THE ROYALL RENDEZVOUS: Or, The Magnificence of His Majesties Fleet.
BLess me! Where am I? To what Ruine bent?
I shou'd be by this Moving Wood, in
Kent?
Methought I saw a
City on the Seas,
And by the Steeples, told the Parishes;
There might be (as I guess) twice Seventy Seven,
Whose
Babel-Towers were climbing up to Heaven:
Their Language was Confusion; And, their Breath
Darken'd the Aire with Sentences of Death.
They seem'd to me a stand of Pikes, or Trees
That over-top the humble Copices.
With these high Towering Mastes, our Muse begins;
And where such
Sign-posts are, What are the
Innes?
Those
Trojan Horses, form'd by
Palla's Charmes,
Not stuft with Garbidge, but with Men and Armes.
Those
Wooden Mountains on the Wavie Maine,
As if the
Gyants wou'd Fight
Jove again.
If
Philip King of
Spain did once call His
Invincible: What wou'd he think of This?
Away with
Xerxes Chaines, fond Foolery;
Tis such a Fleet as this Fetters the Sea:
You wou'd have thought that the Tumultuous Flood
Was not so much an
Ocean, as a Wood:
And that vast Womb of
Ships, Forest of Dean,
Stub'd by the
Rebells, was grown up agen.
A Floating-
Island, a Realm did surpass
Denmark and
Dantzick for your Choice of Masts.
I'm confident next Moneth we shall Advance
May-Poles enough to make the
Dutchmen Dance:
Did you but see our-
Frigats, you wou'd swear,
Norway had left scarce either
Pitch, or
Tarr.
For
Lead, you wou'd suppose here
Darby was;
For
Iron, Bilboa; and
Corinth for
Brass.
And for Provision, you wou'd think you were
In
Egypt, to behold the
Corne that's here.
Brandy, although sufficient, we Decline;
Spirits of
Men are here, give
Cowards Wine.
And, say,
Seven Provinces United be;
Each
Ship of ours is a
Whole Colonie.
And Lofty Waves, that as
Spectators, crowd;
Honour'd with such a Fleet, may well be proud.
Whilst, both the
VVaters, and the
VVinds, agree,
To swell our Sailes into a Tympanie,
What shall we not be able then to do,
That have GREAT
CESAR, and His Fortunes too!
And, Superadd to this, a CAUSE so Just;
We might to
Providence and
Cockbotes trust:
But, Blest be Heaven, we have a Royall Fleet,
Will make those
Picture-Mongers Crouch to seer.
Talk not of
Tempus est, Bacon's an Ass;
Our
VVooden VValls are stronger than his
Brass.
With Allowance.
LONDON, Printed for T.W. 1672.