Iter Boreal 2, Poem 17
AN ESSAY Upon the late VICTORY obtained by His Royal Highneſs the Duke of York, Againſt the DUTCH, upon June 3. 1665.
By the Author of Iter Boreale.
GOUT! I conjure thee by the powerful Names
Of CHARLES and JAMES, and their victorious Fames,
On this great Day ſet all thy Priſoners free,
(Triumphs command a Goal-Delivery)
Set them all free, leave not a limping Toe
From my Lord Chancellors to mine below;
Unleſs thou giv'ſt leave this day to dance,
Thou'rt not th' old Loyal Gout, but com'ſt from France.
'Tis done, my grief obeys the Sovereign Charms,
I feel a Bonfire in my joynts, which warms
And thaws the frozen jelly; I am grown
Twenty years younger; Victory hath done
What puzled Phyſick: Give the Dutch a Rout,
Probatum eſt, 'twill cure an Engliſh Gout.
Come then, put nimble Socks upon my Feet,
They ſhall be Skippers to our Royal Fleet,
Which now returns in dances on our Seas,
A Conqueror above Hyperboles.
A Sea which with Bucephalus doth ſcorn
Leſs then an Alexander ſhould be born
On her proud Back; but to a Loyal Rein
Yields foaming Mouth, & bends her curſed Main:
And conſcious that ſhe is too ſtrait a Stage
For Charls to act on, ſwell'd with Loyal Rage,
Urgeth the Belgick and the Gallick ſhore
To yield more room, Her Maſter muſt have more,
Ingrateful Neighbours! 'twas our kinder Iſle,
With Her own Blood, made Your Geneva Stile
Writ in-ſmall Print [Poor States and ſore Perplext:]
Swel to the [HIGH AND MIGHTY LORDS] in text;
And can ye be ſuch Snakes to ſting that Breaſt
Which in your Winter gave you Warmth & Reſt?
Poor Flemiſh Frogs, if Your Ambition thirſt
To ſwell to Eng…iſh Greatneſs, You will burſt.
Could you believe Our Royal Head would fail
To Nod thoſe down, who fell before our Tail?
Or could Your Amſterdam by her commands,
Make London carry Coals to warm her Hands?
A bold attempt! Pray practice it no more;
We ſav'd our Coals, yet gave you fire good ſtore
It is enough; The righteous Heavens have now
Judg'd the Grand Quarrel betwixt us and you.
The Sentence is—The Surface muſt be ours,
But for the bottom of the Sea 'tis yours:
Thither your Opdam with ſome thouſands, are
Gone down to take poſſeſſion of your ſhare.
Methinks I here great Triton ſound a Call,
And through th' affr…ghted Ocean ſummon all
His ſcaly Regiments, to come and take
Part of that Feaſt which Charls their King doth make;
Where they may glut Revenge, quit the old ſcore,
And feed on thoſe who fed on them before;
Whom when they have digeſted, who can find
Whether they're fiſh, or fleſh, or what's their kind?
Van-Cod, Van-Ling, Van-Herring, will be cry'd
About their Streets; All Fiſh, ſo Dutchifi'd.
The States may find their Capers in their Diſh,
And meet their Admirals in butter'd Fiſh.
Thus they'l imbody and increaſe their Crew;
A cunning way to make each Dutch-man two.
And on themſelves they now muſt feed or faſt;
Their Herring Trade is brought unto its Laſt.
To the KING.
GReat Sir, Belov'd of God and Man, admit
My Loyal zeal to run before my Wit.
This is my Pens miſcarriage, not a Birth;
Her haſte hath made her bring blind Puppies forth,
My aims in this attempt, are to provoke,
And kindle flames more Noble by my ſmoak;
My wiſp of ſtraw may ſet great Wood on Fire,
And my weak Breath Your Organs may inſpire.
Amongſt thoſe Flags y'have taken from the Dutch,
Command your Denham to hang up his Crutch,
He is a man both of his Hands and Feet,
And with great numbers can your Navy meet,
His quicker Eye Your Conqueſt can ſurvey;
His Hand, York's Temples Crown with flouriſhing Bay
Waller (great Poet and true Prophet too)
Whoſe curious Pencil in Rich Colours drew
The Type of this grand Triumph for your view.
(The Fiſhers (like their Herrings) bleeding new)
With the ſame hand ſhal give the World the Sights
Of what it muſt expect when England Fights.
That Son and Heir of Pindars Muſe and Fame,
Your modeſt Cowley, with Your breath will flame,
And make thoſe Belgick Beaſts, who live aſpire
To fall your Sacrifice in his pure Fire.
He ſhall proclaim Our JAMES great Neptune's Wonder,
And, like a Jove, Fighting in Clouds and Thunder.