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         Waller, Edmund, 1606-1687.
      
       
         
           1666
        
      
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         ESTC R18618
         12439428
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         62069
         
           
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             Instructions to a painter for the drawing of the posture & progress of His Ma[jes]ties forces at sea, under the command of His Highness Royal together with the battel & victory obtained over the Dutch, June 3, 1665 / by Edm. Waller, Esq.
             Waller, Edmund, 1606-1687.
          
           18 p.
           
             Printed for Henry Herringman ...,
             London :
             1666.
          
           
             First complete edition. An anonymous broadside, containing the first part of the poem, was published, 1665, under a slightly different title.
             Reproduction of original in Huntington Library.
          
        
      
    
     
       
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         eng
      
       
         
           War poetry, English.
           Anglo-Dutch War, 1664-1667 -- Poetry.
        
      
    
     
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           INSTRUCTIONS
           TO
           A
           PAINTER
           ,
           For
           the
           Drawing
           of
           the
           POSTURE
           &
           PROGRESS
           OF
           His
           Maties
           Forces
           at
           Sea
           ,
           Under
           the
           Command
           of
           His
           Highness
           Royal.
           
        
         
           Together
           with
           the
           BATTEL
           &
           VICTORY
           Obtained
           over
           the
           
             Dutch
             ,
             June
          
           3.
           1665.
           
        
         
           
             Ut
             ,
             qui
             vos
             ,
             Imperatores
             vestros
             ,
             &
             Anglorum
             Res
             gestas
             semper
             ornavit
             ,
             Humanitate
             vestrâ
             levatus
             ,
             potius
             quam
             acerbitate
             violatus
             esse
             videatur
             .
          
           
             Cicero
             pro
             Arch.
             Poet.
             
          
        
         
           By
           EDM.
           WALLER
           
             Esq
          
        
         
           LONDON
           ,
           Printed
           for
           
             Henry
             Herringman
          
           ,
           at
           the
           Anchor
           on
           the
           Lower
           Walk
           of
           the
           New
           Exchange
           .
           1666.
           
        
      
    
     
       
         
         
         
           INSTRUCTIONS
           TO
           A
           PAINTER
           ,
           For
           the
           Drawing
           of
           the
           Posture
           and
           Progress
           of
           His
           Maties
           Forces
           at
           Sea
           ,
           Under
           the
           Command
           of
           HIS
           HIGHNESS
           ROYAL
           .
        
         
           Together
           with
           The
           Battel
           and
           Victory
           obtained
           over
           the
           
             Dutch
             June
          
           3.
           1665.
           
        
         
           
             FIrst
             draw
             the
             Sea
             ,
             That
             portion
             which
             between
          
           
             The
             greater
             World
             ,
             and
             this
             of
             ours
             is
             seen
             ;
          
           
             Here
             place
             the
             British
             ,
             there
             the
             Holland
             Fleet
             ,
          
           
             Vast
             Floating
             Armies
             ,
             both
             prepar'd
             to
             meet
             :
          
        
         
           
             Draw
             the
             whole
             World
             ,
             expecting
             who
             shall
             Raign
             ,
          
           
             After
             this
             Combate
             ,
             o're
             the
             Conquer'd
             Main
             ;
          
           
             Make
             Heav'n
             concern'd
             ,
             and
             an
             unusual
             Star
          
           
             Declare
             th'Importance
             of
             th'
             approaching
             War
             :
          
        
         
           
             Make
             the
             Sea
             shine
             with
             Gallantry
             ,
             and
             all
          
           
             The
             English
             Youth
             flock
             to
             their
             Admiral
             ,
          
           
           
             The
             Valiant
             Duke
             ,
             whose
             early
             Deeds
             abroad
             ,
          
           
             Such
             Rage
             in
             Fight
             ,
             and
             Art
             in
             Conduct
             show'd
             ;
          
           
             His
             bright
             Sword
             now
             a
             dearer
             Int'rest
             draws
             ,
          
           
             His
             Brothers
             Glory
             ,
             and
             His
             Countries
             Cause
             .
          
        
         
           
             Let
             thy
             Bold
             Pencil
             ,
             Hope
             ,
             and
             Courage
             spread
          
           
             Through
             the
             whole
             Navy
             ,
             by
             that
             Heroe
             led
             ;
          
           
             Make
             all
             appear
             ,
             where
             such
             a
             Prince
             is
             by
             ,
          
           
             Resolv'd
             to
             Conquer
             ,
             or
             resolv'd
             to
             Die
             :
          
        
         
           
             With
             His
             Extraction
             ,
             and
             His
             Glorious
             Mind
          
           
             Make
             the
             proud
             Sails
             swell
             ,
             more
             than
             with
             the
             Wind
             ;
          
           
             Preventing
             Cannon
             ,
             Make
             His
             louder
             Fame
          
           
             Check
             the
             Batavians
             ,
             and
             their
             Fury
             tame
             :
          
           
             So
             hungry
             Wolves
             ,
             though
             greedy
             of
             their
             Prey
             ,
          
           
             Stop
             when
             they
             find
             a
             Lion
             in
             their
             way
             .
          
           
             Make
             Him
             bestride
             the
             Ocean
             ,
             and
             Mankind
          
           
             Ask
             His
             Consent
             ,
             to
             use
             the
             Sea
             and
             Wind
             :
          
           
             While
             His
             tall
             Ships
             in
             the
             barr'd
             Channel
             stand
             ,
          
           
             He
             grasps
             the
             Indies
             in
             His
             Armed
             Hand
             .
          
        
         
           
             Paint
             an
             East-wind
             ,
             and
             make
             it
             blow
             away
          
           
             Th'
             Excuse
             of
             Holland
             for
             their
             Navies
             stay
             ;
          
           
             Make
             them
             look
             pale
             ,
             and
             the
             Bold
             Prince
             to
             shun
             ,
          
           
             Through
             the
             cold
             North
             ,
             and
             Rocky
             Regions
             run
             ;
          
           
             To
             find
             the
             Coast
             where
             Morning
             first
             appears
             ,
          
           
             By
             the
             dark
             Pole
             the
             wary
             Belgian
             steers
             ,
          
           
           
             Confessing
             now
             ,
             He
             dreads
             the
             English
             ,
             more
          
           
             Then
             all
             the
             Dangers
             of
             a
             Frozen
             Shore
             ,
          
           
             While
             from
             our
             Arms
             security
             to
             find
             ,
          
           
             They
             fly
             so
             far
             ,
             they
             leave
             the
             Day
             behind
             :
          
        
         
           
             Describe
             their
             Fleet
             abandoning
             the
             Sea
             ,
          
           
             And
             all
             their
             Merchants
             left
             a
             wealthy
             Prey
             ;
          
           
             Our
             first
             Success
             in
             War
             ,
             make
             Bacchus
             Crown
             ,
          
           
             And
             half
             the
             Vintage
             of
             the
             Year
             our
             own
             :
          
        
         
           
             The
             Dutch
             their
             Wine
             ,
             and
             all
             their
             Brandee
             lose
             ,
          
           
             Disarm'd
             of
             that
             ,
             from
             which
             their
             Courage
             grows
             ;
          
           
             While
             the
             glad
             English
             ,
             to
             relieve
             their
             Toil
             ,
          
           
             In
             Healths
             to
             their
             great
             Leader
             drink
             the
             Spoil
             :
          
        
         
           
             His
             high
             Command
             to
             Africk's
             Coast
             extend
             ,
          
           
             And
             make
             the
             Moors
             before
             the
             English
             bend
             ,
          
           
             Those
             Barbarous
             Pirates
             willingly
             receive
          
           
             Conditions
             such
             ,
             as
             we
             are
             pleas'd
             to
             give
             ;
          
           
             Deserted
             by
             the
             Dutch
             ,
             let
             Nations
             know
             ,
          
           
             We
             can
             our
             own
             ,
             and
             their
             great
             business
             do
             ;
          
           
             False
             Friends
             chastise
             ,
             and
             common
             Foes
             restrain
             ,
          
           
             Which
             worse
             then
             Tempests
             did
             infest
             the
             Main
             .
          
           
             Within
             those
             Streights
             make
             Smyrna-Fleet
          
           
             With
             a
             small
             Squadron
             of
             the
             English
             meet
             ;
          
           
             Like
             Falcons
             these
             ,
             those
             like
             a
             numerous
             Flock
             ,
          
           
             Of
             Fowl
             ,
             which
             scatter
             to
             avoid
             the
             Shock
             ;
          
        
         
           
           
             There
             paint
             Confusion
             in
             a
             various
             shape
          
           
             Some
             sink
             ,
             some
             Yield
             ,
             and
             flying
             some
             Escape
             :
          
           
             Europe
             and
             Africa
             from
             either
             Shore
          
           
             Spectators
             are
             ,
             and
             hear
             our
             Cannon
             roar
             ,
          
           
             While
             the
             divided
             World
             ,
             in
             this
             ,
             agree
             ,
          
           
             Men
             that
             fight
             so
             ,
             deserve
             to
             Rule
             the
             Sea.
             
          
        
         
           
             But
             neerer
             Home
             ,
             thy
             Pencil
             use
             once
             more
             ,
          
           
             And
             place
             our
             Navy
             by
             the
             Holland
             Shore
             ;
          
           
             The
             World
             they
             compass'd
             ,
             while
             they
             fought
             with
             Spain
             ,
          
           
             But
             here
             already
             they
             resign
             the
             Main
             :
          
        
         
           
             Those
             greedy
             Mariners
             ,
             out
             of
             whose
             way
             ,
          
           
             Diffusive
             Nature
             could
             no
             Region
             lay
             ,
          
           
             At
             home
             ,
             preserv'd
             ,
             from
             Rocks
             and
             Tempests
             lie
             ,
          
           
             Compell'd
             ,
             like
             others
             ,
             in
             their
             Beds
             to
             die
             ;
          
        
         
           
             Their
             single
             Towns
             th'
             Iberian
             Armies
             press't
             ,
          
           
             We
             all
             their
             Provinces
             at
             once
             Invest
             ,
          
           
             And
             in
             a
             Month
             ,
             Ruine
             their
             Traffique
             ,
             more
             ,
          
           
             Then
             that
             long
             War
             ,
             could
             in
             an
             Age
             before
             .
          
        
         
           
             But
             who
             can
             always
             on
             the
             Billows
             ly
             ?
          
           
             The
             watry
             Wilderness
             yields
             no
             supply
             ;
          
           
             Spreading
             our
             Sails
             ,
             to
             Harwich
             we
             resort
             ,
          
           
             And
             meet
             the
             Beauties
             of
             the
             British
             Court
             ,
          
           
           
             Th'
             Illustrious
             Dutchess
             ,
             and
             her
             Glorious
             Train
             ,
          
           
             Like
             Thetis
             with
             her
             Nymphs
             ,
             adorn
             the
             Main
             ;
          
           
             The
             gazing
             Sea-gods
             ,
             since
             the
             Paphian
             Queen
          
           
             Sprung
             from
             among
             them
             ,
             no
             such
             sight
             had
             seen
             ;
          
           
             Charm'd
             with
             the
             Graces
             of
             a
             Troop
             so
             fair
             ,
          
           
             Those
             deathless
             Powers
             for
             us
             themselves
             declare
             ,
          
           
             Resolv'd
             the
             Aid
             of
             Neptuno's
             Court
             to
             bring
             ,
          
           
             And
             help
             the
             Nation
             where
             such
             Beauties
             spring
             :
          
           
             The
             Souldier
             here
             his
             wasted
             Store
             supplies
             ,
          
           
             And
             takes
             new
             Valour
             from
             the
             Ladies
             Eyes
             :
          
        
         
           
             Mean
             while
             ,
             like
             Bees
             ,
             when
             stormy
             Winter
             's
             gone
             ,
          
           
             The
             Dutch
             (
             as
             if
             the
             Sea
             were
             all
             their
             own
             )
          
           
             Desert
             their
             Ports
             ,
             and
             falling
             in
             their
             way
          
           
             Our
             Hamburgh
             Merchants
             are
             become
             their
             Prey
             ;
          
           
             Thus
             flourish
             they
             ,
             before
             th'
             appoaching
             Fight
             ,
          
           
             As
             dying
             Tapers
             give
             a
             blazing
             Light.
             
          
        
         
           
             To
             check
             their
             Pride
             ,
             our
             Fleet
             half
             Victuall'd
             goes
             ,
          
           
             Enough
             to
             serve
             us
             ,
             till
             we
             reach
             our
             Foes
             ,
          
           
             Who
             now
             appear
             ,
             so
             numerous
             and
             bold
             ,
          
           
             The
             Action
             worthy
             of
             our
             Arms
             we
             hold
             ;
          
           
             A
             greater
             Force
             ,
             then
             that
             which
             here
             we
             find
             ,
          
           
             Ne're
             press'd
             the
             Ocean
             ,
             nor
             employ'd
             the
             Wind.
          
           
             Restrain'd
             a
             while
             by
             the
             unwelcom
             Night
             ,
          
           
             Th'
             impatient
             English
             scarce
             attend
             the
             Light
             ;
          
        
         
           
           
             But
             now
             the
             Morning
             ,
             Heav'n
             severely
             clear
             ,
          
           
             To
             the
             fierce
             Work
             Indulgent
             does
             appear
             ;
          
           
             And
             Phoebus
             lifts
             above
             the
             Waves
             his
             Light
             ,
          
           
             That
             he
             might
             see
             ,
             and
             thus
             Record
             the
             Fight
             :
          
        
         
           
             As
             when
             loud
             Winds
             from
             different
             Quarters
             rush
             ,
          
           
             Vast
             Clouds
             incountring
             ,
             one
             another
             crush
             ,
          
           
             With
             swelling
             Sails
             ,
             so
             ,
             from
             their
             several
             Coasts
             ,
          
           
             Joyn
             the
             Batavian
             ,
             and
             the
             British
             Hoasts
             ;
          
        
         
           
             For
             a
             less
             Prize
             ,
             with
             less
             Concern
             and
             Rage
             ,
          
           
             The
             Roman
             Fleets
             at
             Actium
             did
             Engage
             ;
          
           
             They
             for
             the
             Empire
             of
             the
             World
             they
             knew
             ,
          
           
             These
             for
             the
             Old
             ,
             Contend
             ,
             and
             for
             the
             New
             :
          
        
         
           
             At
             the
             first
             Shock
             ,
             with
             Blood
             ,
             and
             Powder
             stain'd
             ,
          
           
             Nor
             Heav'n
             ,
             nor
             Sea
             ,
             their
             former
             face
             retain'd
             ;
          
           
             Fury
             and
             Art
             produce
             Effects
             so
             strange
             ,
          
           
             They
             trouble
             Nature
             ,
             and
             her
             Visage
             change
             :
          
        
         
           
             Where
             burning
             Ships
             the
             banish'd
             Sun
             supply
             ,
          
           
             And
             no
             Light
             shines
             ,
             but
             that
             by
             which
             Men
             dy
             ,
          
           
             There
             YORK
             appears
             ,
             so
             prodigal
             is
             he
          
           
             Of
             Royal
             Blood
             ,
             as
             ancient
             as
             the
             Sea
             ,
          
           
             Which
             down
             to
             Him
             ,
             so
             many
             Ages
             told
             ,
          
           
             Has
             through
             the
             Veins
             of
             Mighty
             Monarchs
             roll'd
             ;
          
        
         
           
           
             The
             great
             Achilles
             march'd
             not
             to
             the
             Field
             ,
          
           
             Till
             Vulcan
             that
             impenetrable
             Shield
          
           
             And
             Arms
             had
             wrought
             ;
             yet
             there
             no
             Bullets
             flew
             ,
          
           
             But
             Shafts
             ,
             and
             Darts
             ,
             which
             the
             weak
             Phrygians
             threw
             ;
          
        
         
           
             Our
             bolder
             Heroe
             on
             the
             Deck
             does
             stand
          
           
             Expos'd
             ,
             the
             Bulwark
             of
             his
             Native
             Land
             ,
          
           
             Defensive
             Arms
             laid
             by
             ,
             as
             useless
             here
             ,
          
           
             Where
             massie
             Balls
             the
             Neighbouring
             Rocks
             do
             tear
             :
          
           
             Some
             Power
             unseen
             those
             Princes
             does
             protect
             ,
          
           
             Who
             for
             their
             Country
             thus
             themselves
             neglect
             .
          
        
         
           
             Against
             Him
             first
             Opdam
             his
             Squadron
             leads
             ,
          
           
             Proud
             of
             his
             late
             Success
             against
             the
             Swedes
             ,
          
           
             Made
             by
             that
             Action
             ,
             and
             his
             high
             Command
             ,
          
           
             Worthy
             to
             perish
             by
             a
             Princes
             Hand
             :
          
        
         
           
             The
             tall
             Batavian
             in
             a
             vast
             Ship
             rides
             ,
          
           
             Bearing
             an
             Army
             in
             her
             hollow
             Sides
             ,
          
           
             Yet
             not
             inclin'd
             the
             English
             Ship
             to
             Board
             ,
          
           
             More
             on
             his
             Guns
             relies
             ,
             then
             on
             his
             Sword
             ,
          
           
             From
             whence
             a
             fatal
             Volley
             we
             receiv'd
             ,
          
           
             It
             miss'd
             the
             Duke
             ,
             but
             His
             great
             Heart
             it
             griev'd
             ,
          
           
             Three
             worthy
             Persons
             from
             His
             Side
             it
             tore
             ,
          
           
             And
             dy'd
             His
             Garment
             with
             their
             scatter'd
             Gore
             :
          
        
         
           
             Happy
             !
             to
             whom
             this
             glorious
             Death
             arrives
             ,
          
           
             More
             to
             be
             valu'd
             than
             a
             thousand
             Lives
             !
          
           
           
             On
             such
             a
             Theatre
             ,
             as
             this
             ,
             to
             dy
             ,
          
           
             For
             such
             a
             Cause
             ,
             and
             such
             a
             Witness
             by
             !
          
           
             Who
             would
             not
             thus
             a
             Sacrifice
             be
             made
             ,
          
           
             To
             have
             his
             Blood
             on
             such
             an
             Altar
             laid
             ?
          
        
         
           
             The
             rest
             about
             Him
             strook
             with
             Horrour
             stood
             ,
          
           
             To
             see
             their
             Leader
             cover'd
             or'e
             with
             Blood
             ;
          
           
             So
             trembl'd
             Jacob
             ,
             when
             he
             thought
             the
             stains
          
           
             Of
             his
             Sons
             Coat
             had
             issu'd
             from
             his
             Veins
             :
          
        
         
           
             He
             feels
             no
             wound
             ,
             but
             in
             his
             troubled
             Thought
             ,
          
           
             Before
             for
             Honour
             ,
             now
             Revenge
             He
             fought
             ,
          
           
             His
             Friends
             in
             pieces
             torn
             ,
             the
             bitter
             News
          
           
             Not
             brought
             by
             Fame
             ,
             with
             His
             own
             Eyes
             he
             views
             ;
          
           
             His
             Mind
             at
             once
             reflecting
             on
             their
             Youth
             ,
          
           
             Their
             Worth
             ,
             their
             Love
             ,
             their
             Valour
             ,
             and
             their
             Truth
             ,
          
           
             The
             Joys
             of
             Court
             ,
             their
             Mothers
             ,
             and
             their
             Wives
          
           
             To
             follow
             Him
             abandon'd
             ,
             and
             their
             Lives
             ,
          
        
         
           
             He
             storms
             ,
             and
             Shoots
             ;
             but
             flying
             Bullets
             now
          
           
             To
             execute
             His
             Rage
             ,
             appear
             too
             slow
             ;
          
           
             They
             miss
             ,
             or
             sweep
             but
             Common
             Souls
             away
             ,
          
           
             For
             such
             a
             Loss
             ,
             Opdam
             his
             Life
             must
             pay
             :
          
           
             Encouraging
             His
             Men
             ,
             He
             gives
             the
             Word
             ,
          
           
             With
             fierce
             intent
             that
             hated
             Ship
             to
             Board
             ,
          
           
             And
             make
             the
             Guilty
             Dutch
             ,
             with
             His
             own
             Arm
             ,
          
           
             Wait
             on
             His
             Friends
             ,
             while
             yet
             their
             Blood
             is
             warm
             :
          
        
         
           
           
             His
             winged
             Vessel
             like
             an
             Eagle
             shows
             ,
          
           
             When
             through
             the
             Clouds
             to
             truss
             a
             Swan
             she
             goes
             ;
          
           
             The
             Belgian
             Ship
             unmov'd
             ,
             like
             some
             huge
             Rock
          
           
             Inhabiting
             the
             Sea
             ,
             expects
             the
             Shock
             :
          
        
         
           
             From
             both
             the
             Fleets
             Mens
             Eyes
             are
             bent
             this
             way
             ,
          
           
             Neglecting
             all
             the
             Business
             of
             the
             day
             ,
          
           
             Bullets
             their
             Flight
             ,
             and
             Guns
             their
             Noise
             suspend
             ,
          
           
             The
             silent
             Ocean
             does
             th'
             Event
             attend
             ,
          
           
             Which
             Leader
             shall
             the
             Doubtful
             Vict'ry
             bless
             ,
          
           
             And
             give
             an
             Earnest
             of
             the
             Wars
             Success
             ;
          
           
             When
             Heav'n
             it self
             for
             England
             to
             declare
             ,
          
           
             Turns
             Ship
             ,
             and
             Men
             ,
             and
             Tackle
             into
             Air
             ;
          
        
         
           
             Their
             new
             Commander
             from
             his
             Charge
             is
             tost
             ,
          
           
             Which
             that
             young
             Prince
             had
             so
             unjustly
             lost
             ,
          
           
             Whose
             Great
             Progenitors
             with
             better
             Fate
             ,
          
           
             And
             better
             Conduct
             sway'd
             their
             Infant
             State.
             
          
        
         
           
             His
             flight
             tow'rds
             Heav'n
             th'
             aspiring
             Belgian
             took
             ,
          
           
             But
             fell
             ,
             like
             Phaeton
             ,
             with
             Thunder
             strook
             ,
          
           
             From
             vaster
             hopes
             than
             his
             ,
             He
             seem'd
             to
             fall
             ,
          
           
             That
             durst
             attempt
             the
             British
             Admiral
             ;
          
           
             From
             her
             Broad-sides
             a
             ruder
             Flame
             is
             thrown
             ,
          
           
             Than
             from
             the
             fiery
             Chariot
             of
             the
             Sun
             ;
          
           
             That
             bears
             the
             radiant
             Ensigh
             of
             the
             Day
             ,
          
           
             And
             she
             the
             Flag
             that
             Governs
             in
             the
             Sea.
             
          
        
         
           
           
             The
             Duke
             ill
             pleas'd
             that
             Fire
             should
             thus
             prevent
          
           
             The
             work
             which
             for
             His
             brighter
             Sword
             He
             meant
             ,
          
           
             Anger
             still
             burning
             in
             His
             valiant
             Breast
             ,
          
           
             Goes
             to
             compleat
             Revenge
             upon
             the
             Rest
             ;
          
           
             So
             on
             the
             guardless
             Herd
             ,
             their
             Keeper
             slain
             ,
          
           
             Rushes
             a
             Tyger
             in
             the
             Lybian
             Plain
             .
          
        
         
           
             The
             Dutch
             accustom'd
             to
             the
             raging
             Sea
             ,
          
           
             And
             in
             black
             Storms
             the
             Frowns
             of
             Heav'n
             to
             see
             ,
          
           
             Never
             met
             Tempest
             which
             more
             urg'd
             their
             Fears
             ,
          
           
             Than
             that
             which
             in
             the
             Prince
             His
             Look
             appears
             ;
          
        
         
           
             Fierce
             ,
             Goodly
             ,
             Young
             ,
             Mars
             He
             resembles
             ,
             when
          
           
             Jove
             sends
             him
             down
             ,
             to
             scourge
             perfidious
             Men
             ,
          
           
             Such
             as
             with
             foul
             Ingratitude
             have
             paid
          
           
             Both
             those
             that
             Led
             ,
             and
             those
             that
             gave
             them
             Aid
             ;
          
        
         
           
             Where
             He
             gives
             on
             ,
             disposing
             of
             their
             Fates
             ,
          
           
             Terror
             and
             Death
             on
             His
             loud
             Cannon
             waits
             ,
          
           
             With
             which
             He
             pleads
             His
             Brothers
             Cause
             so
             well
             ,
          
           
             He
             shakes
             the
             Throne
             to
             which
             he
             does
             Appeal
             ;
          
        
         
           
             The
             Sea
             with
             Spoil
             His
             angry
             Bullets
             strow
             ,
          
           
             Widows
             and
             Orphans
             making
             as
             they
             go
             ;
          
           
             Before
             His
             Ship
             ,
             Fragments
             of
             Vessels
             torn
             ,
          
           
             Flags
             ,
             Arms
             ,
             and
             Belgian
             Carcasses
             are
             born
             ,
          
           
             And
             His
             despairing
             Foes
             to
             flight
             inclin'd
             ,
          
           
             Spread
             all
             their
             Canvase
             to
             invite
             the
             Wind
             :
          
           
           
             So
             the
             rude
             Boreas
             where
             he
             lists
             to
             blow
          
           
             Makes
             Clouds
             above
             ,
             and
             Billows
             fly
             below
             ,
          
           
             Beating
             the
             shore
             ,
             and
             with
             a
             boysterous
             rage
          
           
             Does
             Heav'n
             at
             once
             ,
             and
             Earth
             and
             Sea
             ingage
             :
          
        
         
           
             The
             Dutch
             elsewhere
             ,
             did
             through
             the
             watry
             Field
          
           
             Perform
             enough
             to
             have
             made
             others
             yield
             ;
          
           
             But
             English
             Courage
             growing
             as
             they
             fight
             ,
          
           
             In
             danger
             ,
             noise
             ,
             and
             slaughter
             takes
             delight
             ,
          
           
             Their
             bloody
             Task
             ,
             unwearied
             still
             ,
             they
             ply
             ,
          
           
             Only
             restrain'd
             by
             Death
             ,
             or
             Victory
             :
          
        
         
           
             Iron
             and
             Lead
             ,
             from
             Earths
             dark
             Entrails
             torn
             ,
          
           
             Like
             show'rs
             of
             Hail
             from
             either
             side
             are
             born
             ;
          
           
             So
             high
             the
             Rage
             of
             wretched
             Mortals
             goes
             ,
          
           
             Hurling
             their
             Mothers
             Bowels
             at
             their
             Foes
             ,
          
           
             Ingenious
             to
             their
             ruine
             ,
             Every
             Age
          
           
             Improves
             the
             Arts
             ,
             and
             Instruments
             of
             Rage
             ;
          
           
             Death-hast'ning
             ills
             Nature
             enough
             has
             sent
             ,
          
           
             And
             yet
             Men
             still
             a
             thousand
             more
             invent
             .
          
        
         
           
             But
             Bacchus
             now
             ,
             which
             led
             the
             Belgians
             on
          
           
             So
             fierce
             at
             first
             ,
             to
             favour
             us
             begun
             ;
          
           
             Brandee
             and
             Wine
             ,
             their
             wonted
             Friends
             ,
             at
             length
          
           
             Render
             them
             useless
             ,
             and
             betray
             their
             strength
             :
          
        
         
           
             So
             Corn
             in
             Fields
             ,
             and
             in
             the
             Garden
             Flowers
             ,
          
           
             Revive
             ,
             and
             raise
             themselves
             with
             moderate
             Showers
             ;
          
           
           
             But
             over-charg'd
             with
             never-ceasing
             Rain
             ,
          
           
             Become
             too
             moist
             ,
             and
             bend
             their
             heads
             again
             :
          
        
         
           
             Their
             reeling
             Ships
             on
             one
             another
             fall
             ,
          
           
             Without
             a
             Foe
             enough
             to
             ruine
             all
             :
          
           
             Of
             this
             Disorder
             ,
             and
             the
             favouring
             Wind
             ,
          
           
             The
             watchful
             English
             such
             Advantage
             find
             ,
          
           
             Ships
             fraught
             with
             Fire
             among
             the
             Heap
             they
             throw
             ,
          
           
             And
             up
             the
             so
             intangled
             Belgians
             blow
             ;
          
           
             The
             Flame
             invades
             the
             Powder-rooms
             ,
             and
             then
          
           
             Their
             Guns
             shoot
             Bullets
             ,
             and
             their
             Vessels
             Men
             ;
          
           
             The
             scorch't
             Batavians
             on
             the
             Billows
             float
             ,
          
           
             Sent
             from
             their
             own
             to
             pass
             in
             Charon's
             Boat.
             
          
        
         
           
             And
             now
             our
             Royal
             Admiral
             ,
             Success
          
           
             With
             all
             the
             marks
             of
             Victory
             does
             bless
             ;
          
           
             The
             burning
             Ships
             ,
             the
             taken
             ,
             and
             the
             slain
          
           
             Proclaim
             His
             Triumph
             o're
             the
             Conquer'd
             Main
             :
          
        
         
           
             Neerer
             to
             Holland
             as
             their
             hasty
             flight
          
           
             Carries
             the
             Noise
             and
             Tumult
             of
             the
             Fight
             ,
          
           
             His
             Cannons
             roar
             ,
             fore-runner
             of
             His
             Fame
             ,
          
           
             Makes
             their
             Hague
             tremble
             ,
             and
             their
             Amsterdam
             ;
          
           
             The
             British
             Thunder
             does
             their
             Houses
             rock
             ,
          
           
             And
             the
             Duke
             seems
             at
             every
             Door
             to
             knock
             ;
          
        
         
           
             His
             dreadful
             Streamer
             like
             a
             Comets
             hair
          
           
             Threatning
             Destruction
             ,
             hastens
             their
             Despair
             ,
          
           
           
             Makes
             them
             deplore
             their
             scatter'd
             Fleet
             as
             lost
             ,
          
           
             And
             fear
             our
             present
             Landing
             on
             their
             Coast.
             
          
        
         
           
             The
             Trembling
             Dutch
             th'
             approaching
             Prince
             behold
          
           
             As
             Sheep
             a
             Lion
             leaping
             tow'rds
             their
             Fold
             ;
          
           
             Those
             Piles
             which
             serve
             them
             to
             repel
             the
             Main
          
           
             They
             think
             too
             weak
             His
             Fury
             to
             restrain
             :
          
           
             What
             Wonders
             may
             not
             English
             Valour
             work
             ,
          
           
             Led
             by
             th'
             Example
             of
             Victorious
             YORK
             ?
          
           
             Or
             what
             Defence
             against
             Him
             can
             they
             make
             ,
          
           
             Who
             at
             such
             distance
             does
             their
             Country
             shake
             ?
          
           
             His
             fatal
             Hand
             their
             Bulwarks
             will
             o'rethrow
             ,
          
           
             And
             let
             in
             both
             the
             Ocean
             and
             the
             Foe
             :
          
        
         
           
             Thus
             cry
             the
             People
             ,
             and
             their
             Land
             to
             keep
             ,
          
           
             Allow
             our
             Title
             to
             Command
             the
             Deep
             ,
          
           
             Blaming
             their
             States
             ill
             Conduct
             to
             provoke
          
           
             Those
             Arms
             which
             freed
             them
             from
             the
             Spanish
             Yoke
             .
          
        
         
           
             Painter
             ,
             excuse
             me
             ,
             if
             I
             have
             a
             while
          
           
             Forgot
             thy
             Art
             ,
             and
             us'd
             another
             Stile
             ;
          
           
             For
             though
             you
             Draw
             Arm'd
             Heroes
             as
             they
             fit
             ,
          
           
             The
             Task
             in
             Battel
             does
             the
             Muses
             fit
             ;
          
           
             They
             in
             the
             dark
             Confusion
             of
             a
             Fight
          
           
             Discover
             all
             ,
             instruct
             us
             how
             to
             Write
             ,
          
           
           
             And
             Light
             and
             Honour
             to
             Brave
             Actions
             yield
             ,
          
           
             Hid
             in
             the
             Smoak
             and
             Tumult
             of
             the
             Field
             .
          
        
         
           
             Ages
             to
             come
             shall
             know
             that
             Leaders
             Toil
             ,
          
           
             And
             His
             Great
             Name
             on
             whom
             the
             Muses
             smile
             ;
          
           
             Their
             Dictates
             here
             let
             thy
             fam'd
             Pencil
             trace
             ,
          
           
             And
             this
             Relation
             with
             thy
             Colours
             grace
             .
          
        
         
           
             Then
             Draw
             the
             Parliament
             ,
             the
             Nobles
             met
             ,
          
           
             And
             our
             Great
             Monarch
             ,
             High
             above
             Them
             set
             ,
          
           
             Like
             young
             Augustus
             let
             His
             Image
             be
             ,
          
           
             Triumphing
             for
             that
             Victory
             at
             Sea
             ,
          
           
             Where
             AEgypts
             Queen
             ,
             and
             Eastern
             Kings
             o'rethrown
             .
          
           
             Made
             the
             Possession
             of
             the
             World
             His
             own
             .
          
        
         
           
             Last
             Draw
             the
             Commons
             at
             His
             Royal
             Feet
             ,
          
           
             Pouring
             out
             Treasure
             to
             Supply
             His
             Fleet
             ;
          
           
             They
             vow
             ,
             with
             Lives
             and
             Fortunes
             to
             maintain
          
           
             Their
             Kings
             Eternal
             Title
             to
             the
             Main
             ,
          
           
             And
             with
             a
             Present
             to
             the
             Duke
             approve
          
           
             His
             Valour
             ,
             Conduct
             ,
             and
             His
             Countries
             Love.
             
          
        
      
       
         
         
           To
           the
           King.
           
        
         
           
             GREAT
             SIR
             ,
             Disdain
             not
             in
             this
             Piece
             to
             Stand
          
           
             Supream
             Commander
             both
             of
             Sea
             and
             Land
             :
          
           
             Those
             which
             Inhabit
             the
             Celestial
             Bower
             ,
          
           
             Painters
             express
             with
             Emblems
             of
             their
             Power
             ;
          
           
             His
             Club
             
               Alcides
               ,
               Phoebus
            
             has
             his
             Bow
             ,
          
           
             Jove
             has
             his
             Thunder
             ,
             and
             your
             Navy
             You.
             
          
        
         
           
             But
             Your
             Great
             Providence
             no
             Colours
             here
          
           
             Can
             Represent
             ,
             nor
             Pencil
             draw
             that
             Care
          
           
             Which
             keeps
             You
             waking
             ,
             to
             secure
             our
             Peace
             ,
          
           
             The
             Nations
             Glory
             ,
             and
             our
             Trades
             Increase
             ;
          
           
             You
             for
             these
             Ends
             whole
             days
             in
             Counsel
             Sit
             ,
          
           
             And
             the
             Diversions
             of
             Your
             Youth
             forget
             .
          
        
         
           
             Small
             were
             the
             worth
             of
             Valour
             ,
             and
             of
             Force
             ,
          
           
             If
             Your
             High
             Wisdom
             Govern'd
             not
             their
             Course
             ;
          
           
             You
             as
             the
             Soul
             ,
             as
             the
             First
             Mover
             You
          
           
             Vigour
             and
             Life
             on
             every
             Part
             bestow
             ,
          
           
             How
             to
             build
             Ships
             ,
             and
             Dreadful
             Ordnance
             cast
             ,
          
           
             Instruct
             the
             Artists
             ,
             and
             Reward
             their
             Haste
             :
          
        
         
           
             So
             Jove
             Himself
             ,
             when
             Typhon
             Heav'n
             does
             brave
             ,
          
           
             Descends
             to
             visit
             Vulcan's
             smoaky
             Cave
             ,
          
           
           
             Teaching
             the
             Brawny
             Cyclops
             how
             to
             frame
          
           
             His
             Thunder
             mixt
             with
             Terrour
             ,
             Wrath
             ,
             and
             Flame
             .
          
        
         
           
             Had
             the
             old
             Greeks
             discover'd
             Your
             Abode
             ,
          
           
             Crete
             had
             not
             been
             the
             Cradle
             of
             their
             God
             ,
          
           
             On
             that
             small
             Island
             they
             had
             look'd
             with
             scorn
             ,
          
           
             And
             in
             
               Great
               Britain
            
             thought
             the
             Thunderer
             born
             .
          
        
         
           FINIS
           .
        
         
      
    
     
  

