
             be
             known
             .
          
        
         
           
             And
             You
             ,
             
               Illustrious
               Sir
            
             ,
             by
             whose
             great
             Care
             
          
           
             And
             happy
             Conduct
             we
             successful
             are
             ,
          
           
             How
             many
             Naval
             Honors
             ,
             Triumphs
             you
             ,
          
           
             And
             
               Rostrate
               Columns
            
             doth
             your
             Countrey
             owe
             ?
          
           
             A
             Herd
             of
             Sheep
             with
             such
             a
             Chieftain
             might
          
           
             Tygers
             subdue
             ,
             and
             Leopards
             put
             to
             flight
             ;
          
           
             How
             can
             the
             Mastiff
             e're
             be
             conquered
             ,
          
           
             Whilest
             there
             's
             a
             Royal
             Lyon
             for
             his
             Head
             ?
          
           
             VVhen
             Thetis
             saw
             you
             furrowing
             her
             Plains
             ,
          
           
             VVe
             may
             suppose
             she
             us'd
             these
             kinder
             strains
             .
          
           
             Here
             's
             He
             ,
             whose
             early
             Glories
             do
             out-run
          
           
             The
             envy'd
             Lustre
             of
             my
             VVarlike
             Son
             ;
          
           
             Whose
             worth
             in
             Honors-Field
             one
             hour
             declares
          
           
             Greater
             ,
             than
             he
             attained
             in
             ten
             years
             .
          
        
         
           
             And
             ,
             oh
             Heroick
             Prince
             ,
             your
             Conduct
             too
             
          
           
             Subdues
             proud
             Holland
             ,
             with
             our
             Hearts
             also
             ;
          
           
           
             This
             Happy
             Victory
             can
             do
             no
             less
             ,
          
           
             Than
             Crown
             your
             former
             Labors
             with
             Success
             .
          
        
         
           
             Brave
             
               Sandwich
               ,
               Lawson
               ,
               Ascugh
               ,
               Holms
               ,
            
             their
             Glory
          
           
             Shall
             in
             our
             Annals
             have
             a
             living
             Story
             ,
          
           
             With
             all
             the
             rest
             of
             those
             bold
             Worthies
             ,
             who
          
           
             Reveng'd
             their
             injur'd
             Countrey
             on
             its
             Foe
             .
          
        
         
           
             And
             You
             ,
             the
             Noblest
             Patriots
             ,
             ever
             were
             
          
           
             Within
             those
             Walls
             ,
             your
             wise
             foreseeing
             Care
             ,
          
           
             With
             liberal
             hearts
             provide
             for
             fresh
             Supplies
             ,
          
           
             Knowing
             in
             Money
             War's
             best
             Sinews
             lyes
             .
          
           
             What
             shall
             not
             England
             now
             not
             dare
             to
             do
             ,
          
           
             Embrac'd
             both
             by
             her
             Sovereign
             and
             You
             ?
          
        
         
           
             And
             thou
             ,
             oh
             stately
             City
             ,
             whose
             fair
             face
             
          
           
             
               Minerva
               ,
               Mercury
               ,
               Bellona
            
             grace
             ,
          
           
             Whose
             Arms
             and
             Arts
             astonish'd
             Europe
             owns
             ,
          
           
             Whose
             Trade
             the
             frigid
             and
             the
             torrid
             Zones
             ,
          
           
             VVhose
             double-named
             River
             kindly
             brings
          
           
             [
             As
             Tribute
             ]
             useful
             ,
             and
             all
             precious
             things
             ,
          
           
             Rich
             Indian
             Harvests
             ,
             what
             is
             rare
             or
             strange
             ,
          
           
             Whilest
             his
             transparent
             Stream's
             the
             
               Worlds
               Exchange
            
             ,
          
           
             Thy
             helping
             hand
             was
             here
             .
             What
             though
             *
             that
             's
             gone
          
           
             Which
             bore
             thy
             Name
             ?
             thy
             willing
             heart
             builds
             one
          
           
             Greater
             than
             She
             ,
             whom
             angry
             Fates
             no
             more
          
           
             Resolv'd
             should
             terrifie
             the
             Belgick
             shore
             .
          
        
         
           
             Oh
             may
             thou
             flourish
             still
             secure
             from
             Foes
             ,
          
           
             VVhilest
             lucid
             Thames
             in
             his
             Meanders
             goes
          
           
             Through
             reedy
             Banks
             ;
             but
             slowly
             hast'ning
             thus
             ,
          
           
             To
             the
             Embraces
             of
             Oceanus
             .
          
        
         
           FINIS
           .
        
      
    
     
       
         Notes, typically marginal, from the original text
         
           Notes for div A60595-e450
           
             *
             King
             James
          
           
             *
             Saturday
             the
             3
             of
             June
             ,
             at
             three
             of
             the
             Clock
             in
             the
             morning
             .
             1665
             
          
           
             *
             Saturday
             ,
             5
             in
             the
             evening
             .
          
           
             To
             His
             Majesty
             .
          
           
             To
             the
             Duke
             of
             York
             .
          
           
             To
             Prince
             Rupert
             .
          
           
             To
             the
             Two
             Houses
             of
             Parliament
             .
          
           
             To
             the
             City
             of
             London
             .
          
           
             *
             London
             Frigat
             .
          
        
      
    
  

