Part 14

To pass our tedious hours away, We throw a merry main, Or else at serious ombre play, But why should we in vain Each other’s ruin thus pursue? We were undone when we left you!

But now our fears tempestuous grow And cast our hopes away, Whilst you, regardless of our woe, Sit careless at a play,-- Perhaps permit some happier man To kiss your hand or flirt your fan.

When any mournful tune you hear, That dies in every note, As if it sighed with each man’s care, For being so remote, Think then how often love we’ve made To you, when all those tunes were played.

In justice you cannot refuse To think of our distress, When we for hopes of honour lose Our certain happiness; All those designs are but to prove Ourselves more worthy of your love.

And now we’ve told you all our loves, And likewise all our fears, In hopes this declaration moves Some pity from your tears: Let’s hear of no inconstancy, We have too much of that at sea. _With a fa, la, la, la, la._

CHARLES SACKVILLE, Earl of Dorset, 1665.

_THE ROYAL VICTORY._

Obtained (with the Providence of Almighty God) against the Dutch Fleet, June 2 and 3, 1665. A Fight as bloody (for the time and number) as ever was performed upon the Narrow Seas, giving a particular accompt of Seventeen Men of Warr taken; Fourteen sunk and Fir’d. But forty that could escape of their whole Fleet, which at this time was hotly persued by the Earl of Sandwich. Their Admiral Opdam slain by the Duke of Yorke’s own Frigat. Van Trump sunk by Captain Holmes.

The number of their kill’d then amounts to 10,000.

To the tune of _Packington’s Pound_.

Let England, and Ireland, and Scotland rejoyce, And render thanksgiving with heart and with voice. That surly fanatick that now will not sing, Is false to the kingdom, and foe to the King; For he that will grutch, Our fortune is such, Doth deal for the devil, as well as the Dutch; For why should my nature or conscience repine, At taking of his life, that fain would have mine.

So high a victory we could not command, Had it not been gain’d by an Almighty hand, The great Lord of Battels did perfect this work, For God and the King, and the good Duke of York; Whose courage was such, Against the Low-Dutch, That vapour’d and swagger’d, like Lords in a hutch; But, let the bold Hollander burn, sink, or swim, They have honour enough to be beaten by him.

Fire, aire, earth, and water, it seems were imploy’d, To strive for the conquest which we have injoy’d, No honour, or profit, or safety can spring, To those that do fight against God and the King; The battel was hot, And bloudily fought, The fire was like rain, and like hail was the shot, For in this ingagement ten thousand did bleed Of Flemmings, who now are the Low-Dutch indeed.

In this cruel conflict stout Opdam was slain, By the great Duke of York, and lies sunk in the main, ’Twas from the Duke’s frigat that he had his doome, And by the Duke’s valour he was overcome; It was his good fate, To fall at that rate, Who sink under Princes, are buried in state. Since valour and courage in one grave must lye, It is a great honour by great hands to dye.

That gallant bold fellow, the son of Van Trump, Whose brains were beat out by the head of the Rump, Ingaging with Holmes, a brave captain of ours, Retreated to Neptune’s salt, waterie bowers: His fate was grown grim, He no longer could swim, But he that caught fishes, now fishes catch him, They eat up our fish, without reason or lawes, But now they are going to pay for the sauce.

To mock at men’s miserie is not my aime, It never can add to an Englishman’s fame, But I may rejoyce that the battel is wonn, Because in the victory God’s will is done; Whose justice appears In such great affairs, Who will for Amboina plague them and their heirs: For he that did cumber his conscience with gilt, In shedding of blood, his own shall be spilt.

In this cruel contest (our fortune was such), We tooke seventeen men-of-war from the Dutch, And likewise (as then the occasion requir’d, And as God would have it) fourteen more were fir’d. At Amboina, when They tortur’d our men, They look’d not to have the same paid them agen: With fire and with water their sinews they crack’t, In fire and in water they dy’d for the fact.

According as our God of battel commanded, The best of their vessels were fir’d and stranded; All ships, men-of-war; for what power hath man To fight with that army, when God leads the van? They steere and they stem, But ’twas so extream, But men were neer dying, with killing of them; They lost, when the muskets and cannons so thunder’d, Twice so many thousand, as we have lost hundred.

’Twould make a brave Englishman’s heart leap to see’t, But forty ships made an escape of their fleet; Which our men pursue with much courage and strength ’Tis doubtless but we shall surprize them at length; If God be our guide, And stand by our side, We shall be befriended with fair wind and tide; If Providence prosper us with a good gale, The Dutch, nor the devil shall ever prevaile.

Prince Rupert like lightning flew through their fleet, Like flame mix’d with powder, their army did meet, Ten thousand slain bodies the ocean orespread, That in few hours distance, were living and dead; Their Admirals all, Save one, there did fall, And death had command like a chief general. Brave Smith in the _Mary_ did shave out his way As reapers do wheat, or as mowers do hay.

Stout Lawson and Minn there did play both their parts, Who emptied their guns in their enemies hearts, The burly fat Dutchmen being cut out in slips, The vessels did look more like shambles than ships. God prosper the fleete, And send they may meet De Ruiter to make up the conquest compleat, God bless all the princes, and every thing That fights for the kingdom and prayes for the King.

_THE ENGLISH SEAMAN’S RESOLUTION; OR, THE LOYALL SUBJECTS UNDAUNTED VALOUR._

Plainly demonstrating the justness of his cause, Incouraging his friends, to daunt his foes: For King and countrey, in the seas he’ll perish, To tame the rebells, and make England flourish.

To the tune of, _I prethee Love turn to me_, or, _When this Old Cap was New_.

I am an undaunted seaman, and for King Charles I will fight: I’le venture my life and my fortune to defend my countries right: What enemies ever oppose us my valour with them I will try, And in the Duke’s sight, I’me resolved to fight _with a full resolution to dye_.

My joyes lies on the maine ocean, and my hammock supports my head, The bottom shall be my portion, wherein my grave shall be made: Before the Butter-Box shall my brother abuse, my crimson blood it shall flye, Then tack about fleet, let Trump and us meet, _for I came to the seas to dye_.

Now Jocky begins to be civil, and aloud for a King he doth cry: The Dutch are as false as the devil, still working of tretchery: With the sound of our drums, and smoak of our guns, we mean for to darken the skie, For the Duke and his fleet, once more will you meet, _with a full resolution to dye_.

Slip not your necks out of your collars, but come on with a chearful heart: We mean to have some of your dollars before that our fleets do part: Then drink up your brandy-wine cheerely, to Trump and his company, For the Duke and his fleet, once more will you meet, _with a full resolution to dye_.

Brave General Monck will defeat you, and teach you good manners to know, You know that before he did beat you, and made you to cringe full low: He’l make you all know to your sorrow, ’twere better Peccavi to cry, Then for to stand out, the tother odd bout, _and in the seas perish and dye_.

Stout Smith that noble Commander, of his valour again you must taste: He’le shew you the English banner and send you away at a blast, As Opdam was served before you, when into the aire he did flie: Then you will repent, that e’re you were bent _upon the main ocean to dye_.

Brave Holmes and Mimms they have vowed, for Charles our King they will stand, The rebells they shall be subdued and quell’d in the turn of a hand: For whilst that our ships can sail, boyes, we scorn a ship’s length for to flie: Pay your money with speed, for that we do need, _or else come to the seas to dye_.

The seas were never so graced, with so many brave gallants before, Your men of war shall be chased and beaten home to your own door: We’l block you up in your own harbours, and our cannon bullets shall flye, For the Duke and his fleet, once more will you meet _with a full resolution to dye_.

What, must we still wait on your leasure, or is not your money yet coyn’d? We mean to have some of your treasure for no children of us you shall find: We scorn for to wait on such puppies, we have other fish for to fry: Then hang up your States, your masters and mates, _that sent you to seas for to dye_.

Then leave of your jeering and mocking, and murmure at home and repine, ’Tis better then for to be knocking upon the salt ocean brine: Then cast up your caps and be merry, brave English boyes let them flye, And pray for King Charles and his navy, _and let the proud Hollanders dye_.

_ENGLAND’S TRYUMPH, AND HOLLANDS DOWNFALL; OR, THE SECOND ROYAL VICTORY._

Obtain’d upon the Hollanders fleet, in a sea-fight, by the King of Great Brittains Royal Navy, under the conduct of his Highness Prince Rupert, and His Grace, George Duke of Albemarle; as it was heroically fought, and undoubtfully disputed on the 1, 2d, 3d and 4th of June, 1666.

To the tune of, _A Fig for France and Holland too_, etc.

String up your hearts, and tune your throats, With merry and triumphant notes; Send sorrow from your souls away, You never had more cause for joy: The creeple may cast away his crutch, And dance the downfal of the Dutch. Great Brittain now may take it’s ease, King Charles is Soveraign of the seas.

The first and second day of June, Put Holland’s trumpets out of tune; Prince Rupert and the Duke to boot, Have given the Dutch-men all the rout: So bloudily they cut their coats, And bruis’d and bang’d and burn’d their boats, They ne’re will offer to displease, King Charles their Soveraign of the seas.

If number would have won the day, We were less numerous than they; When sixteen Zealand ships came in, If odds would doo’t, they needs must win: For they were ninety-six compleate, But who can save, whom Heaven will beat. When God his mercy will express, Unto the Soveraign of the seas.

The Duke with loyalty inrag’d, With fifty, ninety-six ingag’d; But thirty of the Dutch (to meet Prince Rupert) then did quit their fleet, Thinking to seize the Prince by slight, Before their forces could unite: But no such shallow plots as these, Can cheat the Soveraign of the seas.

The Prince and Duke did nobly fayn, Their loyal forces both combine; And on the foaming billows curl’d, They bid defiance to the world: The Dutch ingage with all their powers, And scatter on us shot like showers; But ’tis not such poor powers, as these, Can quell the Soveraign of the seas.

Almost as swiftly as desir’d, Fourteen of theirs were took and fir’d; But their Vice-Admiral did meet, Our Duke i’ th’ front of all his fleet: They were so near they might have clutcht, Almost shook hands, their yard-arms touch’d; But George’s broad-side did displease, The foe to th’ Soveraign of the seas.

The fight was then so fierce and hot, His hand was bruis’d, his breeches shot; Yet though they came so hotly on, As soon they vanish’d and were gon; Forty or fifty men of ours, Were kill’d and knock’d down by their powers, Yet some of these (though with much pain) Appear’d upon the decks again.

Prince Rupert like the god of war, Through their fleet shot like a star; Whose influence like lightning shone, And pierc’d the marrow through the bone: The seas with bloud were much imbru’d, The Dutch-men fled, our men pursu’d, Till none were seen that could displease, King Charles the Soveraign of the seas.

So long as we had powder, we Pursu’d the Dutchmen through the sea; And their du Ruiter, he in whom, They builded all their hopes to come: Four of their greatest ships were sunck, They cry, ‘The devil’s in the Monck,’ Never such men appear’d like these, To guard the Soveraign of the seas.

A gallant ship of theirs was fyr’d, With seventy six guns double tyr’d; Our _Henery_, a ship of fame, From three fire-ships escap’d the flame: And was so strong beset, that then She lost at least one hundred men. We must indure such hurts as these, To guard the Soveraign of the seas.

By sea, so black and red a fight, No time or age e’er brought to light; The fire and water did contend, Which should first bring them to their end: More valiant men kill’d in three dayes, Then three and twenty years can raise. We can’t afford such brunts as these, To guard the Soveraign of the seas.

On Whitsunday the Duke did send His men for cure, and ships to mend Unto our English coast, where care Is taken for their swift repair: These cards thus dealt, out of the lump, The _Royal Katherine_ turn’d up trump. A sacrifice which doth appease The Royal Soveraign of the seas.

To summe up all, ’tis thought they are Unfit to raise another war; ’Tis much presum’d, ’cause they did fail, When they had made out all their sayl: These are some of those warlike tricks, Becket presag’d in sixty six. Yet alwayes such events as these Secure the Soveraign of the seas.

_ENGLANDS ROYALL CONQUEST._

Truely manifested in a happy victory obtained against the Dutch Fleet, by his Majesties Royal Navy, under the conduct of his Highness Prince Rupert, and his Grace the Duke of Albemarle upon the 25 and 26 of July 1666. In which Naval Fight we put the Dutch to a total rout, burnt and sunk several of their best ships, and in conclusion forct them shamefully to run away. Our own losses being very inconsiderable, onely the _Resolution_ burnt and two Captains kill’d: our General and all the rest of our Fleet, being safe and in a very good condition.

The tune is, _A fig for France, and Holland too_, or, _Round about the Hollow Tree_.

Rejoyce, rejoyce, brave English boys, For now is the time to speak our joys; The routed Dutch are run away, And we have clearly won the day; We now are masters of the seas, And may with safety live at ease. _Then Butter-boxes all lament, For now you are paid to your own content._

You thought to rule as Lords and Kings, But now we’ve taught you better things, Methinks you might have known before, What ’twas, to come so near our shore. You often times have tri’d our force, And still you alwaies had the worse; _Then Butter-boxes all lament, For now you are paid to your own content._

The Dutch are grown so wise and sage, Without great ods they’l not ingage; Brave Englishmen will never grutch, With twenty sail, to fight forty Dutch, And bring their Lordships by the lee, And pay them home for the treachery. _Then Butter-boxes all lament, For now you are paid to your own content._

Whilst that our ships were fitting forth, They counted us men of little worth; Upon our coast they made great shows, Not thinking to be paid with blows, But when our fleet did once appear, O then their hearts were fill’d with fear. _Then Butter-boxes all lament, For now you are paid to your own content._

July the five and twentieth day, Began this sharp and bloody fray. At noon the fleets were both ingag’d, And men on each side were inrag’d, The bullets they did flie amain, And some were wounded, others slain. _Then Butter-boxes all lament, For now you are paid to your own content._

Prince Rupert and brave General Monk, So pelted Ruyter and Vantrump, That they were in a chafing sweat, And thought it safest to retreat, By little and little they shrunk away, Their want of courage did them betray. _Then Butter-boxes all lament, For now you are paid to your own content._

Five hours they fought couragiously, Before the Dutch began to flie, But then their fleet was severed quite, Whilest we maintain’d a chasing fight, For two dayes space we did pursue, And pelted them till their sides look’d blew. _Then Butter-boxes all lament, For now you are paid to your own content._

Sir Jeremy Smith did roughly greet, The Admiral of the Zealand fleet, With fire and ball he made them run, Untill the victory he had won, Most bravely he maintain’d the fight, Till they divided were by night. _Then Butter-boxes all lament, For now you are paid to your own content._

Brave Allen and Holmes fought like men, And chas’d the Dutch with five to ten, So sharply did they ply the fight Till all the Dutch were Arouted quite, The Flemmings they found such boisterous play, That they in plain terms ran away. _Then Butter-boxes all lament, For now you are paid to your own content._

Eight ships of theirs we sunk and fired, Which for to save they much desired, And kill’d great numbers of their men, Where we lost one still they lost ten, We lost a stately ship and tall The _Resolution_ we did call. _Then Butter-boxes all lament, For now you are paid to your own content._

Our Generals (blest be God) are well, And all our fleet as we hear tell, Lies daring on the Holland coast, The Dutch have now no cause to boast, ’Tis said de Ruyter and Trump are slain, And never will face their foes again. _Then Butter-boxes all lament, For now you are paid to your own content._

The cannons from the Tower did roar, When this good news did come to shore, The bells did ring and bone-fires shine, And healths carrous’d in beer and wine. God bless King Charles and all our fleet, And grant true friends may safely meet. _Then Butter-boxes brag no more, For now we have beaten you or’e and or’e._

_HOLLAND TURN’D TO TINDER; OR, ENGLAND’S THIRD GREAT ROYAL VICTORY._

Being an exact narrative brought by Captain Talbot Commander of the _Elizabeth_ fourth rate Frigat of the Blew Squadron, who on Wednesday night came into Harwitch and sent an express to the King at Whitehall, of all that had past betwixt both the fleets, before and in the fight: which news hath been continued since by other persons from aboard the _Royal Charles_, who give account of a total rout given to the Dutch, and a great victory obtained against them, insomuch that they are beaten and block’d in their own harbours: All this was performed in Wednesday and Thursday 25 and 26 of July, 1666.

The weather is clear, which was late overcast And our long expectations are answer’d at last, With news from the navie, which I shal impart Enough to rejoyce every English-mans heart, That’s honest and true, (And is not a Jew) But would give to God and to Caesar his due. This will be a joyfull and royal relation To such as love God, the King and the nation: Those Dutch demigorgons, God’s power convinces And makes them all servants that aim’d to be princes.

On Wednesday last the twenty fift day of July, Came in this narration which Ile tell ye truly, FroAm brave Cap. Talbot a man of stout carriage That then brought a part of this news into Harwich, Both ruine and rage, (In brave equipage) Last Wednesday at noone both fleets did ingage The winds were our freinds, and did fill out our sails With very fresh northerly brave top-sail gales; We din’d with the Hogens upon their own coast, You might a had Dutch-men there boild or roast.

At first both the navies did fight in a line, Three hours with much fury and force, but in fine, The enemies fleet into three squadrons flew, And Sir Jeremie Smith (Admiral of the Blew) By lot was to face, Persue, and to chase Out the Zelanders squadron, the strongest that was. They fought it out furiously, all the day after, And fiercely encounter’d, like wild-fire and water, A frigat of ours called the _Resolution_, Was burnt by the Dutch in this depth of confusion.

The White and Red squadrons did ply that two other So fast that they almost were choak’d with the smother They tugg’d very hard who should stand it out longest Our Blew was the weakest, the Zealand the strongest, And yet they fight ’Till so late at night, That powder and darkness depriv’d them of sight. The two Holland squadrons both turn’d tail and fled Pursued by the squadrons of our White and Red, Upon Thursday morning betwixt nine and ten, The Zealand’s were cripled and hopp’d home agen.

To aid the Blew squadron a thousand stout men Were sent (in the frigats) by Sir William Pen, And Talbot doth tell us ere he did retire, On Wednesday night he saw six Dutch ships on fire; Two hundred almost Of our men were lost, Such victories seldom are gain’d without cost; The Zealanders Admiral some think is gone Unto his last home, when his flag was shot down, ’Tis highly presum’d by the best knowing men, They nere will be able to fight us agen.

The prestmen wel mingl’d with stout voluntiers Did drink away dolor and fight away fears: Our small shot did stand to’t with valiant desire, Their guns spit and sparkl’d like bay-leaves in fire; Our cannons did roare They sunk and they tore, Thousands that heard them will nere hear them more. It is better far in a good cause to dye, Then with a bad conscience to live great and high: And in acts of honour there’s no better thing, Then dye a true martyr for God and the King.

Our White and Red squadrons Du Ruiter engag’d Five hours, till at last his fierce fury aswaged, He fought as if he had been Mars his own son, From ten in the morning, till three afternoon. Our Red and our White Did dazel his sight, They made him to turn and to run away quite, For no other reason as some men suppose But courage did fall from his heart to his hose: Though bad men seek victory, and think to win it, It never will prosper, if God be not in it.