Belgica Caracteristica. OR THE DUTCH CHARACTER. BEING Nevvs from Holland. A POEM.
By John Crouch, Gent.
The second Impression, Improv'd.
LONDON, Printed by Edward Crowch, dwelling on Snow-hill. 1665
Nevvs from Holland.
WHere are our Mighty
Dutch? still Weather-bound?
Although the Wind has mov'd the
Compass round?
Are the scar'd
Foxes lurking in their Holes,
Or working under-ground, like politick
Moles?
Appear, and open your vsurious
Baggs,
Pluck up your Breeches, or pull down your
Flaggs.
Come with your
Giant too, you sent of late
To mince our coyne, and magnifie your
State.
Is old
Trumps broome (hung up to sweep the
Seas)
Imploy'd to brush off swarmes of
Belgick fleas?
Are you asleep? or has our floating
Wood
D
[...]'d up the
Channells of your
Seas, and Blood?
When the warm season calls you out to meet,
Has your cold
Terrors frozen in your
Fleet?
If you have any right, or courage, come,
We shall allow you
Mare liberum.
We'l release all our glorious
Selden writ,
And wave the waighty moments of his
Wit:
The Sea (made by our
Cause, and
Valour, wide)
Is narrow'd by your
Cowardize, and
Pride,
You make a
Mare clausum, what? must we
Break up your Bankes to set the
Ocean free?
Let's to that
Controversie put an end:
Justice, or
Warre; be
Eenemy or
Freind:
Ye know what paines your learned
Grotius took
De jure belli; fight, or burn his Book.
Are the
States Generall dumb by consent,
At one
Ʋote of a loyal
Parliament?
Amaz'd that our State
Chymists can afford
Such vast supplies, coyn
Millians with a word:
Is
Amsterdam, which us'd to be so crank,
(Boasting the rich Mines of her moun'tenous Bank)
Fal'ne sick (not of her Pestilence) but guilt,
Having no innocent blood left to be spilt?
Or (what is worse) is the transplanted
Plague
Remov'd from
Amsterdam unto the
Hague?
Where the great Trades-men all their Plots disburse,
Unite the
People, and divide their
Purse.
All Artless grown? no Pilot fit to steer?
Where are your souls, neither in
Heau'ne nor here?
Do Gunpowder and Brandee mix in vaine
To thaw the frozen Region of your braine?
Are ye afraid the Brittish Oakes ye bought
(Thinking to break our Ribs before we fought)
Should with your
Guilt sink, or your
Iudgment burn,
Or by instinct of Simpathy returne?
As once our
Phenix (which a fatal hour
Had captivated by unequal power)
From midst of all your
Screech-Owles took her wing,
And flew home, to enjoy a kinder Spring:
An act rare as the
Bird, the
English will
(Though sometimes
Rebells) yet be
English still:
The wiser sound this dis-harmonious
pause,
Your Ships are strong, your hearts weak like your
Cause:
VVhere is that fury sunk your Soveraignes Fleets
Wrap'd all in flameing
Sayles for Winding sheets?
While (freind to both) th' amazed
Brittish shore,
Trembled to see her locks bedew'd with Gore.
None to succeed the generous
Vantrump,
Who fiercely grappl'd with th' omnipotent
Rump?
(For so deluded
Wights, they thought t' have bin,
But
Heaven is more omnipotent than
Sin)
That both were stout, is no prodigious thing,
Rebells with fight with
Rebells, or a
King.
Restore what ye have gain'd by Fraud and Stealth;
Pyrats and Robbers of both
Indias wealth,
Hire not the
Blacks your Neighbours to betray,
Whites in your face, in soule more
Blacks than they;
Nor catch the
Guiny natives with your Ginnes,
Reform'd more Heathen by your Christian sins.
When will a Dutch-man
in one vessell hold
His Honesty and
Trade, his
Faith, and
Gold?
While man has mem'ry, may that hellish Plott
Of curs'd
Amboyna never be forgott:
Where you pretend a treacherous surprize,
First to betray, and then to tyrannize,
Racks, Flames, and Tortures, all so exquisit;
Seem'd not to shew your
Mallice but your
Wit:
By tedious
Torments, forcing us confess
What we ne're thought,
Made guilty by distress:
For after strict search (and a
Dutch mans Eye
Rub'd with revenge is quick as
Iealousie)
Envy could find no weapons of offence;
Nothing ro storm your walls but
Innocence!
But you that
Jnnocent blood in peace have spilt,
Doubtless delight to sacrifice to Guilt!
Are all the Men and Ships destroy'd last Warre?
Sunk in your mem'ries too, no warning scarre?
Could a poore
Epileptick Body (dead
Without the living infleuence of a Head)
Your numerous, and experienc'd
Navies beat.
Or force them to the shame of a Retreat?
And shall not
Brittains Monarchy doe more
Then it's sick
Anarchie had done before?
Convince us why
Republicks Priviledg'd are
T'vsurpe the wide
Sea, and the wider
Ayre:?
Is the whole
Eastern World your propper due,
Which
Rome ne're had, when she had Us, and you?
Yet your
Republick is a divers Thing,
The
Romans had two
Consuls though no
King,
They durst not
start too farr, resolv'd to be
Within the prospect of a
Monarchie:
The prudence of those sober Ages knew
Greater the
Monster was, the more
heads grew.
Two
Persons Rul'd, with one misterious Will;
The
Roman State was thus
Monarchik still:
Two
Consuls Raign'd, One the whole Worke did do;
Rul'd both the
Publick, and his
fellow too.
When dire Confusions must in time restore
You to the Thraldomes ye bewail'd before.
Did the communicative
Sun create
All
Spices, to make Insence for one
State?
Your
Pride, and
Auerice will worke your bane;
Where no
satiety is, there's little Gaine!
Graspe what ye well may hold, 'Tis they extend
Too farr, who reach their Ruine, not their
End:
Though you hold forth a single joynted Hand,
Your fingers start, and disunited stand.
We all admire
Divinity in
One,
But not in every
Concrete Vnion.
You think the Narrow
Seas for us too much,
Yet the whole
Globe too little for the
Dutch.
Good Freinds Print
Bookes, and let the
Mapps alone,
Accoumpt not what you Sell, but buy, your owne.
Thus, while fair Liberty you give, and crave,
You would be Free,
to make the World a Slave.
Tell me (then
Low-Dutch) when you were as bigg
With
Common-Wealth, as ever
Sow with Pigg,
Who your blest
Midwife was; I trow, a
Queen,
Or you had never
High, and
Mighty been.
Who was it rais'd you to this monstrous Height?
Taught ye at first, not to Rebell, but Fight?
You have forgot our
Sydnies, and our
Veres,
Our
Monck, and
Oxford, Commoners and
Peeres;
Who shed their rich blood for your Infant
State;
First to procure your Freedom, than your Hate.
Doe not so farr degenerate, to conclude
Your utmost Period with Ingratitude.
Ingratitude? O Heavens! Has not that word,
An edge as sharp as your old
Generalls sword;
Does not that brave heroick Prince's Ghost?
Stare in your faces? tell you all is lost?
If you with
England fight or shall invade
Her Royal Rights, or check her Popular
Trade;
If you by
Spannish Gabells shall annoy
Your Fellow Merchants; and devest his
Boy.
Tell me
ye Men of breeding is it meet
Or pleasant for the Head to kiss the feet?
Does that new Blood quarter'd in every veine,
His or the
High and mighties honour staine?
Know the young
Prince is more than
Orange, now,
He may remit, Great
Brittaine must not bow,
Be just to
Him, and
Vs, the Quarrell ends,
Silver will
soder all, and make us freinds.
May never
Pest from
Amsterdam remove,
Till ye restore him to your Faith and Love!
Meane time our Loyall
Duke does kindly waite,
To know the pleasures of the
Mighty State,
Hopeing this favour youl retaliate too,
To send him word what
Amsterdam will do
FINIS.