Part 15
Our frigots persued him, our canons did roare, Until they were come within two miles of shore: Our great ships persu’d, and continu’d the slaughter, So far till they were within six fathom water: They durst not look back, To see what we lack, But posting for life, to their harbors they tack; Their flags being struck, and not set up again, ’Tis thought that Van Trump and Du Ruiter is slain. He that doth protect us, will save us from evil, In spight of the Dutch, the Dane, or the Devil.
Besides all the damage our shipping hath done To vessels and men, in their fight, and their run, Two very stout ships we have taken and fir’d, And in them five hundred and ninety men tyr’d, With tugging for that, They cannot get at To make England stoop to their pittyful state; When slaves are turn’d princes, no tyrant so evil, When beggers are mounted, they ride to the Devil, No souls so insulting as such sordid slaves, As climb to preferment on honest mens graves.
Our gen’rals and navy, are all safe and sound, The Prince and the Duke have our foes in the pound; They in their own harbors are pris’ners at ease, The King of Great Brittain commands where he please. We ride on the ocean, And waite for the motion, To venter again they have no great devotion. Had they not crept in, they’d been burnt to a cinder And Holland by this time, had been turn’d to tinder. God bless King and Queen, with the Duke and all such, As are friends to Great Brittain, and foes to the Dutch.
_A NEW BALLAD OF A FAMOUS GERMAN PRINCE AND A RENOWNED ENGLISH DUKE._
Who on St. James’s Day One thousand 666 fought with a Beast with Seven Heads, call’d Provinces; not by land, but by water; not to be said, but sung; not in High English nor Low Dutch but to a new French tune, called _Monsieur Ragou; or, The Dancing Hobby-horses_.
There happen’d of late a terrible fray, Begun upon our St. James’s Day, _With a thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, Thump, thump, a thump, thump_, Where Rupert and George for Charlemaign Swing’d the Dutch again and again (As if they had been but the French or Dane), _With a thump, etc._
’Twas brave Tom Allen led the van, Stout Uther, and bold Tiddiman, _With a thump, etc._; And then our immortal generalls With twenty thousand thunder-balls Pierc’d their boggie flesh-mud-walls, _With a thump, thump, etc._
The game was hot, and then you’ll swear That Jordan (Heart of Oak) was there, _With a thump, thump, etc._; And gallant Holmes, that never fails, Torn and hurt, yet still prevails, Valiant with or without his sails, _With a thump, thump, etc._
The _Royal Charles_ was all their aim, (For there they knew was princely game), _With a thump, etc._ _Seven Provinces_ here spend their quire (De Ruyter’s mighty triple tyre), But had his answer all in fire, _With a thump, thump, etc._
For here our glorious Prince and Duke Gave him such a sore rebuke, _With a thump, etc._, That now De Ruyter finds it clear The warlike English have no peer, Who dare do anything but fear _A thump, thump, etc._
The _Soveraign_ came to revenge her wrongs (Becalm’d a while for want of lungs), _Without any thump, etc._, But soon as her dredful sail displaied, Good Lord, what lanes and wrecks she made! The devill a Dutch came nigh or staid, _For fear of a thump, thump, etc._
Her balls of fire, the Flemming sees, Are thrice as big as a Holland cheese, _With a thump, etc._; And now they ran, they ran, they ran, And left poor Zealand shift as it can; They made him there rere, who would be the van-- --_Van Trump, Trump, Trump, etc._
The King’s own colours (Red and White) Pursu’d the Boors all day and night, _With a thump, etc._ O how ’twould Lords and Commons please To see our _Soveraign of the Seas_ Chasing their _Seven Provinces_, _With a thump, etc._
Over flatts and banks we fir’d their tails Till we heard their croaking nightingales, _With a thump, etc._ This difference ’twixt two navies stands: Ours built for the sea, and theirs for the sands; We had sent them else to their last Netherlands _With a thump, thump, etc._
Their shott still at our tackling flew, Lest when they ran we should pursue, _With a thump, etc._; For though the Dutch are sea-men grown, Bold English are the marks-men known, And therefore kill them six for one, _With a thump, thump, etc._
Our rere was Smith, with other two (Spragge and Kempthorn) both true blew, _With a thump, etc._ And here the Zealanders came on, Who stoutly gave us gun for gun, Till Holland-like they also run, _With a thump, thump, etc._
‘In, in, in, in,’ said valiant Spragge, ‘Wee’l beat this vapouring Trump to th’ Hague’ _With a thump, etc._ His chaplain fell to his wonted work, Cryed, ‘Now for the King and the Duke of York!’ He prayed like a Christian and fought like a Turk, _With a thump, thump, etc._
Six thousand Dutch (a Low-Country dish) We sent to their own cozen the fish, _With a thump, etc._ The rest into holes so tamely crawl That little _Fanfan_ dar’d them all, Great Rupert’s sloop is an admirall. _With a thump, thump, etc._
What Amsterdamnable cowards are these To boast that they were lords of the seas, _With a thump, etc._ Their impudent Gazette proclaims How bravely they lock’d up the Thames! But had no leave from Charles or James, _And therefore had a thump, thump, etc._
And now De Witt’s new Holland Rump (Who rides the States) will burn to th’ stump, _With a thump, etc._; For George in England once before Hath fir’d one Rump, and will do more, Till men and bells all Dutch-land o’re _Sing rump, rump, etc._
Then let them invent some other cheat, Go hang their captains ’cause th’ are beat _With a thump, etc._ Let Monsieur and Myn Heer that snarls At our _Soveraign_ and _Royal Charles_, Beware of Ruperts and Albemarles. _With a thump, thump, etc._ [Sir JOHN BIRKENHEAD.]
_THE SECOND PART OF THE LATE AND TERRIBLE FIGHT ON ST. JAMES’S DAY, ONE THOUSAND 666._
To the Tune of the First Part.
A Second Part I here indite Of the English and Dutch bloody fight, _With a thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, Thump, thump upon thump_. This only tells what was done since The renowned Duke and famous Prince Made the Seven-headed Beast to wince, _With a thump, etc._
As you the first so sing this too To the French tune call’d Monsieur Ragou _With a thump, etc._ Or else because that this discourses Of Beaufort’s and De Ruyter’s forces, Call the tune the Dancing Hobby Horses, _With a thump, etc._
Sing not High English in Low Dutch, Though now our foes are truly such, _With a thump, etc._ This must be sung, not said at all, And they that sing must rise and fall; In this ballad too the tune is all, _With a thump, etc._
The terrible fight on St. James’s Day Ended with Ruyter’s running away, _With a thump, etc._ The first part did th’ officers prayse, The Duke of York and King now saies The sea-men too deserve some bays, _With a thump, etc._
For though the officers bear the bell The private sea-men rang the Dutch knel, _With a thump, etc._ The Bores fought well, with brandy drunk; But in two houres their courage sunk, And then like beaten stock-fish stunk, _With a thump, etc._
Goliath-like look’d Houndsfoot and Skellum, But Monk and’s fryers with sling and stones fell ’um, _With a thump, etc._ Ruyter swears that Trump came not to ’s aid; Trump swears Ruyter ran like coward, afraid. We had done both their works had they staid, _With a thump, etc._
While Trump and Ruyter sneake in th’ Welling The brave English land at Uly and Schelling _With a thump, etc._ A thousand homes with eight score ships We fired like so many chips, And made the States to bite their lips, _With a thump, etc._
This was a most prodigious rap, To loose five millions at a clap, _With a thump, etc._ We beg but one boon more, kinde Fates, Their India fleet, and then, proud States, Wee’l make you shit as small as rats, _With a thump, etc._
Old Rome neere did ought worth a doyt, Compar’d with Holmes’s brave exploit, _With a thump, etc._ The tale of ten years’ war for Hellen Homer had never thought worth telling Had he but heard of Uly and Schelling, _With a thump, etc._
Twelve East-land ships did likewise fall in- To the hands of stout Sir Thomas Allen, _With a thump, etc._ And now, in spite of Adelar And Beaufort too, we’ve pitch and tarr And ropes enough to end the warr _With a thump, etc._
Our victory hath but one flaw, The unhappy loss of the _Breda_, _Without any thump, etc._ On the Dutch coast she ran aground, And without men was strangely found: They merit hanging if not drown’d, _With a thump, etc._
This vessel’s luck was never good; In her five captains lost their blood, _With a thump, etc._ At her mishap we must not grutch; ’Twas Heaven’s will it should be such, Because that the ship’s name was Dutch. _With a thump, etc._
Alas! alas! poor baffl’d Hans, The Dane can’t ayd thee, nor dares France. _Thou, thou hast had thump upon thump, Thump, thump upon thump._ The Monsieur’s fleet a mangy crew is. Monk’s brave boys eat beef and brewis, Cry, ‘A f---- for Denmark and King Lewis!’ _With a thump, etc._
Bow then to Charles, distressed States, After so many broken pates, _With a thump, thump still upon thump, etc._ Beg peace, or next your banks shall rue, And we will give the Divel his due; He shall take Monsieur, the sea drown you; _Then are ye both thumpt, and mumpt, and mumpt, etc._
Now, to conclude, I will take care, As ballads use to end with prayer, _With a thump, etc._; For ballads made of the old fashion Should still conclude with supplication For King and Queen, and the whole nation, _With a thump, etc._
God bless the Swede, he’s not our foe, And Spain’s King too, though France say no; _They both wish the Dutch well thumpt, thumpt, etc._ Heaven send our fleet auspicious gales, Our King and Queen a Prince of Wales, And then let who will bite their nayles _When we all our foes have thumpt and mumpt, etc._
_THE DUTCH DAMNIFIED; OR, THE BUTTER-BOXES BOB’D:_
Being a brief and true account how Sir Robert Holmes, Sir Philip Howard, and Sir William Jennings, with eleven companies of foot, five fire-ships, and some ketches and boats, burnt and destroy’d near a hundred and sixty saile of Dutch ships in the Uly; as also they burnt the rich town of Brandaris, in the Island of Schelling, consisting of above a thousand houses, richly furnisht, with goods of extraordinary value; our seamen and souldiers returning richly laden with their enemies’ spoyle, being sufficiently rewarded for their noble enterprise, and all this performed (by God’s Providence) with the losse of ten men on our side.
The Tune is _A Fig for France and Holland too_, etc.
Ring bells for joy, let none be sad, For now we have news will make you glad, Will make you blith and merry too To see how the Dutch are forc’d to bow: Their brags and boasts will not prevail, We’ll teach them for to lowre their sail. _Then, Hogan Mogans, b’ware your pates, For now we shall make you distressed States._
We paid you home in July last, And soundly did your sides bumbast; If that you had not swiftly run You surely had been quite undone: But now we are landed on your shore, And found the way to make you poor. _Then, Hogan Mogans, b’ware your pates, For now we shall make you distressed States._
For all your idle vain excuses E’re long we shall pull up your sluces; Our men have found a way to land, As you by this will understand: It will be but a bitter pill When such sad news your hearts do fill. _Then, Hogan Mogans, b’ware your pates, For now we shall make you distressed States._
You in your harbours lurk for fear, Not thinking such bad news to hear; We scorn to come and steal your sheep, And then like thieves away to creep: Your towns to burn, and ships to fire, Is work that Englishmen desire. _Then, Hogan Mogans, b’ware your pates, For now we shall make you distressed States._
Sir Robert Holmes, that valiant knight Had orders upon Tuesday night The Uly Island for to burn And quite destroy’t ere he return: Sir Philip Howard did him assist, Sir William Jennings he did his best. _Then, Hogan Mogans, curse your fates, For now we shall make you distressed States._
They chose eleven hundred men To pull the Dutch out of their den; With fire-ships, ketches, boats, and hoyes, Well mann’d with lusty English boyes: With joyful hearts they leave the fleet, And sayle away their foes to meet. _Then, Hogan Mogans, curse your fates, For now we shall make you distressed States._
At length they spy’d without all faile One hundred and seventy saile Of merchant ships which anchored were In Uly road, being void of fear. Sir Robert Holmes he thought it meet With fire-ships to destroy that fleet. _Then, Hogan Mogans, ’ware your pates, For now we shall make you distressed States._
So hotly they pursued the game That straight the fleet was on a flame: Some frigats which the rest did guard, Just like their neighbours, so they far’d; Our men most furiously were bent, And burnt them down incontinent. _Then, Hogan Mogans, ’ware your pates, For now we shall make you distressed States._
This being done away we haste, The Schelling Island for to waste, And there we fright our cowardly foes, And land our men where none oppose. Then up we martch into the isle, Our crafty foes for to beguile. _Then, Hogan and Mogans, ’ware your pates, For now we shall make you distressed States._
When they heard of our coming nigh, Away they fled, all that could flye, And left their goods and all the rest, To be dispos’d as we thought best. The bravest town in all that place We burnt quite down and did deface. _Now, Hogan Mogans, beware your pates, For now we shall make you distressed States._
Our men had plunder there good store, To make them rich, they’l ne’er be poor; They brought away great store of plate, And now they quaff their cups in state; Their cabbins are like gold-smith shops, God send us many such like crops. _Now, Hogan Mogans, curse your fates, For now we shall make you distressed States._
Their trugtail’d frows were in a maze To see their town all on a blaze; They wept and waild and wrung their jaws, And cursed their States, which was the cause. May all that’s enemies to our King Be brought to such like banquetting. _Now, Hogan Mogans, curse your fates, For now we shall make you distressed States._
_A SONG ON THE DUKE’S LATE GLORIOUS SUCCESS OVER THE DUTCH._
One day, as I was sitting still Upon the side of Dunwich Hill, And looking on the ocean, By chance I saw De Ruyter’s fleet With Royal James’s squadron meet; In sooth it was a noble treat To see that brave commotion.
I cannot stay to name the names Of all the ships that fought with James, Their number, or their tonnage; But this I say: the noble host Right gallantly did take its post, And covered all the hollow coast From Walderswyck to Dunwich.
The French, who should have join’d the Duke, Full far astern did lag and look, Although their hulls were lighter: But nobly faced the Duke of York, Tho’ some may wink and some may talk, Right stoutly did his vessel stalk To buffet with De Ruyter.
Well might you hear their guns, I guess, From Sizewell Gap to Easton Ness, The show was rare and sightly: They batter’d without let or stay, Until the evening of that day,-- ’Twas then the Dutchmen run away, The Duke had beat them tightly.
Of all the battles gain’d at sea This was the rarest victory Since Philip’s Grand Armado. I will not name the rebel Blake; He fought for whoreson Cromwell’s sake, And yet was forced three days to take To quell the Dutch bravado.
So now we’ve seen them take to flight This way and that, where’er they might, To windward or to leeward; Here’s to King Charles, and here’s to James, And here’s to all the captains’ names, And here’s to all the Suffolk dames, And here’s to the House of Stuart.
_NEWS FROM THE COAST OF SPAIN;_
_Or_,
A true relation of a brisk and bloody encounter, which happened upon the 13th of February, between the _Tyger_ frigot, Captain Harman commander, and the _Schaherleas_ of Holland, Vice-Admiral of Young Evertson’s squadron, Pasqual De Wit captain, near Cadize in Spain; where the said De Wit, to vindicate his honour (being suspected of cowardice by the Spaniards, for quitting his station upon the _Tyger’s_ approach), challenged Captain Harman to fight next day, and having double man’d his ship, the number being 270 men, came up with the _Tyger_, who had but a 180 men on board, within a league of Cadize Bay, within the view of all the inhabitants. These two ships being come within half pistol shot one of another, fired their broadsides, where the _Tyger_ did such execution that he disabled their adversaries’ topmast-yard, killed and wounded 80 of their men, without any considerable damage to himself; and immediately laying him aboard on the bow, after half an hour’s dispute, entered his men and made him yield; carrying his prize, miserable, shattered, and torn, to the admiration of all the people: the Dutch having lost 140 men, besides 86 wounded: and the English losing but nine, and fifteen wounded, amongst whom the Captain himself was shot under the left eye by a musquet shot, but is in good hopes of recovery.
To the Tune of _Digby’s Farewell_.
Come, all you brave sea-men of courage so free, Come lend your attention and listen to me, For here is good news that is late come to town, Which is for your credit and England’s renown; Of brave Captain Harman ’tis now I must tell, Who near unto Cadiz behav’d himself well, And taught a Dutch captain, whose name is De Wit, To know he had valour and made him submit.
The _Tiger_ from Tangier to Cadiz made way, Whereas the De Wit, the Dutch admiral lay, But soon as the Dutchman our frigate espy’d They straight into port with all diligence hi’d, Which caused the Spaniards about for to say, He quitted his station and durst not to stay; Whereat the proud Dutchman did fume and did fret, And wisht in his heart that they never had met.
Then taking advise of young Evertson straight, A challenge he sent with the _Tiger_ to fight, To regain his honour if so it might be, The which was accepted immediately. His ship with stout seamen he then double mann’d, And thought that our English was merely trapann’d; But in the conclusion he found it not so, They paid him his reckoning before he did go.
Two hundred and seventy men he had there, And but half so many the _Tiger_ did bear Of brave English hearts, and of courage most free, That scorn’d to be dounted in any degree: Then up they did come within half pistol shot, Their broad-sides they fired, and men went to th’ pot, Whilst all the whole town did come out to behold And see them encounter with courage most bold.
With broad-sides of bullets and shot that was bar’d We quickly disabled De Wit’s top-mast yard, And fourscore men they had wounded and slain, Which made them to fret, but it was but in vain. ‘We’l bear in upon ... [_line and a half missing_]; We’l show them such valour as never was shown; I’le take their ship prize, or I’le venture my own.’
Then quickly they grappled, and then the dispute Was desperate and bloody, whilst cannons were mute, For half an hour’s space the hot service was such Our men remain’d victors and conquered the Dutch; And then they submitted themselves to be prize, Which all the brisk Spaniards beheld with their eyes, And our English valour did highly commend, Since Harman had forc’d the proud Dutch for to bend.
The prize was so shattered and torn in the fray They scarcely could get her safe into the bay; For to Harman’s honour De Wit must confess He nere was so thumped before, I do guess. ’Twill teach him hereafter more humble to be, To yield to his betters in every degree; By woeful experience he now can relate, What ’tis to sell honour at so dear a rate.
Of Dutchmen one hundred and forty was slain, And eighty-six wounded, which languish in pain; Of all our brave English we lost but just nine, And therefore we have no great cause to repine, Besides fifteen wounded, the truth for to tell; All which through God’s mercy we hope will do well. Such blessings the Lord has for England in store We lost not much more then a man to a score.
Brave Harman, who fought where the battel was hot, Was struck through the cheek with a chance musket shot, But yet there is hopes he’l recover again And live for to win more renown on the main; However his valour is highly extol’d, ’Mongst our English worthies he shall be enrol’d, Who fought for true honour, glad tydings to bring, How well he had serv’d both his countrey and King.
Then cheer up, brave seamen and Englishmen bold You here, by this story, which here I have told, No sea-men nor souldiers can with us compare; Although they have odds yet to fight them we dare. Throughout the whole world a terrour shall prove If we can continue in union and love: And thus you may see by these lines I have writ, How stout Captain Harman did conquer De Wit.
_CAPTAIN MANSFIELD’S FIGHT WITH THE TURKES AT SEA._
Our goodly ship was loaded deep, with anchors three beneath her bow; ’Twas east-north-east we steer’d our course, and as near the wind as we could stow. We had not sailed glasses three, nor yet ten leagues from our loading port, Before we spyed ten Turkish men-of-war, and after us they did resort.
‘O hail! O hail! you English dogs, O hail! and strike your sails quickly, For you shall go with us this night, and ever after into slavery.’ O then bespoke our captain bold, and a well bespoken man was he, ‘If you must have my topsails down, come on board and strike them for me.
‘To the top, to the top, my merry boatswain, to the main-top-mast-head so high, And sling me here that main-top-mast-yard, and see your business you supply. To the top, to the top, my boatswain’s mate, to the fore-top-mast-head with speed And sling me here that fore-top-sail-yard, for we never had more need.