ON HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS His Expedition against the DUTCH.
PRoud Hogen, Mogen's, we will make you bow,
Have at you, greasy Butter Boxes now,
Brave York once more against you does advance,
And in him more then all the Power of France;
'T oppose him is in vain, all you can do,
Is nothing, his name's enough to Conquer you.
But when in Person he vouchsafes to appear
Prepare to think your day of Doom is near.
That glorious Hero, never Arms put on
But he made Victory her self his own;
Who still has wav'd her white Plume o're his head,
And now to vanquish you, by her is lead.
Though 'tis a shame, (that worthy) should persue,
Honour unto such Savage Bores as you.
But you (this never dying same) shall know,
What in his Countreys quarrel he dare do.
Presumptuous Villains, could you find out none,
But England's King, to use your jests upon?
Slaves, you e're long shall know, none was less fit,
To be a Subject for your scurvy wit.
(But York in whose Illustrious name are charms,
That Cowards hearts ev'n with pure courage warms
And does infuse new Soul in ev'ry man,
With much more vigour then dull Brandy can.)
Will punish each affront that you have done
To your inevitable destruction.
Hee'l make you curse the time, you Pictures drew
And draw some of ye, nay and hang you too,
Full of your Fate, he's with our Fleet set forth,
With such a noble train of English youth.
That when those matchless numbers, you shall veiw,
You'l think the world is come to Conquer you.
Methinks I hear the injur'd Spirits call
(For Vengeance) that did at Amboyna fall.
Victims, to your unheard of Cruelty,
(To those) that for them will revenged be.
Their Souls do hover o're our Ships, and seem
To promise Conquest both to us and them.
Our Fleet like to a moving Realm, I see
In Tryumph on the bosome of the Sea.
Which bears it proudly, being a Jem of more
(Worth) then sh' has worn upon her brest before.
The Sea-gods wait upon it all along,
And thousand water-Nymphs about it throng.
The waves their Royal burden gently court,
And all the wind's, with the calm Ocean sport.
Tithon gives Thetis leave, to entertain
In all her charmes, our Gallants on the Mayn.
And's pleas'd in spight of age and jealousie,
They shall on his young Mrs. Bosome lye.
Each Power to us, does kind presages give
That as our cause is just, so we shall thrive.
Wit is too like a common friend, indeed,
VVho still forsakes us when we have most need.
Or somewhat more should be by me exprest,
But let our Canons speak to you the rest.
And tell you to your ruines you must dye
T'apease the wrath of Anger'd Majesty.
FINIS.
With Allowance,
Printed in the Year, 1672.