The Dutch Armado A meer Bravado. A POEM upon the Late Engagement at Sea.
Non nos ampullas.—
AFter a strict
Embargo on Their Fleet,
The
Dutch inrag'd with
Brandy-valour meet:
Like a deaf
Fidler, tedious, large and long;
Whose tuning takes up more time than his Song:
Or like a thick rim'd Bull, when Goads and Stroaks
His sullen Humor into Rage provokes.
In
Crescent form the furious
Turks began,
Resolv'd t'appear, at least half Christian.
But soon the
English broke the
Belgick Bow:
(May the
Venetian break the
Ottoman so.)
Both Parties mixt, maintain a Noble strife,
To purchase Vict'ry with the sale of Life:
Guns, like their Hearts, with national heats inspir'd,
The airy Arch into an Oven fir'd.
The sing'd Birds to the upper Region fly
For cool Protection, or i'th' lower dye.
The Fish down to the boyling bottoms shrink,
And there like
Dutch, for Water Brandy drink.
Vex'd Canons, like
Perillus Engine, roar
And with import'nate violence seem t' implore,
Heaven to decide so vocal a contest,
In such fair and Illustrious Colours drest.
Had this been (Ages since) a
Roman Wonder,
'T had taught their Ethnick
Jove new Modes of Thunder.
The
English tir'd with the least Interval,
For a more expeditious Conflict call:
Resolv'd at length (as the Old Story goes,
The
Romans serv'd their
Carthaginian Foes)
To Grapple in close Fight, make the
Dutch stand
As firm at Sea, as if they fought on Land.
The
Monsieur (who devoted his fine Blood
Not to the
Holland cause, but Neighbour-hood.)
Was at a losse, with tortur'd eye-brows gaz'd,
Never at any Mistriss so amaz'd.
Frolick at first, as if he came to hunt
For Mer-maids, but met no venereal brunt:
(
Venus was gone, and lay in
Mars his Arms;
As Fortune did i'th'
Dukes, with Nobler charms)
Must stand or fall; things he's not us'd to do,
Can He but run with
six Legs or with two.
Fir'd over board the
Poor petit French-man,
Frisk like a Flounder lep't from frying Pan.
Now Muskets more Blood than the Canons spill,
Whilst Swords, some Dutch with meer reflections kill.
Both sides engage with free expence of breath;
As sworn to conquer not their Foes, but death.
Opdam falls like a grave Judge from his Chair,
Is after coach'd in Flames into the Air.
Lepanto's force, compar'd to this dread sight,
Was a faint skirmish, or a painted fight.
Two opposite Religions struggled there;
Christian with Turk, Christian with Christian here:
Protestant with Protestant, a worse Fight
Than
Bell and
Dragon, Pope and
Hugonite.
When two cross Elements for Mastery strive,
One dyes, that so the other may survive:
So kinder distance oft a quarrel ends,
Continued by Antipathy of Friends.
Opdam thus blown up in both Navies eye,
(That Giant of the
Dutch Theomachy)
Loath to give up at once their boasted might,
The
Hollanders like wary
Parthians fight:
At length (as night to day) are forc'd to yield,
And quit their Stations in the Liquid Field.
While the astonish'd Sea in horrour stood,
Discoloured with two tinctures, Flames and Blood.
There might you see dismember'd men appear,
Floating in shoals, no hope, nor Harbour neer:
Had only this perswasive to rejoice,
That of two certain deaths they had their choice:
But newly scorcht with Flames they were content,
To breath out in a cooler Element.
Had you but seen (beside the sunk and slain)
Those swarms of desp'rate Swimmers in the Main;
Astonisht then, both Fleets, you would have said,
Was into Fishes metamorphosed.
Great Duke, thou care of Heaven, hadst no defence,
But a just Cause guarded by Providence:
How did your courage the whole Fleet inspire,
And coldest breasts to fearless Actions fire?
What sence of manhood wrought for
Spain and
France,
Honour would for your Native soil advance:
You skermish'd only as a Soldier there,
Fought now as a concern'd Proprietere.
Was here to nothing, but your self, unkind,
When for exchange of deaths, you left behind
Dear Relatives, a Brother and a King,
A Royal Mother, and a nearer THING,
The vertuous Dutchesse; whose blest Prayers and tears
Redeem'd your life, and ransom'd all our fears.
Some great ones fell, t'instruct us by their fate,
We honour love, which our base enemies hate;
A double glory from their falls did rise,
To be their Countries, and your Sacrifice.
O may the hearts of these three Nations burn
One entire Holocaust for your Return.
Brave
Rupert, whose high, and yet humble spirit
Disguis'd the Prince, distinguish'd by his merit:
May the convinc'd world never more be rude
To check your just fame by ingratitude.
The
English (who in former times we find
So civil and so hospitably kind)
'Gainst strangers now a prejudice have rais'd,
All may be
Virtuosi, but none prais'd.
Had all the Champions of our vanquisht Cause
(Who fought for honour, liberty and Laws)
Been stout as you, a glorious Wight (now dead)
Had kept four Crowns, and his more precious head.
Methink I hear some interrupting voice
Whisper your worsted Enemies rejoice:
Oh let them laugh that win! let 'em make squibs
Thank Heaven and us for threshing their Whale-ribs.
A fool will soon conjecture it goes ill
With him that's bruis'd and is not sensible.
What need they Conquer, whose unhallowed Bells
Can cant a Vict'ry, when they should ring knells?
Who can their Froes with faigned bonefires greet,
And mock the real bonefires of their Fleet.
Well, seldome game so lost, but Losers make
One trick; The Conquer'd from their Conquerors take.
Fortune was pleasant, when she lent the
Dutch
Our
CHARITY, a thing they wanted much.
London printed for Thomas Palmer at the Crown in Westminster-Hall, 1665.