Britannia Victrix: OR, THE TRIUMPHS OF THE ROYAL NAVY, In the late Victorious Ingagement with the FRENCH FLEET MAY, 1692.
A Pindarick POEM.
—Domitosque Herculea manu
Telluris Juvenes, unde Periculum
Fulgens contremuit Domus
Saturnis Veteri.—
Hor. lib. 2. Ode 12.
LONDON, Printed for R. Taylor near Stationers-Hall, 1692.
Britannia Victrix:
I.
FOrbear a while, my dearest Friend, forbear,
With more
glad Tidings to
regale my
ear,
Least
crouding Tales of
new Success,
Which to my
Thoughts so fast their
Welcome press,
Should even the
Pleasure of the Mind destroy,
And my
Soul sink beneath the
mighty Joy;
Gently, and by degrees relate,
The
Gallick-Fleet's Inglorious Fate
[...];
But let not from thy
Lab'ring Tongue,
So very quick the welcome
Accents Throng,
Tho sweet are all the
Tidings of thy Breath,
I would not be with
Roses prest to Death,
Some
Gall in all our
Pleasures Fate Distills,
And
Joy wound up too high, too often Kills:
So when
Diagoras of
Old,
Whose
three brave Sons had won
immortal Fame,
By
Prizes in th'
Olympick Game,
Was by themselves of their good Fortune told,
When they their
Garlands humbly laid
Upon their
Aged Father's
Head,
With such
excess of Joy his Blood was Fir'd,
That in their
Arms the
Good Old Man Expir'd.
II.
But yet if ever an excess of Joy,
Might be allow'd to be no Crime,
It must be surely at this time,
A Victory so bravely won,
And with such Vigour carried on,
That
Neptune did in a full Councel own,
Since he the Oceans Government had known,
He never saw such manly Courage shown,
As did the
English when they
Fought;
And wonder'd by what
Magick Spell,
Which on the Hearts of
Frenchmen fell,
They should in such confusion run,
And would have Sail'd as quick as
Wind and
Thought.
For scarcely was th'
Ingagement o're,
But his
Blew Tritans from the
Shore,
Took up the
Wrecks from
tatter'd Ships did fall,
Which they in memory of the Day,
Of the auspicious
Conqu'ring MAY,
Hung up as
Trophies in their
Masters watr'y Hall.
III.
Auspicious Month indeed, from whence we may,
Of our new
Happiness the
Aera Date,
Since all the
Storms, which did of late
So threaten us, are now blown quite away.
See a most pleasing Scene appears,
Of
Rolling, Smiling, Peaceful Years;
When free from
War and its
Alarms,
Each shall his
Property Possess,
Under the shade of
Welcome Peace,
Fearless of
Forreign and
Domestick Harms;
For when, (as Poets feign,)
Adromeda,
Chain'd to a
Rock, stood still expos'd
To each
Sea-Monster's hungry Jaws;
So, but of late Fair
Albion lay,
Till
Victory, like
Perseus came,
To Rescue the
Afflicted Dame,
Chas'd the
grim Tyrants of the Sea,
In narrow Creeks to be inclos'd,
And to the
Brittish Ocean gave new Laws
IV.
Poets in this, as well as
Painters share,
That what they would attempt to do, they dare,
But what kind
Muse will now my
Breast Inspire,
With
Waller's
Rapture, or with
Denham's
Fire,
Those Noble
Bards did in immortal Verse,
Some late
Sea Fights so movingly Rehearse
Each line with such new Spirit did they write,
Readers in fancy might behold the
Fight,
As plain as if with
Tellescopes they stood
On shore, and each minutest Action view'd,
Of warm
Ingagements on the
Purple Flood.
Come then my
Muse, and furl thy
Fancy's Sail,
And on the streams of
Helicon,
Launch out with a successful Gale.
But ah, if in the bold Attempt,
(As who from chance can be exempt?)
Thou shouldst in spite of thy Endeavours fail,
'Twill yet of thee, as once of
Phaeton
Be said, altho he was undone
In guiding Chariot of the Sun,
Yet for the bare attempt some praise he Won.
V.
Behold, with mighty Pleasure,
Muse, behold,
Those
floating Castles of the Sea,
Impregnable to
Guns and
Gold;
Observe the
Royal Navy how she Glides,
And Cuts the Silver Froth of yeilding
Tides,
In proud Procession how they go,
To meet the
Lurking and
Absconding Foe;
For several Leagues they spread their Canvas Wings,
A goodly sight which mighty pleasure brings,
With more Majestick Pride they Sail,
Than the
Venetian Fleet by
Bucentoro Led,
When with her mighty
Duke she goes
In pomp the
Adriatick Sea to
Wed,
See how they
Tide it with a merry Gale,
While from each Deck is heard the Voice
Of the loud
Trumpets Martial noise,
A sound which Cowards can inspire,
And in the coldest Breast strike sparks of
Fire;
Hark how the
Tritons on the
Rocks which dwell,
With pleasure hear the
Warlike sign,
And each one winds his
Concave shell,
To make the
Harmony still more
Divine.
VI.
On
Quarter Deck (the Post of Honour) stands,
The
Hero who the
Ship Commands,
With manly Terror on his
Brow,
To his
Ships Crew he seems to show,
That
Danger is a word he does not know:
Nor come the
Sailors far behind,
Tho moving in a lower Sphere,
Each has a Brave and Noble Mind,
And scorns to
name or
think of
Fear;
If one on
Board they thought there was,
Who hid a
Coward in his
Breast,
Quite
Over-board they'd throw the
Ass,
Least he should prove
Infectious to the rest;
With long
Delays they all impatient grow,
And only wish to meet the
skulking Foe.
VII.
A Sail, a Sail,— I have a Fleet in ken,
From
Top mast Head is heard,—
a welcome sound,
Which
Ecchos all the
Navy round,
And with new
Souls inspires the
Men,
Each to his
Post in
Order Runs,
As chearfully to
tend the Guns,
As
Shepherd e're at dawn of Day did creep,
O're Verdant Lawns to tend his gentle Sheep.
The
Line of Battle Form'd, each ready stands
To wait his
Admirals Commands
When he shall
Fire, and when to
Vere and
Turn,
When to
break through, and
resolutely Burn;
And tho a wild
Confusion seems to Reign,
On a Ships Deck when Battles near;
Yet one may plainly see that ev'ry Man,
As little of Disorder knows, as Fear,
With spreading
Sails they see the
threatning Foe
Approach; which they as gladly meet,
As e're did
Bridegroom on his
Wedding Night,
Th'
Embraces of the
Blushing Fair,
And wish to feel the first
Provoking-Blow.
VIII.
And now begins the
warm Dispute,
Throwing from sides of
Oaken Walls,
Their
Death Denouncing Iron Balls,
Each other
Mortally Salute;
See how the
shot their
Sails and
Riging tears,
While
Splinters thick as
Hail,
More
Mischief do than
Cannon-Ball.
Now a
Broad-side a
Ships Deck almost Clears,
For
Bullets no Distinction know
Between an
Admiral and a
Common Tar,
But both promiscuously Bow,
When it comes whisting through the
Air;
Down to the
shades the Dead in clusters go,
While on the
Deck the
Wounded lye,
And in good earnest wish to
Dye,
Since Life is grown a
Burthen now;
Now
Fate and
Death their publick Revels keep,
And leave the
Land a while, to
Frolick in the
Deep.
IX.
The Goddess
Victory at Distance stood,
And saw the Contest on the
Purple Flood,
(Now
Purple grown indeed, with human
Blood)
At last with mighty
haste her
Course she bore,
And with her
Silver Wings our
Navy shaddow'd o're,
Whilst all the
Fleet with Joy the
Omen View'd,
And for her
Welcome, loud Discharges Roar;
And tho but just before,
The
French with brav'ry kept the
Watry Feild,
Since them does wisht
Success forsake,
Their
Cannons now as faint as
Eccho's speak;
Their
Petards Languish, their
Guns are weak,
And all
Dispirited prepare to
Run or
Yeild.
X.
But whither, whither, O ye
rigid Stars,
For safety shall the
Gallick Fleet retire
To disappoint 'em, since the
Winds conspire;
Homewards their
Course they cannot steer,
And no kind
Hospitable Harbour's near;
No
Turkish Bay, nor
Creek of
Algerine,
Can on the
Brittish Seas be seen;
Their
Brethren of the Turbant would
In their Distress have helpt them if they could,
But ah, no
Turkish Port their
Navy can secure,
The
Dardanells are far from
Cape Barfleur.
XI.
Barfleur, a Word vvhich after ages shall
To mind vvith grateful Memory recal,
And lessen much the
Fam'd Report
Of
Bullogne Seige,
Poicteurs, and
Argencourt,
Places where bravely our
Forefathers Fought,
And home their
Conquering Lawrels brought,
By much
Barfleur their
Glory does out-vy,
Where we obtain'd a greater Victory,
Those
Battles formerly we won,
Perhaps might shake the
Gallick Throne;
But the
Convulsion soon was o're,
This has done infinitely more,
For novv
Determin'd is the
Fate of
France,
Its Ruin fixt, its Doom is Seal'd
Which has for
Ages been conceal'd,
And all its hopes of
Universal Monarchy,
Now
Languish in a dull
Expiring Trance.
XII.
Their hasty
Flight my
Muse does novv Descry,
Like
Parthians shooting vvhile they run,
Casting a fearful look behind,
Whilst every loud Discharging Gun,
Does only bruise the
Air and crush the
Wind;
Like
trembling Hares upon a plain they fly,
Double, Redouble and all Courses try
A vvretched Life to save,
They foam vvith
Anger and vvith fury
Rave.
They foam with Anger, and with Fury rave,
In haste they run, and we in haste pursue,
Cutting with nimble Keels the
Silver Wave;
And tho they swift as Lightning flew,
Our Fleet as fast could Sail, since Winds and Waves conspire,
To further ours, and frustrate their Desire.
XIII.
Too weak alass, are all Attempts of Verse;
Great RUSSELL's Glory to rehearse;
Nor can the nicest Studied Praise,
Sufficient Trophies to his
Vertue Raise,
A Work deserving Eame and Bays.
RƲSSELL a Name, which after times shall Bless,
When they in
Chronicles shall Read,
His mighty Actions and his great Success:
And what against the
Gallick Fleet he did;
Born to revenge his Noble Kinsman's Blood;
Lord Russell.
Who to
French Councils fell a Sacrifice,
But he has bravely sluc'd a flood,
Of purple Gore, for ev'ry precious Drop of his.
XIV.
Tho the
Illustrious House of
Bedford claims,
A share of Glory with the first,
Of all the
English Nobles Names;
And can as many Trophies show,
Upon her Antient
Arms and
Crest,
As any Warlike Hero's who were Born,
Their Name and Country to adorn.
Yet Envy must it self allow,
Tho dazling Beams of Light her Orb does fill,
That by the
Admiral of the Name,
(Darling of Victory and Fame)
She shines with greater, brighter Lustre still;
And sure it is a happiness,
Which few great Families does bless,
But theirs, to whom the mighty Luck does fall,
To have produc'd a
Martyr and an
Admiral.
XV.
If Subjects we with
Soveraigns may compare,
(Tho' we the mighty Difference must allow)
With his Victorious
Prince does
Russell share
In all the Hardships and Fatigues of War,
If Heavenly Bodies, as the Learned hold,
Insencibles do move affairs below,
Who without wonder can behold,
A Noble
General dispence,
Through a vast Camp his warning Influence,
Whilest every Warlike Soldiers Limb,
Seems but to be a part of him.
Just so at Sea, the Sailers one and all,
Each Morning bless their
much Lord Admiral;
To doubt of wisht Success what Mortal can,
When too such Heroes do the Cause maintain,
Nassaw at Land, and
Russel on the Main.
XVI.
Hard Fate of Generals in War,
Who scarce doe Nature's common Blessings share,
When our brave Admiral all day,
In Fire and Smoke maintain'd the fray,
One would have thought that
Balmy Sleep at night,
Should his tir'd Sences to repose invite,
But still his Manly Cares deny
Rest to his Thoughts, or Slumber to his Eye;
But yet behold! to recompence
The Burthen of his
weary Sence,
A
Night-piece, Victory prepares,
To please his Eyes, and gratifie his Ears.
Three Ships at distance, like three
Meteors show,
Drest all in Flames from poop to prow,
By Gun-Powder's unlucky Blow,
Whilst the poor Mortals did inhabit there,
By Destinies too rigid Frown,
Are doom'd at once to Burn and Drown,
Thrown up like
Rockets in the Air,
Then down again into the Deep with wild Despair.
XVII.
For little Service little Praise is due,
But if the Thoughts Reverse we view,
What store of
Lawrels will not fall,
Upon the Brows of conqu'ring
Delavall;
For when by winds and
Brittish Fury chas'd,
To
Cape de Wyke the French for shelter got,
And on that little watry spot,
Esteem'd themselves secure, and danger past,
Then the
Vice Admiral of the Red,
Came with his Squadron well prepar'd,
To do whatever Courage dar'd.
They saw the Skulking Ships in Corners lie,
As if to move they were afraid;
And since the Tide admittance does deny,
To Ships of Burthen they prepar'd,
With Boats well Man'd, and Fire-ships to declare
Defiance to the Enemy:
See, see, the wish'd desir'd Success,
Which does their bold endeavour bless.
Behold, the flames from
Gallick Decks, which rise
To
Victory, a Grateful Sacrifice,
Whilst Rigid Fate all Succours still denies.
XVIII.
Behold the
Glory of their Fleet,
The
Royal-Sun now all on flame,
A most unlook'd for
Exit meet,
While with impatience the
gay Gilded Dame.
Views the Incroachments of the Fire,
Upon her Gallant rich Attire:
She does with passion rave, with anger weep,
And as
she downward goes,
Her Hissing Curses throws;
Then sinks a Hundred Fathom in the deep,
The
Heavenly Sun, when he has run his Race
About the Globe, yet every welcome Night,
Plunges in
Thetis watrey soft embrace,
Next Morning rising with new Rays of Light,
But the
French Sun, once darling of their Eyes,
Is set, and never never more will rise;
So vain, short liv'd, and Transitory,
Are all the Pomps and Shows of humane Glory.
XIX.
If he who burnt
Diana's Temple, stands,
Recorded in the
Book of Fame,
(The bold Attempt of an inglorious Slave,
That was a Villains Act, but this a brave)
Can be to
Heath denyed a Glorious Name,
Who dar'd to set the
Royal Sun on Flame;
The
Conquerant a noble Vessel made,
From Head to Stern, a heap of burning Brands,
With Fury see the Boats invade;
The
Admirable, who although
she makes
Some faint resistance of the others Fate partakes;
Fowlis his Ship, deserv'd a better Fate,
(The bold may be unfortunate)
For in the hottest of the Fight,
When Clouds of Smoak made Artificial Night,
He slackned not a Joynt, nor shrank a Nerve,
And though denied his wish'd Success,
Yet to his Praise this Truth we must confess,
Bravely to dare is bravely to deserve.
XX.
Can nothing scape discerning
RUSSELL's Eye,
Who sure has got a Writ from Destiny,
The
Gallick Fleet to overturn,
To Admiral
Rook he Order gives,
In
Cape le Hogue, their Ships to burn,
Who the Commission joyfully Receives,
And boldly Ventures on the Enterprize,
Six over night in flames expire,
And Morrows Dawn six more observes on fire,
Whilst
English do with pleasure see
This
Sea Burnt-Offering made to
Victory,
A Grateful
Morning, and an
Evenings Sacrifice;
But still to make the Vict'ry more compleat,
With their own Guns the Enemy we beat;
From their Mud Plat-forms, now by Fates Decree,
Successess grown, both by the Land and Sea.
Tell me who can, my
labouring Muse
Ashby's and
Shovel's Praise refuse;
Rais'd by a
Prince, who best their Merits knew,
Who found them always brave, and always true:
To
Honour's
Temple we may truly say,
Desert now only leads the way,
And not as heretofore,
When Interest, Bribes, and blind unthinking chance
Did thousands more then
Worth advance,
And th' greatest share in Court Preferments bore,
Cautious in Council, they prepare
For all the worst events in War:
But when the
wish'd for Minute does invite,
And the
loud Cannon calls to fight,
Fearless of Danger on their Decks they stood,
Ready to Sacrifiee their Blood,
For the
best Cause, and their dear Countrys good.
XXII.
Who without Sorrow, and a kind Regret,
Can think of
Daring Carter's Fate?
Or when he hears how valiant
Hastings dy'd,
Refuse the Tribute of a Tear,
Fate ev'n in Death would not their loves divide,
Who to each other were in Life so dear,
The Verdant
Lawrels heretofore,
Which they upon their Temples wore;
Now since their Deaths appear more fresh and green,
And their brave actions, which before
The World in Whispers only car'd to Name,
Is now become the welcome Talk of Fame,
Who to the World their Daring Acts will tell,
While Sighs and Tears ring out their Funeral Knell.
XXII.
Nor must the
Common Seamen want their Praise,
Who more than common Bravery show'd,
And by undaunted Courage did express
The Love which their Countries cause they ow'd:
For
one and all they firmly stood,
Each free from Cowardise or Fear,
To
Random Shots expos'd his Bosom bare;
Like Wall of Brass, and not of Flesh and Blood;
And tho' the boysterous Seas,
Their proper Element for fighting is;
Yet when near
Coast of Normandy they drew,
And had the Army then in view,
Impatient of Delays they all implore,
To try their fortune on the shoar;
For flush'd with late success they did not doubt
To give the Enemy a total rout,
But their Commander wisely check'd their Rage,
Not suff'ring them so rashly to ingage,
Tho' late Defeats did more Defeats presage.
XXIV.
Heark in loud Consort how the
Trumpets joyn,
A grateful sound to hear,
Which does to ev'ry listning Ear,
The welcome News of Vict'ry bear;
News truly Charming and Divine,
Which may with Songs supply the
Mighty Nine,
Whilst
Fame with strong and active Lungs,
Borrows a Thousand Thousand Tongues,
On
Albions happy shores to tell,
How a
French Fleet esteem'd invincible,
To
Brittish Rage, a Grateful
Victim fell.
XXV.
Hail! Welcome News, with treble welcome
Hail,
No little Infant e're was seen,
The Milk from Breast more greedily to suck in,
Than we with pleasure catch thy wond'rous tale,
Suspence that torture of the Mind,
Long had our Thoughts in doubts dark Cave confin'd,
Yet hope the gay
Fore-runner of
Success,
With gladsom smiles would often bless
Our Anxious Souls until at last,
We did the
Luscious Banquet taste,
Who the exalted pleasure can express,
When
Tidings of a
Victory,
Confirm'd by all convincing certainty,
From dark Suspicions did our Souls Release;
The Joys, bless'd Souls
unbodied feel,
Tho' far above our pow'r to tell,
Yet we in part their Mighty Transports guess;
By lively
Mirth which still controuls,
And keeps her Revels in our Souls,
So great, that words cannot its Love express.
XXVI.
The
thinking States-man, when the News he hears,
How e're his Thought may be employ'd,
In projects for his Countries good,
Now lays aside the
weight of publick cares,
And with a Mind unbent, prepares
To share the common Joy, since now
In Mirth to Revel,
Stoicks would allow,
The
Plodding Man of Business too;
Smooths up the wrinckles of his Brow,
Puts on a chearful look, and seems to say,
His Mind shall now
keep Holy-day;
The
Rustick leaves his weary Plough,
And on a Lovely Verdant Green,
Are
Tytirus and
Phillis seen,
Dancing with other
Nymphs and
Swains,
Forgetting all their Amorous pains,
They trip it o're the Lawns, & frisk upon the Plains.
All Men from high to low degree,
Are fill'd with Mirth and Jollity,
And
Albion enjoys an
Universal Jubilee.
XXVII.
Amidst the
Publick Triumphs, yet appear
Some Angry Looks, and Clouded Brows,
Faces, which Melancholy wear,
And who the wond'rous Riddle knows,
That Discontent should have a Seat,
So near, where
all the Sons of Joy are met:
Wonder no more, but pity rather
This envious Crooking Murmuring Brood,
With Hopes uneertain as the Weather,
Foes to their own, and to the
Publick good:
But let the
Brave and Loyal Heart,
Insensible of Envy's smart;
For
Mighty Joy allow a mighty Scope,
And still for more and more Successes hope.
XXVIII.
But must the
mighty Joy be known,
To
Albion's happy Land alone?
No, No, Industrious
Fame takes care,
To spread the
Tidings far and near,
Which does, as diff'rent Intrest guides,
Their Souls with different Passions fill,
And first, with winged speed she glides,
To great
Nassaw, the News to tell,
Whom Heav'n indulgently does bless
In all his actions with a wisht Success;
The welcome News he soon Communicates,
To's Princely
Allies and
Confederates;
Who knowing that the Fortune of their Arms,
Depend upon the Fate of
his:
Bless the
kind Omen which alarms,
With Pannick fear, th' Insulting Foe,
Who with a strange Amazement hear
Their ill Success, in
Naval War,
Dreading by Land another
Fatal Blow.
XXIX.
Go on,
Great Prince, till thy great Actions swell
So very high, that even
Fame
Shall think't a
Talk almost impossible,
To after Ages half thy Acts to tell,
But ah! what
spot of Earth is there,
Upon this lower Globes
Terrestrial Sphere,
Which has not heard thy Glorious Name?
Thou hast a Thousand Actions done,
Which will for ever make thee known,
Whilst
Princes, who by diff'rent arts have try'd
To purchase
Lasting Fame, have been deny'd,
And as
inglorious liv'd,
ingloriously have dy'd.
XXX.
But whilst abroad he seeks Renown by Arms,
Can we at home forget
Maria's Charms?
Who while her
Royal Consort shares
The long Fatigue of Forreign Wars,
Employs her most Industrious Cares;
For
Albion's safety too too happy Isle,
While on thy Banks such Constelations smile.
But oh how bright will be the Sphere,
When after all the longer fatigues,
Of War and Stratagems close Intrigues:
WILLIAM and
MARY shall thro'
Europe be
Esteem'd the
Arbiters of Peace and Liberty.
FINIS.