THE DUTCH GAZETTE: OR, The Sheet of Wild-Fire, that Fired the DUTCH FLEET.
I'Le tell ye not of
Etna's Flames, nor
Troy's,
That long agoe has fill'd the World with noise:
Nor of
Romances, nor of
Histories,
Done Ages long before, whose Obsequies
Were sung by
Laureate Pens; that which I tell,
The
Storyes of the World can't parallel.
Rupert I sing, Duke
Albemarle, and
Homes,
And of the rest, that sent those to their homes,
Whose
Pride and
Envy, Hell it self ('twas such)
Can't match, would you know who I mean, the
Dutch.
Who had a Hundred sixty Ships, and more,
Of
Merchant-men, lay sleeping on their Shore,
And never dreamt of danger, till we came,
And took them
napping; Ask but
Amsterdam,
Who stood Spectators there, and saw their Sayles
Transform'd to
Sheets of
Wildfire, and those Gales
That use to swell and spread abroad their 'tire,
Serve now as
Bellows to set all on fire.
For
Guinnae some, others for
Russia bound,
Scarce one worth less than
Fifteen thousand Pound.
Did you ne'r see the
Winged Troop, that flies
From Flower to Flower, until their laden thighes
Force a retreat? Did you ne'r see them strive,
Which should goe richest laden to his
Hive?
Just so each
Souldier, in a pl
[...]nteous measure,
Has made his
Cabb'n, a
Cabinet of
Treasure.
Silks, Hollands, Silver-spoons, Plate, Cloth of Gold,
All had their choice to take what e're they would.
These are the
Dutch, that did but th' other day
Make
Bonefires o're their Land for Victorie,—
But never thought of seeing
This by Sea.—
Where
Helm and
Rudder, Top, Top-sayl, and all,
Within few hours to Dust and Ashes fall.
Had but
Will. Lilly seen this
Blazing Comet,
I'le lay my life it had
portended Somewhat
Of
strange event, as he'd have made appear
In his
Prognostication for next Year.
They'l
block the Seas up, why then so they shall,
No fitter Heads than theirs to do't withall;
Where they may
lay'um together, and
counsel take,
How many Bonefires they had
best to make.
Now will I loose the Pinion of my Quill,
And dictate to my
Muse a Word at will;
That
Fame it self, that
Herauld (and not I)
Shall shew the
Blazon of our Victory.
At which the World distracted stands with fear,
And won't believe but that the
Gods were there.
Great
MONK so
thundered, that 'twas hard to say
Whether 'twas
He, or
Fate, that got the Day.
Smith sent such
Thunderbolts as ne'r were madey
By
Vulcan, since he first wrought of his Trade;
Who gaz'd, but durst not come within a Shot,
For fear his other
Legg had gone to
Pott.
'Twas
Smith, whose Sword so often
quench'd in Blood,
Return'd so hard, as not to be withstood.:
Steel to the Hilt; this Proverb has he got,
He ne'r strikes stroke until the Iron's hot.
Had
Goffe, Ben. Johnson, or had
Shakespear been—
Spectators there, such
Acts they should have seen,—
As they ne'r
acted in an
English Scean:—
These fought with Blows, they only clash'd in Words;
They fought with Foyls, but these with naked Swords.
Here should they've seen an angry Sea their
Stage,
Cover'd with rolling Billows, Foam and Rage;
Now sunk to Hell, anon with Pride so high,
As if it gave defiance to the Skie.
There should they've seen
retiring Rooms of VVar,
Such
Rooms as farr excells
Romes Theater:
A Ghastful
Scean, not
Thebes, but
Thetis VVomb,
VVherein the
Actors did themselves intomb.
Here dives a
Corps, there struggles one half dead;
Here sinks a
Trunk cut shorter by the Head;
Here one 'twixt hope and fear thinks 'tis a dream;
And there another
strives against the stream;
Here dive a hundred
Dutch into their Graves;
There dye as many
'mbracing of the VVaves;
Here one turmoyls, and there another strives,
Yet scarce two in a hundred save their lives.
Such
Musick as they had, had but
Troy known,
'Twould quickly 've made the
Grecians fled their Town.
Had poor
Ʋlysses heard but one
broad-side,
'T had made him quake, and been afraid to ride
The
Grecian Horse, his wood'n
Bucephalus
Had been transform'd into a
Pegasus.
Had
Monk but
Thunder'd at proud
Babels VVall,
Babels proud Battlements had got a fall:
Had th'
Great Collossus stood where he discharges,
He'd
veyl'd his Bonnet to our Boanarges.
Th'
Aegyptian Pyramid (whose massie
Tower,
The Jawes of Time could never yet devour)
VVhen he discharges, its proud
Marbles must
Lay down their palsey
Heads within the Dust.
Great Conquerours, could I your Worth indite,
The World unworthy were of what I'de wtite.
Your
steely Souldiers too, I dare but name,
For fear I
over-charge the
Trump of
Fame,
That caus'd the World proverbially to say,
THEY
fought like Englishmen, and wonn the Day.
Return, Great Conquerours, live Men of Mirrour,
Englands chief Glory, but the
Dutches Terrour.
VVho have a
Tromp too, but the VVorld's to blame,
If e're they take
Him for the
Trump of
Fame.
Finis.
Licensed Aug. 20. Roger L'Estrange. LONDON, Printed by T. Leach, in Shooe-Lane, 1666.