A Congratulatory POEM, To the Honourable Admiral Russel, on his Glorious Victory over the French Fleet.
LOng did the Languishing
Brittania grown
Beneath
French Power on the
English Throne!
French Councills,
French Debauch'ry rul'd the Rost,
And gen'rous
English Courage quite was lost.
Blake, Deane, and
Lawson, whose each single Name,
Without an
Epithet, swells the
Cheeks of Fame;
England's brave Hero's, who disdain'd to Bear
The
Romish Yoak, or
Gallic Fetters wear;
Who all the
Naval Power of
Europe Sway'd,
And sturdy
Algerines their Laws obey'd:
Loaden with glory,
These their Lives resign,
And their lov'd Names in Fames bright Annals shine.
Great
Ruport, and brave
Monk a while Support
The
English Valour, since made
Europes sport,
With these fell th' Honour of our English Fleet,
Degenerate Souls
Degenerous acts commit!
Soft
Daliance now
Emasculates the Land,
Old Captains laid aside, and
Boys Command;
For
Balls and
Masquerades highly renown'd,
And
Tilting Beedles in their Midnight-round;
Effeminate Courts
Effeminate Youths employ,
These keep not up our glory, but destroy.
An
English King Mannag'd by
Bourillion,
Is a fit
Tool t'advance the
Gallic Throne!
[Page 2] Thus
We who gave the boundless Ocean Law,
And our Confederate Neighbours kept in
Awe,
Scorn'd and despis'd like
Abjects, were become
Slaves to the
French, and
Proselites to
Rome.
At length Great
Brittains better Genius saw,
The heavy Yoak her
Sons were forc't to draw,
And with
Compassion touch'd the
Generous Nassaw.
Nassaw the Darling of Heav'ns kinder Powers.
Our
Native Freedom to our
Isle Restores;
Like the
First Kings or Chiefs, with Courage stout,
He to the Battel leads his
Captains out,
In hottest Actions
Foremost he appears,
Nor shuns the
Combat check'd by
Guilty Fears,
His
Martial Heat th' Old
English Courage warms,
Rais'd, and
Revives the Credit of her
Arms:
From
Rav'nous Lewis he a
Kingdom tore,
Forc'd him his
Boasted Ireland to Restore,
And drove his baffled Troops home to their slavish Shoar,
With winged Force pursues him on the Main,
And checks the Progress of his
Grand Campain;
Whilst shifting
Luxemburgh in Entrenchments hides
His sneaking Troops, and
Fastnesses proyides:
His vaunting Squadrons dares not ours engage,
But dread the shock of Conq'ring
Nassaw's Rage;
The Battel of the glorious Field they shun,
And avoiding Fighting, may be said to
Run.
Brave
England's King, who knows not to b' affraid,
Hath all the
Daring Stratagems essaid,
But all in vain, since the
Inglorious French,
Fearful of Vegeance, meanly do Entrench.
Lewis to Treacherous
Poisonings Resorts;
Conscious, when those his hellish
Arts shall fail,
He ne're can by his
Guilty Arms prevail.
On the
French Conquests now our Monarch stands,
And makes them Tributary to our Bands,
With
English Troops
Dunkirk in Pound he keeps,
And betwixt
Lewis and his
Dunkirk sleeps;
Dunkirk that's lodg'd in
Lewis's panting Breast,
As of her
Callais Mary once exprest:
Dunkirk before, by
English Valour ta'ne,
And for
French Pistols basely Sold again:
Great
William's Sword must now the Knot untie,
And regain by
Arms what
France with
Gold did buy:
Whist our great King, on Land, such
Glories meet,
To
You he leaves the Conduct of his
Fleet;
You who have laid fresh Lawrels at his Feet.
Russel before
England's Respects might Claim
For a
Champion, and a
Martyr of that Name,
You more a Debtor have your Country made,
And rais'd that
Fund of Honour they had laid.
True to the Trust the
Royal Pair Repos'd,
Their Interest and their Kingdoms
You espous'd.
The first Years Expedition spent in vain,
Hunting for
Tourvill on the Foaming Main;
That blustring Monsieur, who the Year before
Show'd his great
French Armada on our Shoare,
Burning five
Fisher-Boats, durst attempt no more.
At Land, and Sea the
French like Courage show,
With equal
Force they dare not see their
Foe.
[Page 4] The
English Navy o're the Ocean Rides,
Proud of that glorious Burthen on her Tides,
With Indignation scowres the Channel Round,
But neither
Tourvil nor his
Fleet were found;
Our eager Youth near mad with Martial Rage,
Hunting a Foe they could not come t' engage;
Perplext, and Raving, scarcely they forbear,
With violent Hands their very flesh to tear.
Mean while our
Heroe with great pain supprest
The burning
Indignation in his Breast,
He forc't his swelling
Passion to obey,
And for the next
sit time for Vengeance stay.
Kind Heav'n
agreed, and with a wisht for gale
Upon our
Fleet this year drove fifty Sail,
Their warm Reception quickly made them know,
They now in earnest met a generous Foe,
Would try their Courage e're they'd let 'em go.
With pompous Rage the
Admirals Amirals meet;
Ours glad they'd
found at last, the
Gallic Fleet,
And whatsoe're detracting French-men say,
But
Forty of our Ships could come in play;
Th' unequal Odds our
Captains scorn to shun,
The
Lesser Number
Greater Glory won.
With Peals of Joy our Men the Welkin tear,
And with
presaging Huzza's cleave the Aire,
Glorie's their aim, and that they close pursue,
With warmth the
French were unaccustom'd too.
Stout
Carter who too early lost a Thigh,
With his last Breath did still the Foe defie;
[Page 5] He saw himself
Reveng'd e're he expir'd,
And to the bed of
Glory strait retir'd.
Through gusts of Thunder
bright Brittania's hurld.
To find the
Mistress of the
Wat'ry World,
She whom vain glorious
Lewis built to sway
The
Ocean, as the
Land must him
obey;
May she the
Omen of his
Fortune be,
And his
Arms at Land succeed as those at
Sea!
Resolved
Russel storms her lofty sides,
Humbles the vaunting
Motto of her pride,
All heat, all indignation, peals of Fire
Break from his roaring tyres, the affrighted Air
Trembling and wounded, to the
French Coast flies,
And Echo's out their
Navy's Obsequies.
Tourvill, with warmth not seen in
French before
Receives the broad-sides which our Cannons poure,
He all his
Force, and all his
Skill applied
To keep Victorious
Russel from his side,
But all in vain,
Englands Brave
Admiral knew
The
Oceans Soverainty was
Englands due;
Close to the Monsieurs fiery sides he bore,
And with fresh Thunder
Storms him o're and o're;
Their Murthering Ball thick as their hail shot flew,
And every broad-side doth their rage renew;
With Fire
Brittania clouds the
Rising Sun,
And in flaming Circles on his
Orb doth run,
Arm-yard to Arm-yard closely they Engage,
And in loud roaring vollies tell their Rage;
Ne're on the
Sea was greater bravery shewn,
Nor Honours prize with greater Glory won.
[Page 6] After
Five Hours dispute in Smoaky Clouds,
Storming of
Hulls, Rending of Sinwey
Shrouds,
With all the Horrid pomp a
Naval Fight
Could e're present, or Scaly Squadrons 'fright;
The
Rising Sun sinks in the Watry deep,
And his
Shining Glories in her
Waves doth steep.
Th'
Immortal Palme You Mighty Sir have won,
And have
Eclipst proud
Lewis's Rising
Sun.
So have I seen in a disturbed Air
Two Sable Clouds meeting from Regions far,
Grown big with Tempests, at each other Flash,
'Till their loud Storms have made Heav'ns vault to crash,
Their Fires meet, and
Combat in the Sky,
And
Bellow out their
Thunders from on High,
Disgorging Flame, as if the Globe they'd burn,
And
Earths Foundations into Ashes turn;
Their
Sulph'rous Store being spent, they melt in showers,
And Rapid Torrents from the Mountains poure:
In
Lightning they begin, in
Rain Expire,
And
Neptunes Flood Extinquisht
Vulcans Fire.
Nor did your
Captains little
Bravery shew,
They signalliz'd their Courage on the foe,
Your great Example did their Spirits Raise;
Each Fought for, and deserv'd a Conquerers Bays.
Your Master, on the
Land, his Troops Inspires,
At
Sea You Animate with your Martial Fires.
Three mighty Ships into the Air were blown,
Monsieurs flew
capering up, came
tumbling down:
The rest o'th' shatter'd Fleet make to
La-Hogue,
And seek
Protection from St.
Patrick's
Brogue;
Were now made
Guardians of the
Norman Coast,
These saw their
Burning Squadrons in the
Bay,
On their
own Coasts their Ships became
our prey.
Boast not of
Mons, by Treacherous Priests
betray'd,
Nor
Namur which the
Floods thy
Captive made!
Whilst
Heav'n with saint
Te Deums Lewis mocks,
And with
False Tryumphs
buoys his senceless
Stocks,
On his own Shoar his
Flaming Flota lies,
To the
English Admiral a
Sacrifice:
Brave
Russel scorns his
Glorious King to greet
With a less
Bonfire than the
Gallic Fleet.
Methinks I see the King of the great Deep
With all his Trytons Halcyon Revels keep,
Glad their
Right Lords Resume their Ancient sway;
Swearing Allegiance to
Brittannia.
The
Syrens our
Brittania's Trymphs sing,
And in Shells of Pearl Quaf Healths to
Brittains King,
The joyful
Sea Gods pledge the Bumper round,
And with shril whistles make the
Sea resound.
Stave a French-prize, quoth
Neptune, and Advance
A Health to
England in the Wine of
France;
That Conqu'ring
Herce shall their Topsails Lower,
Annals to come shall with
his Conquests swell,
Turky, and
India shall
his Tryumphs tell.
To the
Levant, and
Ʋtmost East then Fly,
And tell each
Port this Glorious
Victory.
This said they all Obey'd.
But more
substantial Votes attend
your praise,
Caesar, the
Senate, and the
City raise
Eternal
Trophies to their
Admirals Name,
Shall equalize the longest date of Fame.
So the
Old Romans, when their
Generals prove,
By brave
Exploits, worthy their
Country's love;
Raise
Obelisks, and
Statues to make known
The
Victories, and
Battels they had won.
When future
Parliaments shall come to Note
In their Records our
August Senates Vote,
With what
Ʋnanimous consent they own
The
Courage, Conduct, Faith your zeal hath shewn:
Restor'd its former Glory to our
Isle,
And of a
Navy made a
Funeral Pile;
This in times Callendar shall far surpass
The
Roman Marble, or
Corinthian Brass.
'Tis
Englands Thanks that are acknowledg'd due
By her great
Representatives to you!
May no
Invidious Vermine ever tear
That sacred
Vellom, let it always bear
To future times the
Mighty things you've done,
And an
obliged Kingdoms praise have
won.
May
pale and
Trecherous Envy ever hide
Her
guilty head; whilst still each flowing Tyde
Shall waft fresh Tryumphs to
great Russel's Name,
And sar as th' Ocean Rowls your
high desert Proclaim.
Licensed according to Order,
E. Bohun.
ADVERTISEMENT.
When this was Written, Dixmuyd and Fernes were in the English Hands
London, Printed and Sold by T. Moore. 1693.