New Advice to a PAINTER; A Poetical Essay describing the last Sea-Engagement with the DUTCH: MAY the 28th. 1673.
STrike up,
bold Muse, loud as the trumpet sounds
And wade through
smoak and
thunder, bloud and
wounds:
Let wanton strains of the soft airy
Lute,
Yield to the triumphs of the Warlike
Flute;
Now shall
Lepanto's Conflict be forgot,
The
Service there could not be half so hot.
No sooner the Brave
Prince his Flags assembled,
But
Neptune duckt under a wave, and trembled;
A frightful
prospect unto all that see't,
The Elements of
fire and
water meet;
Nor should a man have prejudic'd his sense,
Or reason, to derive the
Thunder thence;
Such a
red Sea you round about discover,
The Ocean
swell'd with blood, seem'd to run over.
By which orewhelm'd, the
Dutch may hope stop more
Incursions of the
French with floods of gore.
Some
flaming Ships men into th' water sent
For death, to scape that fiercer Element;
And hundreds
swimming destitute of hope,
To save their lives wish'd for a
lucky Rope;
Some
sink to rights, and with a dismal cry,
Sail in a
moment to Eternity
A thousand
various Horoscopes agree,
To puzzle Art in
one Catastrophe;
Born under
different STARRS
like Fate they have,
The Ship's their
Coffin, and the Sea their
Grave.
The smoak (like that of
Sodom) did aspire,
As if the very
Sea had been on
Fire;
Whilst each
Broadside, untill again ore-blown,
Did make a dismal Midnight of High Noon;
A darkness so
Egyptian, you'd have thought,
That every Ship by her own
Fire-light fought;
Or that we might their flying
Frigats miss,
The
Dutch sigh'd up a
Fog as dark as this.
But what could tempt them
fight at such a rate?
Sure the last
Sinke hath made them desperate;
For this renders their misery much worse,
We onely fight for
right, they upon
force.
Their wretched
State to this sad pass be'ng come,
There's
death abroad, and worse,
despair at home.
The
Gallant Prince that in all dangers came,
Wonders performd too great for th' mouth of
Fame;
Though they're intrench'd with
Sand, he thinks it meet,
To
fight, not dully to
besiege a Fleet.
Ruyter look'd pale at an assault so brave,
And
Trump had much ado to scape a Grave;
Of
Common Boors such numbers breathless float,
Their grosser Souls will sure sink
Charon's Boat;
For to avoid
Englands victorious Standard,
Their shatter'd Squadrons in disorder wander'd:
And were so sensible of certain loss,
The
Belgick Lyon couch'd before the
Cross.
The
Panegyricks our Captains deserv'd,
At large their own Swords in
Dutch bosoms carv'd.
So fought the
French, they shall for future stand,
Renoun'd for
Arts at
Sea as well as
Land.
But oh! with what deserving
Eulogies,
Shall we
Embalm the glorious memories
Of noble
Worden, Fowles, Finch, and the rest,
Snatcht hence by Fate to th' Regions of the
Blest?
That
Hero-Troop ne'er to be prais'd enough,
Whose Bodies fell, but Souls were
Canon proof;
Those
Miracles of
Valour, Honours
Sons,
Brave bold
Contemners of grim Deaths great Guns;
Those more than
Worthies for their Countries good
Who were so prodigal of their best Blood;
Their
Fame with us in story shall remain,
Till Bodies reunite with Souls again.
Whilst
baffl'd Hogens quit the open main,
And
Mare Clausum we have prov'd again:
'Tis fit our
Monarchs happy
Birth-day be
Still usher'd in with
Joys of Victory.
FINIS.
LONDON, Printed in the Year, MDCLXXIII.