







 
   
     
       
         A poem being an essay upon the present vvar with the Dutch, since the first battel and victory obtained by His Highness Royal, June 3, 1665, continued to and upon the late happy victory obtained by His Majesties forces at sea, under the conduct of His Highness Prince Rupert, and His Grace the Duke of Albemarle, July 25, 1666 / by John Eames.
         Eames, John, 17th cent.
      
       
         
           1666
        
      
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             A poem being an essay upon the present vvar with the Dutch, since the first battel and victory obtained by His Highness Royal, June 3, 1665, continued to and upon the late happy victory obtained by His Majesties forces at sea, under the conduct of His Highness Prince Rupert, and His Grace the Duke of Albemarle, July 25, 1666 / by John Eames.
             Eames, John, 17th cent.
          
           [2], 10 p.
           
             Printed for Henry Herringman, and are to be sold at his shop ...,
             London :
             1666.
          
           
             In verse.
             Reproduction of original in the British Library.
          
        
      
    
     
       
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           Anglo-Dutch War, 1664-1667 -- Poetry.
           Great Britain -- History -- Charles II, 1660-1685 -- Poetry.
        
      
    
     
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           A
           POEM
           .
        
         
           BEING
           An
           Essay
           upon
           the
           present
           VVar
           with
           THE
           DUTCH
           ,
           Since
           the
           first
           Battel
           and
           Victory
           obtained
           by
           His
           Highness
           Royal
           ,
           
             June
          
           3.
           1665.
           
        
         
           Continued
           to
           and
           upon
           the
           late
           Happy
           Victory
           ,
           OBTAINED
           BY
           His
           Majesties
           Forces
           at
           Sea
           ,
           under
           the
           conduct
           of
           his
           Highness
           Prince
           
             Rupert
             ,
          
           and
           his
           Grace
           the
           Duke
           of
           
             Albemarle
             ,
             July
          
           25.
           1666.
           
        
         
           By
           JOHN
           EAMES
           .
        
         
           
             Haec
             in
             Primitiis
             Tentamina
             parva
             manebunt
             ,
          
           
             Juven
             .
          
        
         
           
             LONDON
             ,
          
           Printed
           for
           
             Henry
             Herringman
             ,
          
           and
           are
           to
           be
           sold
           at
           his
           Shop
           at
           the
           Sign
           of
           the
           
             Anchor
          
           on
           the
           Lower
           walk
           of
           the
           
             New
             Exchange
             .
          
           1666.
           
        
      
    
     
       
         
         
         
           A
           POEM
           .
           Being
           an
           Assay
           upon
           the
           present
           War
           with
           THE
           DUTCH
           ,
           Since
           the
           first
           Battel
           and
           Victory
           obtained
           by
           HIS
           HIGHNESS
           ROYAL
           
             
               June
            
             3.
             1665.
             
          
        
         
           
             SCarce
             the
             black
             Curtains
             of
             the
             Night
             were
             spred
             ,
          
           
             When
             drowsie
             Poppy
             round
             my
             Temples
             shed
          
           
             A
             solemn
             sleep
             ;
             from
             whose
             dark
             womb
             a
             dream
             ,
          
           
             The
             soul
             from
             her
             close
             mansion
             did
             redeem
             :
          
           
             This
             eager
             vapour
             archt
             the
             burnisht
             Sky
             ,
          
           
             From
             either
             Pole
             extended
             to
             the
             eye
             ;
          
           
             Thence
             the
             glad
             Sun
             had
             banish'd
             drery
             night
             ,
          
           
             And
             no
             dull
             shadow
             durst
             impeach
             his
             light
             .
          
           
             The
             Sea
             I
             saw
             as
             calm
             as
             when
             the
             Wind
             ,
          
           
             Sports
             with
             the
             Spring
             ,
             and
             to
             soft
             Buds
             is
             kind
             ;
          
           
             Whilst
             
               Thetis
            
             rock't
             on
             wanton
             Billows
             plays
             ,
          
           
             And
             mirth
             through
             shining
             troops
             of
             Nymphs
             conveighs
             :
          
           
             
               Neptune
               ,
            
             and
             all
             that
             watry
             hoast
             beside
             ,
          
           
             In
             triumph
             ov'r
             that
             Azure
             Empire
             ride
             .
          
           
             This
             Pompous
             shew
             of
             wonder
             and
             delight
             ,
          
           
             Ushers
             a
             winged
             Forrest
             to
             my
             sight
             ;
          
           
           
             Whose
             Aspect
             joyful
             characters
             betray'd
             ,
          
           
             For
             a
             late
             Combate
             which
             that
             tryumph
             made
             :
          
           
             It
             was
             the
             Navy
             on
             the
             Ocean
             spred
             ,
          
           
             Which
             from
             pursuing
             of
             the
             
               Dutch
            
             was
             led
          
           
             By
             ROYAL
             YORK
             ;
             whose
             awful
             Brows
             retain
             ,
          
           
             The
             growing
             Emblems
             of
             the
             conquer'd
             Main
             .
          
           
             And
             whilst
             ambitious
             Gales
             this
             prospect
             blew
          
           
             To
             the
             glad
             Ports
             ,
             my
             fetter'd
             eyes
             pursue
             ;
          
           
             Till
             shouts
             and
             thunder
             eccho'd
             from
             the
             Shore
             ,
          
           
             The
             Soul
             to
             her
             first
             faculties
             restore
             .
          
        
         
           
             Awak'd
             (
             though
             not
             like
             those
             whose
             sullen
             phlegm
          
           
             Draws
             sacred
             precepts
             from
             a
             guilty
             dream
             )
          
           
             My
             Numbers
             are
             encourag'd
             to
             relate
          
           
             The
             wandring
             homage
             of
             the
             
               Belgian
            
             State.
          
           
             How
             from
             remotest
             shores
             Attonements
             come
             ,
          
           
             And
             center
             in
             our
             Channel
             as
             their
             home
             ;
          
           
             Whilst
             fear
             instructs
             their
             anger
             to
             forsake
          
           
             The
             
               Straight
               ,
            
             as
             Fowls
             abhor
             
               Avernus
            
             Lake
             :
          
           
             How
             they
             believe
             the
             Pole
             ,
             and
             think
             to
             find
          
           
             No
             Storm
             to
             urge
             the
             murmurs
             of
             their
             mind
             .
          
           
             Trusting
             the
             North
             as
             the
             securer
             way
             ,
          
           
             They
             court
             the
             night
             for
             treasures
             of
             the
             day
             ;
          
           
             Sweet
             Spices
             ,
             Gums
             ,
             and
             all
             the
             Sun
             can
             boast
             ,
          
           
             Or
             the
             Indulgence
             of
             the
             
               Indian
            
             Coast
             ,
          
           
             Pay
             tribute
             to
             their
             hopes
             ;
             which
             least
             they
             may
          
           
             Perish
             near
             home
             in
             wither'd
             
               Norway
            
             stay
             :
          
           
             Where
             that
             rough
             Satyr
             
               Bergen
               ,
            
             is
             possest
          
           
             Of
             the
             rich
             spoils
             of
             the
             luxurious
             East
             .
          
           
             The
             Port
             was
             the
             dark
             burden
             of
             that
             womb
             ,
          
           
             Whose
             liquid
             bowels
             are
             the
             greedy
             tomb
          
           
             Of
             trade
             and
             hope
             ,
             by
             Art
             improv'd
             to
             be
          
           
             From
             Foes
             a
             Refuge
             ,
             boisterous
             Winds
             and
             Sea.
          
           
             The
             worth
             and
             safety
             ,
             though
             not
             equal
             Fate
          
           
             Of
             this
             fair
             prize
             ,
             might
             
               Jasons
            
             emulate
             ;
          
           
             That
             yellow
             fleece
             Bulls
             hoof'd
             with
             thunder
             kept
             ,
          
           
             And
             a
             more
             watchful
             guard
             that
             never
             slept
             ;
          
           
           
             This
             cloister'd
             in
             the
             hostile
             Harbour
             lay
             ,
          
           
             Maintain'd
             by
             Castles
             and
             a
             treacherous
             way
             .
          
           
             The
             
               English
            
             that
             this
             proud
             return
             did
             wait
             ,
          
           
             (
             More
             conscious
             of
             revenge
             than
             guilty
             fate
             )
          
           
             Attempt
             with
             one
             bold
             Squadron
             of
             their
             Fleet
             ,
          
           
             To
             render
             vows
             though
             not
             their
             hopes
             compleat
             ;
          
           
             Obsequious
             to
             their
             courage
             ,
             they
             dispence
          
           
             Through
             the
             sad
             lake
             a
             bloody
             influence
             ;
          
           
             Which
             tears
             in
             sight
             of
             the
             unfaithful
             shore
             ,
          
           
             And
             spoils
             the
             fraught
             we
             would
             have
             sav'd
             before
             .
          
           
             Art
             ,
             fury
             ,
             all
             to
             ruin
             had
             design'd
          
           
             Those
             joys
             of
             peace
             ,
             but
             the
             mamour'd
             wind
             ,
          
           
             Which
             like
             a
             Phaenix
             in
             that
             nest
             would
             lye
             ,
          
           
             And
             with
             a
             surfeit
             of
             those
             odors
             ,
             dye
             ;
          
           
             Thus
             jealous
             grown
             ,
             does
             with
             full
             cheeks
             oppose
             ,
          
           
             Those
             flames
             which
             ships
             dissembl'd
             to
             our
             foes
             .
          
           
             Retreating
             thence
             as
             Lions
             ,
             which
             some
             Wile
          
           
             Or
             Stratagem
             did
             of
             their
             Prey
             beguile
             .
          
           
             We
             cleave
             the
             briny
             Element
             to
             meet
          
           
             
               Dodona
            
             sacred
             to
             our
             
               Jove
               ,
            
             the
             Fleet.
             
          
        
         
           
             The
             
               Dutch
            
             at
             home
             improve
             their
             Hulls
             with
             Men
             ,
          
           
             And
             Rigg
             their
             vanquish'd
             Ruins
             out
             agen
             ;
          
           
             Not
             to
             impeach
             our
             bays
             ,
             but
             to
             Convoy
          
           
             The
             frighted
             Barques
             we
             labour'd
             to
             destroy
             .
          
           
             Arriv'd
             they
             tell
             their
             joy
             ,
             and
             wing
             their
             Sails
          
           
             With
             greeting
             shouts
             ,
             that
             breath
             conspiring
             Gales
             ;
          
           
             When
             Heaven
             (
             to
             shew
             how
             frail
             Mens
             passions
             are
             ,
          
           
             How
             soon
             proud
             hope
             is
             chang'd
             to
             sad
             despair
             )
          
           
             Contracts
             his
             brow
             ,
             and
             buries
             in
             a
             cloud
             ,
          
           
             The
             worlds
             bright
             Eye
             ;
             whilst
             
               Aeolus
            
             aloud
          
           
             Proclaims
             his
             challenge
             through
             the
             troubl'd
             Main
             ,
          
           
             That
             now
             repeats
             their
             danger
             once
             again
             .
          
           
             The
             clouds
             drawn
             down
             upon
             the
             labouring
             deep
             ,
          
           
             Divide
             (
             as
             Shepherds
             scatter'd
             from
             their
             Sheep
             )
          
           
           
             The
             armed
             Convoys
             from
             the
             wealthy
             Fleet
          
           
             Which
             beg
             from
             the
             wild
             Contest
             a
             retreat
             ,
          
           
             With
             sighs
             that
             break
             th'
             abortive
             womb
             of
             fear
             ,
          
           
             When
             
               English
            
             Frigats
             ,
             louder
             storms
             ,
             appear
             .
          
           
             Some
             the
             loud
             summons
             of
             our
             Cannon
             wait
             ,
          
           
             Others
             with
             dread
             and
             silence
             watch
             their
             fate
             ;
          
           
             Those
             that
             got
             safe
             and
             '
             scapt
             both
             Enemies
             ,
          
           
             Paleness
             and
             grief
             entitl'd
             to
             the
             Prize
             .
          
           
             So
             shiptwrackt
             Men
             which
             safely
             swim
             to
             shore
             ,
          
           
             Their
             treasures
             in
             hoarse
             Surges
             lost
             deplore
             .
          
        
         
           
             Now
             
               Titan
            
             in
             his
             oblique
             course
             had
             stray'd
             ,
          
           
             From
             the
             just
             ballance
             of
             the
             days
             ,
             and
             made
          
           
             The
             sullen
             brow
             of
             Winter
             to
             maintain
          
           
             The
             priviledge
             of
             Naval
             wars
             in
             vain
             :
          
           
             For
             the
             incensed
             
               Dutch
            
             invade
             the
             Skies
             ,
          
           
             And
             their
             wise
             rage
             the
             blackest
             storm
             defies
             ;
          
           
             Cloudy
             Orion
             with
             their
             Fleet
             they
             dare
             ,
          
           
             And
             Regiments
             of
             fish
             disbanded
             are
          
           
             To
             their
             revenge
             and
             fate
             ;
             loud
             Engines
             roar
          
           
             On
             bleating
             Cattel
             objects
             on
             the
             shore
             .
          
           
             Thus
             we
             
               Caligula
            
             in
             Records
             view
             ,
          
           
             (
             His
             Legions
             in
             Battalia
             )
             to
             subdue
          
           
             The
             harmless
             Ocean
             ,
             when
             their
             Helmets
             bore
          
           
             Trophees
             of
             Cockle
             from
             our
             Neighbour
             shore
             .
          
        
         
           
             The
             aged
             Solstice
             gone
             ,
             new
             months
             supply
          
           
             The
             teeming
             Earth
             with
             visits
             from
             the
             sky
             ,
          
           
             Soft
             Zephyres
             breathing
             on
             the
             opening
             Scene
          
           
             Of
             fragrancy
             ,
             with
             blushing
             vestures
             ,
             green
             ;
          
           
             The
             softer
             bosome
             of
             the
             Earth
             is
             charg'd
          
           
             With
             buds
             from
             blossomes
             tenderly
             enlarg'd
             :
          
           
             The
             painted
             flowers
             with
             their
             early
             pride
             ,
          
           
             Steal
             from
             their
             prisons
             to
             adorn
             the
             bride
             ,
          
           
             Nature
             ;
             whose
             youth
             (
             propensive
             to
             increase
             ,
          
           
             And
             celebrate
             the
             Festivals
             of
             Peace
             )
          
           
           
             Does
             with
             unwilling
             looks
             new
             vigor
             give
             ,
          
           
             When
             war's
             cold
             embers
             in
             fresh
             flames
             do
             live
             ;
          
           
             But
             time
             and
             war
             one
             strict
             resemblance
             hold
             ,
          
           
             And
             in
             Eccentrick
             Circles
             both
             are
             rowl'd
             :
          
           
             Strife
             moves
             a
             milder
             course
             when
             leafs
             appear
             ,
          
           
             And
             silent
             sleeps
             ,
             when
             Storms
             infest
             the
             Year
             .
          
           
             The
             Spring
             our
             Navy
             from
             its
             moist
             aboad
             ,
          
           
             To
             
               Neptunes
            
             spacious
             Courts
             invites
             abroad
             ;
          
           
             Where
             floating
             (
             thus
             sick
             fortune
             prov'd
             unkind
             )
          
           
             Another
             way
             one
             Squadron
             is
             design'd
             .
          
           
             The
             wary
             
               Dutch
            
             the
             silent
             Ocean
             shade
          
           
             In
             Castles
             lin'd
             ,
             with
             Nations
             for
             their
             aid
             ,
          
           
             So
             bold
             ;
             hope
             seem'd
             espous'd
             and
             banish'd
             fear
             :
          
           
             The
             Duke
             still
             constant
             in
             them
             both
             drew
             near
             ;
          
           
             His
             courage
             like
             a
             Rock
             frowns
             on
             the
             Main
             ,
          
           
             Storms
             in
             their
             wildest
             fury
             to
             restrain
             .
          
           
             Approacht
             the
             business
             of
             the
             day
             is
             ply'd
             ,
          
           
             With
             terror
             ,
             noise
             and
             death
             on
             either
             side
             ;
          
           
             In
             Sable
             shades
             of
             rowling
             smoak
             they
             fight
             ,
          
           
             Till
             they
             Anticipate
             the
             wings
             of
             night
             ;
          
           
             And
             when
             the
             stifl'd
             Sun
             had
             cleans'd
             his
             beams
             ,
          
           
             From
             their
             pollution
             in
             th'
             Hesperian
             streams
             ,
          
           
             
               Aurora
               ,
            
             Heaven
             with
             guilded
             lustres
             grac'd
             ,
          
           
             Which
             were
             again
             by
             
               Stygian
            
             rage
             defac'd
             .
          
        
         
           
             The
             
               Belgian
            
             courage
             shone
             like
             flames
             which
             rise
          
           
             From
             wood
             ,
             and
             not
             improv'd
             by
             Bellws
             ,
             dyes
             :
          
           
             The
             
               English
            
             burns
             like
             oyl
             ,
             nor
             needs
             the
             Name
          
           
             Of
             wind
             or
             wine-improvements
             to
             a
             flame
             ;
          
           
             Nor
             ebbs
             and
             flows
             with
             fortunes
             erring
             tides
             ,
          
           
             But
             'bove
             the
             power
             of
             her
             Empire
             rides
             :
          
           
             So
             small
             our
             force
             that
             could
             we
             own
             her
             frown
             ,
          
           
             The
             bold
             Attempt
             might
             teach
             the
             world
             Renown
             .
          
           
             The
             
               Heroe
            
             manag'd
             by
             his
             prowess
             steers
             ,
          
           
             And
             the
             safe
             bulwark
             of
             his
             Charge
             appears
             ;
          
           
           
             His
             Conduct
             such
             ,
             his
             Antique
             Lawrels
             now
          
           
             Spred
             to
             defend
             as
             well
             as
             Grace
             his
             brow
             :
          
           
             Wont
             to
             reprove
             the
             clamors
             of
             the
             sky
             ,
          
           
             Here
             his
             bold
             wreaths
             a
             louder
             fate
             defie
             .
          
        
         
           
             Now
             shifts
             the
             doubtful
             Scene
             ,
             and
             we
             discry
          
           
             The
             message
             of
             new
             hopes
             hang
             in
             the
             sky
             :
          
           
             So
             shews
             the
             radiant
             Ensign
             of
             the
             day
             ,
          
           
             When
             Storms
             submit
             to
             his
             Majestick
             ray
             .
          
           
             The
             
               Prince
            
             appears
             ,
             with
             whom
             whilst
             we
             unite
             ,
          
           
             The
             
               Dutch
            
             like
             Theeves
             are
             Victors
             made
             by
             flight
             ;
          
           
             With
             full
             spred
             Sails
             they
             leave
             the
             dreadful
             News
             ,
          
           
             Panting
             Revenge
             as
             hastily
             persues
             ,
          
           
             And
             summons
             to
             repeat
             the
             Tragick-Play
             ,
          
           
             Whilst
             the
             confused
             Sea
             and
             Sun
             obey
             ,
          
           
             The
             Emphasis
             of
             rage
             ,
             and
             all
             things
             there
          
           
             Dissolv'd
             from
             their
             first
             principals
             appear
             .
          
           
             The
             colder
             Element
             becomes
             the
             Stage
             ,
          
           
             On
             which
             the
             first
             dares
             improve
             his
             rage
             .
          
           
             The
             heavy
             bowels
             of
             the
             Earth
             do
             fly
             ,
          
           
             (
             As
             though
             they
             center'd
             upward
             )
             through
             the
             Sky
             .
          
           
             Those
             fatal
             druggs
             which
             wretched
             Arts
             compose
             ,
          
           
             To
             wing
             those
             fates
             that
             pregnant
             Guns
             inclose
             ,
          
           
             To
             the
             dull
             Earth
             once
             quiet
             Tenants
             were
             ;
          
           
             Now
             in
             thick
             Mists
             inhabiting
             the
             Air
             ,
          
           
             Obstruct
             the
             passage
             of
             prevailing
             fire
             ,
          
           
             Which
             lost
             in
             its
             own
             bowels
             climbs
             no
             higher
             .
          
        
         
           
             Those
             stately
             Piles
             of
             wonder
             and
             delight
             ,
          
           
             Which
             on
             the
             rowling
             Billows
             did
             invite
          
           
             The
             silver-footed
             Nymphs
             to
             feast
             their
             eyes
             ,
          
           
             And
             doubt
             them
             of
             their
             watry
             Dieties
             ;
          
           
             ●●●nt
             stain'd
             with
             gore
             ,
             and
             loud
             with
             groans
             appear
          
           
             No
             more
             their
             objects
             of
             delight
             ,
             but
             fear
             .
          
           
             There
             flaming
             
               Aetna
            
             and
             
               Vesuvius
            
             seem
          
           
             Belching
             out
             smoak
             and
             fire
             on
             the
             stream
             :
          
           
           
             The
             
               Portholes
            
             flames
             ,
             and
             iron
             showrs
             dispence
          
           
             As
             burning
             Caverns
             do
             curl'd
             Cinders
             thence
             .
          
           
             Here
             burning
             Pines
             sad
             Fun'ral
             Rites
             supply
             ;
          
           
             There
             Tumults
             of
             one
             wound
             together
             dye
             :
          
           
             Some
             climb
             the
             waves
             ,
             and
             in
             their
             Bowels
             meet
          
           
             The
             fate
             from
             which
             their
             hasty
             fears
             retreat
             .
          
        
         
           
             Confusion
             spreads
             her
             Sable
             Plumes
             ,
             as
             Night
          
           
             And
             clouds
             obscure
             the
             Canopy
             of
             light
             ;
          
           
             Through
             which
             black
             vail
             (
             so
             burning
             Meteors
             blaze
             ,
          
           
             And
             Mortals
             with
             approaching
             ills
             amaze
             )
          
           
             Shines
             
               Rupert
            
             like
             another
             
               Jove
               ,
            
             from
             whom
          
           
             The
             
               Dutch
            
             by
             thunder
             do
             receive
             their
             doom
             :
          
           
             His
             floating
             Tower
             is
             the
             sphere
             which
             hides
             ,
          
           
             Whole
             flakes
             of
             dying
             fury
             in
             its
             sides
             ;
          
           
             His
             Martial
             influence
             by
             Heaven
             sent
             ,
          
           
             Taught
             the
             Capricious
             Goddess
             to
             repent
             .
          
           
             So
             the
             
               Dictaean
            
             God
             did
             
               Iris
            
             send
             ,
          
           
             When
             victory
             to
             either
             side
             should
             bend
             .
          
        
         
           
             Live
             the
             blest
             Theme
             of
             the
             
               Castalian
            
             Spring
             ,
          
           
             You
             that
             were
             made
             your
             Countrys
             Offerring
             !
          
           
             Though
             dying
             in
             a
             croud
             ,
             may
             every
             Name
          
           
             Swell
             the
             immortal
             Heraldry
             of
             fame
             ;
          
           
             Whose
             wings
             now
             open
             to
             salute
             our
             shore
             ,
          
           
             Laden
             with
             homage
             as
             the
             year
             before
             :
          
           
             Whilst
             the
             success
             ,
             mysterious
             
               Holland
            
             (
             wise
          
           
             ●n
             figures
             )
             by
             Synecdoche
             belies
             ;
          
           
             And
             with
             
               Italian
            
             Arts
             betrays
             the
             world
             ,
          
           
             Through
             which
             her
             subtile
             Characters
             are
             hurl'd
             .
          
           
             Nor
             had
             the
             bays
             obey'd
             the
             doubtful
             laws
          
           
             Of
             disputation
             ,
             whilst
             the
             weary
             Cause
          
           
             ●nt'rest
             and
             Envy
             urge
             ;
             but
             the
             dispute
          
           
             Must
             have
             slept
             quiet
             in
             a
             loud
             persuit
             ,
          
           
             Had
             not
             those
             lofty
             Firrs
             ,
             which
             crown'd
             of
             late
             ,
          
           
             ●ome
             mighty
             Grove
             stoopt
             to
             their
             second
             Fate
             ,
          
           
           
             And
             prostrate
             on
             the
             Deck
             disarm'd
             the
             wind
             ,
          
           
             And
             the
             two
             
               Heroes
            
             to
             their
             Rage
             confin'd
             :
          
           
             Whilst
             the
             
               Batavians
            
             with
             their
             shatter'd
             Fleet
          
           
             First
             leave
             the
             Seas
             ,
             and
             to
             their
             Ports
             retreat
             .
          
        
         
           
             PAle
             Phaebe
             had
             not
             twice
             her
             silver
             gleams
          
           
             Of
             light
             replenish'd
             by
             her
             Brothers
             Beams
             ,
          
           
             When
             the
             
               Dutch
            
             Navy
             reacht
             the
             
               British
            
             Coasts
             ,
          
           
             Proud
             to
             deceive
             the
             Christian
             World
             with
             boasts
             ,
          
           
             To
             mend
             the
             Errors
             of
             this
             fatal
             Chance
             ,
          
           
             After
             some
             time
             our
             ready
             Sails
             advance
             ;
          
           
             While
             the
             dull
             
               Belgians
            
             with
             a
             guilty
             look
          
           
             (
             Like
             one
             in
             his
             own
             politicks
             mistook
             )
          
           
             Survay
             the
             motion
             of
             this
             dreadful
             Fleet
             ,
          
           
             By
             which
             they
             must
             their
             shame
             or
             ruin
             meet
             :
          
           
             They
             gaze
             like
             men
             ,
             whose
             wandring
             sight
             betray'd
             ,
          
           
             By
             the
             vast
             distance
             of
             the
             object
             made
             ,
          
           
             To
             think
             that
             but
             some
             rising
             Bank
             ,
             which
             nigh
             ,
          
           
             Results
             a
             Hill
             ,
             whose
             Fore-head
             beats
             the
             Sky
             .
          
        
         
           
             At
             Sea
             the
             Day
             propitious
             to
             their
             Rage
             ,
          
           
             These
             floating
             Armies
             furiously
             engage
             ;
          
           
             Whilst
             Artick
             and
             Antartick
             Kingdomes
             wait
          
           
             (
             With
             Continents
             between
             )
             to
             know
             the
             Fate
          
           
             Of
             the
             loud
             Combate
             ,
             and
             the
             Nations
             ,
             who
          
           
             Parcel
             the
             Regions
             which
             they
             ne'r
             subdue
             .
          
           
             So
             
               Pompeys
            
             Gallants
             did
             old
             
               Rome
            
             divide
             ,
          
           
             When
             the
             
               Pharsalian
            
             Victor
             spoil'd
             their
             pride
             .
          
        
         
           
             Not
             many
             Hours
             blood
             and
             ruin
             breath'd
             ,
          
           
             The
             waves
             discolour'd
             ,
             human
             Bowels
             sheath'd
          
           
             With
             flying
             Balls
             ;
             but
             triumph
             and
             success
             ,
          
           
             With
             all
             their
             Marks
             our
             Generals
             do
             bless
             :
          
           
             These
             
               Heroes
            
             lodg'd
             within
             that
             ample
             Frame
             ,
          
           
             Whose
             Pride
             displays
             our
             mighty
             Monarchs
             Name
          
           
           
             (
             No
             Vulgar
             Crowds
             fit
             for
             their
             Nobe
             Rage
             )
          
           
             The
             Chieftain
             of
             the
             
               Belgian
            
             Fleet
             engage
             .
          
           
             Courage
             does
             Heaven
             oblige
             ,
             and
             such
             Attempts
          
           
             Like
             future
             Faith
             from
             threatn'd
             Harms
             exempts
             .
          
           
             Now
             Death
             on
             the
             pale
             wings
             of
             lightning
             flies
             ,
          
           
             And
             fatal
             storms
             of
             Thunder
             wound
             the
             Skies
             .
          
           
             The
             Royal
             ship
             such
             heavy
             Ruins
             throws
             ,
          
           
             
               De
               Ruyter
            
             can
             no
             longer
             bear
             the
             blows
             ;
          
           
             But
             spreads
             his
             Canvas
             to
             intreat
             the
             wind
          
           
             From
             following
             foes
             security
             to
             find
             .
          
        
         
           
             Some
             as
             they
             flye
             we
             seize
             ,
             the
             rest
             that
             reach
          
           
             Their
             Ports
             ,
             the
             fatal
             Overthrow
             do
             preach
             ;
          
           
             With
             which
             alarm'd
             ,
             their
             Beacons
             burn
             on
             shore
             ,
          
           
             Afraid
             of
             what
             they
             threatn'd
             us
             before
             .
          
        
         
           
             One
             Squadron
             of
             their
             Fleet
             by
             Heaven
             design'd
          
           
             To
             a
             more
             Cruel
             Fate
             remains
             behind
             ;
          
           
             With
             which
             the
             Admiral
             of
             the
             blew
             contends
             ,
          
           
             Who
             burns
             ,
             and
             sinks
             ,
             and
             with
             his
             Ordnance
             rends
             ;
          
           
             Till
             the
             maim'd
             Remnant
             with
             obedient
             Sails
          
           
             Implores
             the
             succours
             of
             assisting
             Gales
             .
          
           
             Here
             one
             might
             see
             those
             solid
             Planks
             the
             Grace
             ,
          
           
             And
             latest
             Pride
             of
             
               Thames
            
             persue
             the
             Chace
             ;
          
           
             Whilst
             the
             Ambitious
             Air
             before
             their
             Ports
             ,
          
           
             With
             our
             Victorious
             Flaggs
             and
             Standart
             sports
             :
          
           
             The
             Chieftains
             now
             dispencing
             as
             they
             please
          
           
             The
             fate
             of
             all
             that
             float
             the
             vanquish'd
             Seas
             .
          
        
      
       
         
         
           To
           the
           KING
           upon
           the
           same
           .
        
         
           
             
               GREAT
               SIR
               !
            
             to
             whom
             as
             the
             first
             source
             we
             owe
             ,
          
           
             What
             by
             degrees
             descends
             on
             us
             below
             ;
          
           
             
               Olympus
            
             owns
             a
             Tryumph
             in
             Your
             Name
             ,
          
           
             And
             eccho's
             to
             the
             joy
             our
             shouts
             proclaim
             .
          
        
         
           
             Nations
             will
             now
             their
             Neutral
             Arts
             forget
             ,
          
           
             As
             streams
             their
             Currents
             in
             one
             Ocean
             met
             .
          
           
             
               Spain
            
             will
             desert
             her
             Phlegm
             to
             reach
             that
             shore
          
           
             Whose
             Kindness
             ruin'd
             Nations
             can
             restore
             .
          
        
         
           
             
               France
            
             that
             forgot
             her
             Annals
             may
             advise
          
           
             With
             her
             old
             Ruins
             ,
             and
             too
             late
             grow
             wise
             .
          
           
             
               Denmark
            
             (
             whose
             white
             and
             aiery
             Mountains
             dare
          
           
             Sin
             to
             another
             
               Babel
            
             in
             the
             Air
             )
          
           
             Her
             angry
             Rocks
             may
             quarrel
             with
             the
             Sea
             ,
          
           
             But
             from
             Your
             Influence
             cannot
             be
             free
             .
          
        
         
           
             Now
             
               Amphitrite
            
             is
             Your
             own
             ,
             You
             may
          
           
             Teach
             Kingdoms
             with
             Your
             Trident
             to
             obey
             :
          
           
             The
             
               Gordian
            
             Knots
             their
             Interests
             have
             tyed
             ,
          
           
             Your
             Power
             is
             extended
             to
             divide
             ;
          
           
             Whilst
             Your
             Victorous
             Frigats
             press
             the
             Main
             ,
          
           
             Your
             Title
             to
             that
             Empire
             to
             maintain
             .
          
        
         
           FINIS
           .
        
         
      
    
     
  

