Chapter VI: Part 6

Our freinds are glad and mirth doe make,
Our foes are sad, their hearts doe quake,
Soe some doe laugh, and some doe shake
For woe,
And I amongst the rest make sport,
Singing to you in civill sort,
And if you have not thank’d me for’t
Then doe.

13

God blesse King Charles with length of daies,
That doth deserve immortal praise,
In this and many thousand waies
Our guide.
God blesse the Queen and ship so tall,
God blesse the great, God blesse the small,
The blade that made this song and all
Beside.

_SAYLORS FOR MY MONEY._

A new Ditty composed in the praise of Saylors and Sea Affaires, briefly showing the nature of so worthy a calling, and effects of their industry.

To the Tune of _The Iovial Cobbler_.

Countrie men of England, who live at home with ease,
And little thinke what dangers are incident o’ th’ seas,
Give eare unto the saylor who unto you will shew
His case, his case: _how ere the winde doth blow_.

He that is a saylor must have a valiant heart,
For, when he is upon the sea, he is not like to start;
But must with noble courage all dangers undergoe:
Resolve, resolve: _how e’re the wind doth blow_.

Our calling is laborious, and subject to much [care];
But we must still contented be with what falls to our share.
We must not be faint-hearted, come tempest, raine or snow,
Nor shrinke: nor shrinke: _how e’re the winde doth blowe_.

Sometimes on Neptune’s bosome our ship is tost with waves,
And every minute we expect the sea must be our graves.
Sometimes on high she mounteth, then falls againe as low:
With waves: with waves: _when stormie winds do blow_.

Then with unfained prayers, as Christian duty bindes,
Wee turne unto the Lord of hosts, with all our hearts and minds;
To Him we flie for succour, for He, we surely know,
Can save: can save: _how ere the wind doth blow_.

Then He who [brake] the rage [of] the rough and blustrous seas,
When His disciples were afraid, will straight the stormes apease;
And give us cause to thanke, on bended knees full low:
Who saves: who saves: _how ere the wind doth blow_.

Our enemies approaching, when wee on sea espie,
Wee must resolve incontinent to fight, although we die;
With noble resolution we must oppose our foe
In fight, in fight: _how ere the wind doth blow_.

And when, by God’s assistance, our foes are put to th’ foile,
To animate our courages wee all have share o’ th’ spoile.
Our foes into the ocean we back to back do throw,
To sinke, or swimme: _how ere the wind doth blow_.

Thus wee gallant sea-men, in midst of greatest dangers,
Doe alwaies prove our valour, wee never are no changers;
But what soe ere betide us, wee stoutly undergoe,
Resolv’d, resolv’d: _how ere the wind doth blow_.

If fortune doe befriend us, in what we take in hand,
Wee prove our selves still generous wherere we come to land;
Ther’s few that shall out brave us, though neere so great in show
We spend, and lend: _how ere the wind doth blow_.

We travell to the Indies, from them we bring som spice;
There we buy rich merchandise at very little price;
And many wealthy prizes we conquer from the foe
In fight, in fight: _how ere the wind doth blow_.

Into our native country with wealth we doe returne,
And cheere our wives and children, who for our absence mourne
Then doe we bravely flourish, and where soe ere we goe
We roare: we roare: _how ere the wind doth blow_.

For when we have received our wages for our paynes
The vintners and the tapsters by us have golden gaines.
We call for liquor roundly, and pay before we goe:
And sing: and drink: _how ere the wind doth blow_.

We bravely are respected when we walke up and downe,
For if wee meete good company wee care not for a crowne;
Ther’s none more free than saylors, where ere he come or goe,
They’ll roare o’ th’ shore: _how ere the winde doth blow_.

Then who would live in England and no[u]rish vice with ease,
When hee that is in povertie may riches get o’ th’ seas?
Let’s saile unto the Indies, where golden grass doth grow:
To sea, to sea: _how ere the wind doth blow_.
M[ARTIN] P[ARKER].

_THE JOVIAL MARRINER; OR, THE SEA-MAN’S RENOWN._

Sail forth, bold sea-men, plough the liquid main;
Fear neither storms nor pirats, strive for gain;
Whilst others sleep at home in a whole skin
Your brave adventures shall great honours win.

To the Tune of _I am a Jovial Batchelor_, etc. [By] J. P.

I am a jovial marriner: our calling is well known;
We trade with many a foreigner to purchase high renown;
We serve our country faithfully, and bring home store of gold;
We do our business manfully, for we are free and bold.
_A sea-man hath a valiant heart, and bears a noble minde;
He scorneth once to shrink or start for any stormy wind._

’Tis known what hardships we endure abroad upon the seas,
Whilst others sleep at home secure, and spend their time in ease;
We seldom dare lie down to rest, lest danger should ensue;
Our heads with care is sore opprest: beleeve me, it is true!
_A sea-man hath a valiant heart, etc._

A cowardly spirit must not think to prove a sea-man bold,
For to be sure he may not shrink in dangers manifold;
When sea-fights happen on the main, and dreadful cannons rore,
Then all men fight, or else be slain [and braggarts proud look poor.
_A sea-man hath a valiant heart, etc._]

’Tis sea-men stout that doth deserve both honour and renown;
In perils great we may not swerve, though Neptune seem to frown;
If once his curled front we spy, drencht in the foamy brine,
Then each man doth his business ply, there’s none that doth repine.
_A sea-man hath [a valiant heart], etc._

When angry billows brush the skye, most hideous to behold,
Then up our ships are tost on high, and with the waves are roull’d;
When tempest fierce our sails doth tear, and rends the masts asunder,
O! then we have great cause to fear, or else it were a wonder.
_A sea-man hath [a valiant heart], etc._

Great rocks which lye amongst the waves do threaten us with death,
And many sea-men finde their graves in sands which are beneath;
To see the masts of ships appear, which hath been cast away,
Would make a land-man dye with fear, ’tis best at home to stay.
_A sea-man hath a valiant heart, and bears a noble minde, etc._

Brave England hath been much inricht by art of navigation;
Great store of wealth we home have fetched for to adorn our nation:
Our merchants still we do supply with traffick that is rare;
Then, sea-men, cast your caps on high, we are without compare.
_A sea-man hath a valiant heart, and bears a noble minde;
He scorneth once to shrink or start for any stormy wind._

Who should the ladies’ pallats please, with spices of the best,
If sea-men all should take their ease, and stay at home to rest?
Our gallants they would finde a want of silks to make them fine,
And tearing boyes no more would rant if once they wanted wine.
_A sea-man hath [a valiant heart], etc._

Our land it would invaded be if sea-men were not stout;
We let our friends come in on sea, and keep our foes without;
Our privilege upon the seas we bravely do maintain,
And can enlarge it when we please in Royal Charles his reign.
_A sea-man hath [a valiant heart], etc._

Such countries as do lie remote doth tremble at our fame,
For we have taught them all to note ’tis England bears the name:
In foreign parts where ere we come our valour is well known,
What ere they be they dare not mumm, if we say all’s our own.
_A sea-man hath [a valiant heart], etc._

When as our ships with merchandize are safely come to shore,
No men like us under the skies to drink, to sing, and rore;
Good wine and beer we freely tope, until the ground look blew:
We value neither Turk nor Pope, we are a jovial crew.
_A sea-man hath [a valiant heart], etc._

We kiss our wives when we return, who long for us did wait,
And he that’s single need not mourn, he cannot want a mate:
Young women still are wondrous kinde to sea-men in their need;
And sure it shows a courteous minde to do a friendly deed.
_A sea-man hath [a valiant heart], etc._

With pretty, courteous, dainty knacks we please the females well,
We know what longing women lacks, most surely we can tell;
A sea-man is a cock o’ th’ game, young maidens find it true;
We never are so much to blame to let them want their due.
_A sea-man hath [a valiant heart], etc._

Thus, gallant sea-men, I have spread abroad your high renown,
Which shall survive when you are dead, and gain a lasting crown:
Your praise to future ages shall most gloriously appear;
Then courage, noble sea-men all, ’tis you I love most dear.
_A sea-man hath a valiant heart, and bears a noble minde
He scorneth once to shrink or start for any stormy wind._

_NEPTUNE’S RAGING FURY; OR, THE GALLANT SEAMAN’S SUFFERINGS._

You gentlemen of England, that lives at home at ease,
Full little do you think upon the dangers of the seas:
Give ear unto the marriners, and they will plainly show,
The cares and the fears _when the stormy winds do blow_.

All you that will be seamen must bear a valiant heart,
For when you come upon the seas you must not think to start,
Nor once to be faint-hearted in hail, rain, or snow,
Nor to shrink, nor to shrink _when the stormy winds do blow_.

The bitter storms and tempests poor seamen must endure,
Both day and night, with many a fright, we seldom rest secure;
Our sleep it is disturbed with visions strange to know,
And with dreams on the streams, _when the stormy winds do blow_.

In claps of roaring thunder which darkness doth enforce,
We often find our ship to stray beyond our wonted course,
Which causeth great distractions, and sinks our hearts full low;
’Tis in vain to complain _when the stormy winds do blow_.

Sometimes in Neptune’s bosom our ship is tost in waves
And every man expecting the sea to be their graves:
Then up aloft she mounteth and down again so low;
’Tis with waves, oh! with waves, _when the stormy winds do blow_.

Then down again we fall to prayer with all our might and thought;
When refuge all doth fail us ’tis that must bear us out;
To God we call for succour, for He it is, we know,
That must aid us and save us _when the stormy winds do blow_.

The lawyer and the usurer that sits in gown of fur,
In closets warm, can take no harm, abroad they need not stir;
When winter fierce with cold doth pierce, and beats with hail and
snow,
We are sure to endure _when the stormy winds do blow_.

We bring home costly merchandise, and jewels of great price
To serve our English gallantry with many a rare device;
To please the English gallantry our pains we freely show,
For we toyl and we moile _when the stormy winds do blow_.

We sometimes sail to the Indies to fetch home spices rare,
Sometimes again to France and Spain for wines beyond compare
Whilst gallants are carousing in taverns on a row
Then we sweep o’er the deep _when the stormy winds do blow_.

When tempests are blown over, and greatest fears are past,
In weather fair and temperate air, we straight lie down to rest:
But when the billows tumble and waves do furious grow
Then we rouse, up we rouse _when the stormy winds do blow_.

If enemies oppose us, when England is at wars
With any foreign nations we fear not wounds and scars;
Our roaring guns shall teach ’em our valour for to know,
Whilst they reel in the keel _when the stormy winds do blow_.

We are no cowardly shrinkers, but Englishmen true bred;
We’ll play our parts like valiant hearts, and never fly for dread;
We’ll ply our business nimbly, where’er we come or go
With our mates, to the Straits, _when the stormy winds do blow_.

Then courage all, brave mariners, and never be dismayed;
Whilst we have bold adventure[r]s we ne’er shall want a trade;
Our merchants will employ us to fetch them wealth, we know;
Then be bold, work for gold, _when the stormy winds do blow_.

When we return in safety with wages for our pains
The tapster and the vintner will help to share our gains;
We’ll call for liquor roundly and pay before we go,
Then we’ll roar on the shore _when the stormy winds do blow_.

_THE FAMOUS FIGHT AT MALAGO; OR, THE ENGLISHMENS VICTORY OVER THE SPANIARDS:_

Relating how Five English Frigats, viz. the _Henry_, _Ruby_, _Antelope_, _Greyhound_, and _Bryan_, burnt all the Spanish Ships in their Harbour at Malago; battered down their Churches and their Houses about their ears, killed abundance of their Men, and obtained an Honourable Victory.

Where ever English seamen goes
They are a terror to their foes.

To the Tune [its own] of _Five Sail of Frigats bound for Malago_, etc.

Come all you brave sailors that sails on the main,
I’ll tell you of a fight that was lately in Spain;
And of five sail of frigats bound to Malago
For to fight the proud Spaniards; our orders was so.

There was the _Henry_ and _Ruby_, and the _Antelope_ also,
The _Grey-hound_ and the _Bryan_, for fire-ships must go;
But so bravely we weighed, and played our parts,
That we made the proud Spaniards to quake in their hearts.

Then we came to an anchor so nigh to the mould;
‘Methinks you proud English do grow very bold!’
But we came to an anchor so near to the town
That some of their churches we soon battered down.

They hung out their flag of truce, for to know our intent,
And they sent out their long-boat to know what we meant;
But our captain he answered them bravely, it was so,
‘For to burn all your shipping before we do go.’

‘For to burn all our shipping? You must us excuse;
’Tis not five sail of frigats shall make us to muse!’--
But we burnt all their shipping, and their gallies also;
And we left in the city full many a widow.

‘Come then,’ says our captain, ‘let’s fire at the church!’
And down came their belfrey, which grieved them much;
And down came the steeple, which standeth so high,
Which made the proud Spaniards to the nunnery fly.

So great a confusion we made in the town
That their lofty buildings came tumbling down;
Their wives and their children, for help they did cry,
But none could relieve them, though danger was nigh.

The flames and the smoak so increased their woe
That they knew not whither to run or to go;
Some to shun the fire leapt into the flood,
And there they did perish in water and mud.

Our guns we kept firing, still shooting amain,
Whilst many a proud Spaniard was on the place slain;
The rest, being amazed, for succour did cry,
But all was in vain, they had no where to fly.

At length being forced, they thought it most fit
Unto the brave English-men for to submit;
And so a conclusion at last we did make
Upon such conditions as was fit to take.

The Spanish Armado did England no harm,
’Twas but a bravado, to give us alarm;
But with our five frigats we did them bumbast,
And made them of English-men’s valour to taste.

When this noble victory we did obtain,
Then home we returned to England again,
Where we were received with welcomes of joy,
Because with five frigats we did them destroy.

_AN ELEGIE ON THE DEATH OF THE RIGHT HONOURABLE ROBERT BLAKE, ESQ._,

One of the Generals at Sea, who departed the 7th of August, 1657, on board the _George_, near Plymouth Sound.

What means this silence, sirs? what’s here becom?
Some heavy tidings sure hath struck you dumb.
Light griefs make teares distill out from the eye,
When great ones dull, and often stupifie.
What! Is there none dare speak? Alas! I feare
It is too harsh to sound in English eare.
Must my misgiving soul divine the cause
Of your sad aspects? Stay, for I must pause:
Is he that over Neptune once bore sway,
And ’gainst our foes did often get the day:
Is he that was to sea-men their delight,
And led them on most daringly to fight:
Is he whose face a terror strooke; whose name
The darling was of Fortune and of Fame:
Is he that by example spent his breath,
And shew’d a new way how to out-face Death:
He that strook terror wheresoere he came,
And made his foes to tremble at his name--
Speak, is it true? Is noble Blake then gone,
And left us here in dark oblivion?
Is his seraphick soul then fled away,
Leaving nought but his ashes and his clay?
Your silence seems to say so. Is he dead?
Sure then your griefs cannot be numbered.
I see the lasting’st monuments must bend;
All things must have their period and end.
His brave example in our infant dayes
Of war, when he alone deserv’d the bayes;
When by his virtue onely Lime held out
Against a potent foe both bold and stout.
Taunton her liberty to him doth owe,
His bounty onely did on her bestow.
Dunster, that pleasant seat, whose lofty tow’rs
E’ne peirc’t the clouds, did stoop unto his pow’rs
Bridgewater gave him birth, for that fam’d more,
And honoured, then ere she was before.
His enemies did oft amaz’d stand
When he held up his sure dead-doing hand;
And Death grew pale to see himself out-done
By one of mortall race. The setting sun
Oft peep’d abroad, as oft did blush to see
Neptune forc’t weare his sanguine livery.
Though Death did often strive him to affright
Yet he out-lookt him, made him mad with spight,
And when with open force he durst not seise him
In a consumption did at last surprise him.
His head a mint of reason was; when he
Once spake he used no tautologie.
His arguments dilemmas were, which he
Confirm’d b’ example out of history:
His own experience was so great that all
With one consent still clos’d in generall:
And for his intellectualls so rare
That few now living could with him compare.
A man that alwayes valued his word;
Bright honour ever shining on his sword:
To vice and basenesse ever most severe,
And to his friends and goodnesse very deare:
From affectation free, and, what was more,
A zealous enemy of the Scarlet Whore;
Whose able judgment in a hot dispute
Two of the stoutest champions did confute,
Deserving to be (by their own confession)
His countryes honour call’d; twas their expression.
No charming syren could his ears entice;
Nor tempting Venus him allure to vice;
Nor Cleophis with her bewiching eyes
Ere put a period to his victories.
War was his mistris, he did her embrace;
She hath a princely and majestick face;
She nurst him, bred him, made him her delight,
Conducted him in many a dreadful fight;
He was her darling, she in him took pleasure,
He was her chiefest and her onely treasure.
Though threats on threats, and promises succeeded
From Royalty, yet he them never heeded.
Threats could not drive him, nor allurements high
Ere make him part with his integrity.
No sceptick in religion was he found,
His head and heart and principles were sound.
Constant beyond compare, and to his nation
A faithfull servant in his generation:
No faction would he heed, nor plots contrive,
Nor did he wish that ever they should thrive;
And midst our various changes still kept free,
Hating cold dullnesse, base neutrality.
Riches he valued not, nor them respect,
Nor glorious titles ever did affect.
Armes and the Arts did wondrously comply
In him to make a perfect harmony;
In both admir’d, in both he did excell,
And liv’d and dy’d without a parallell.
His valour was diffused, and now dead,
He the Tenth Worthy may be reckoned
The civick, murall, and the navall crown
He has deserv’d, all due to his renown.
In peace he was a Seneca, in war
He out-did Mars, still prov’d a conqueror.
No chamber-musick squeaking in the night,
Nor noyce of vialls did him much delight;
The deep-mouth’d canons thundring in his eares
Was unto him the musick of the spheres:
Those bore the base, the whistling bullets they
Made up the treble on a fighting day;
Small shot division play’d, whose nimble motion
Made many a soul drink up a sleepy potion:
This was the musick most did cheer his spirit,
And made him justly so much prayse to merit.
His noble, lively, active, vigorous fire
Ne’re quencht in him untill he did expire.
Oh! how my soul bemones my countryes losse,
Her onely genius gone; oh! ’tis a crosse
Beyond compare, now hardly felt, but when
Our sins a war on us shall bring agen,
Who then shall stand i’ th’ gap? His noble arme
Did quail our home-bred, forreign foes disarme.
May those succeed Elisha-like inherit
A double portion of Elijah’s spirit.
The Hollander in bloudy lines can write
What harms he did them by the God of might;
The Portigalls, as every one doth know,
Their peace, their plenty, and their traffique owe
Unto his worth, when Rupert he was fain
To face about and get him home again;
Loth to appear with his poor glow-worm light
When such a sun as this appear’d in sight.
The barbarous pirates upon Tunis strand
Felt the effects of his revenging hand.
The Spaniards lately fear’d the name of Blake,
As once their children did the name of Drake.
What shall I say? his last attempt so bold
At the Canaries, it cannot be told
Unto its worth; that done with gallantry
He makes his exit with a plaudite;
And having done to Spaine abundant harms,
Comes home in peace and dyes free from allarms:
The George the first ship bore him out, and then
The mournfull she that brought him back agen.
Oh that some Virgil, for his greater glory,
Would please to write his everlasting story;
Or else some Homer bravely to reherse
His glorious actions in heroick verse;
For me to limne the noble act h’ as done,
Is but to light a candle to the sun:
That task I’le leave to some more able hand
That view’d his action both by sea and land;
And though in blacks I may not mourn his end,
Yet none shall more bemone him as a friend.
Or’e death he is victorious, and he
Bequeaths it us as his last legacy.

Now unto God be everlasting prayse,
That thus in peace hath finished his dayes:
And since his fatall thred is quite spun out,
Let’s draw the curtains, put the candle out,
And let us leave him to his silent tomb,
Free from all troubles, clos’d up in the womb
Of Mother Earth let him in quiet rest,
Till he enjoy the choycest and the best
Of his desires, in glory for to see
His Saviour Christ to all eternity.

EPITAPH ACROSTICK

R est here in peace the sacred dust
O f valiant Blake, the good, the just,
B elov’d of all on every side;
E ngland’s honour, once her pride,
R ome’s terror, Dutch annoyer,
T ruth’s defender, Spain’s destroyer.

B ring no dry eyes unto this place:
L et not be seen in any case
A smiling or an unsad face.
K indle desires in every brest
E ternally with him to rest.
By GEO. HARRISON, Gent.

On board the _Dunbar_ in the Downs, Aug. 11, 1657.

_THE VALIANT SEAMAN’S CONGRATULATION TO HIS SACRED MAJESTY KING CHARLES II._

With their wonderfull heroical atchievements, and their fidelity, loyalty, and obedience.

To the tune of _Let us drink and sing, and merrily troul the bowl_.
Or, _The stormy winds do blow_. Or, _Hey Ho, my Hony_.

Great Charles, your English seamen upon our bended knee,
Present ourselves as freemen, unto your Majesty,
Beseeching God to blesse you where-ever that you go,
So we pray, night and day, _when the stormy winds do blow_.

In darkest nights, or shipwracks, alwayes we are on our guard:
Of French or Turkish pirats, we never were afraid.
But cal’d stout English sea-men where-ever that we go,
For we make, them to quake, _when the stormy winds do blow_.

We are your valiant sea-men that brought you out of Spain:
And will as war-like free-men your royal cause maintain.
If you will give commission to wars with France wee’l go:
Then shall we, merry be, _when the stormy winds do blow_.

’Twas we did sail you over to English ground agen;
And landed you at Dover, with all your noble men.
For which we are renowned where-ever we do go:
Honour will, tend us still, _when the stormy winds do blow_.

And now we are a ranging upon the ocean seas,
The Frenchmen they are changing and cannot be at ease,
For we will make their top-sailes unto our fleet shall bow:
Then shall we, merry be, _when the stormy winds do blow_.

Sometimes our tacklings breaking, our masts are cut in two:
Our ships are often leaking, great straits we’re put unto.
In great tempestuous weather, which few at home doth know,
Thus do we, live at sea, _when the stormy winds do blow_.

When some at home are feeding and cheering up themselves,
Then we at sea are bleeding amongst the rocks and shelves.
Yet greater dangers ready, still we will undergo,
For our King, and will sing, _when the stormy winds do blow_.

Sometimes when we are sailing our victuals they grow scarse,
Our wives at home bewailing and pittying of our case,
In thinking of the dangers poore seamen undergo.
For our King, still we sing, _when the stormy winds do blow_.

Yet we are still couragious with any foe to fight:
If Turk or Jew ingage us we put them to the flight,
And make them give us homage before we let them go:
For our King, then we sing, _when the stormy winds do blow_.

We are the prop of trading, what kind so ere it be:
The originall of lading youre ships with treasury.
None goes beyond a sea-man in riches, gold, and store:
For he brings, wealth to kings, _when the stormy winds do blow_.

We have some sneezing pouder, the Dutch-man fain would have,
’Twill make him speak the louder, if Kings he will not have.
And cause him to remember the phisick taking so:
When shall we, merry be, _when the stormy winds do blow_.

Great King wee’l make you famous, youre glory shall out-shine
Romulus and Remus, Godolph or Constantine.
Wee’l bring you gold and treasure by sailing to and fro:
And will fight, day and night, _to preserve you from your foe_.

_ENGLAND’S VALOUR, AND HOLLAND’S TERROUR._

Being an encouragement for seamen and souldiers to serve his Majesty in his wars against the Dutch, etc.

Dutchmen beware, we have a fleet,
Will make you tremble when you see’t,
Mann’d with brave Englishmen of high renown,
Who can and will your peacock plumes pull down;
Then cease your boasting, it will nought availe,
You know its but your duty to strike sayle.

To the tune of _The stormy winds do blow_.

Brave loyal hearted English-men, attend whilst I declare,
What noble preparations is made for the Hollands war;
For certain such a bloody fight hath never been before,
As is near, you shall hear, _when the cannons loud do roar_.

View but our Navy Royal, and you will find it plain,
The like thereof was never seen to sayle upon the maine:
The Duke of York High Admiral will daunt the Dutch-man sure
With his name and his fame, _when the cannons loud do roar_.

Our ships are bravely rigged, and mann’d with seamen stout,
Our souldiers good will spend their blood to bang their foes about:
They long to be a dealing blows, delay doth vex them sore,
With delight, they will fight, _when the cannons loud do roar_.

The care and good provision for seamen that is made,
Will make them fight for England’s right and never be afraid:
They’l find far richer plunder then e’re they did before:
Every day, in the fray, _when the cannons loud do roar_.

Hark how the Dutchmen bluster, they prate and domineer,
They stamp and sweat, they fume and fret, would make one laugh to
hear:
Their merchant ships are taken for prizes, grives them sore:
But in vain, they complain, _when the cannons loud do roar_.

Although they be rebellious, yet we shall pull them down,
And teach them how they shall submit to England’s Royal Crown:
Wee’le thump their sides most soundly and beat them ore and ore,
In each fight, for our right, _when the cannons loud do roar_.

There will be noble knocking, when once the navy’s meet,
Then Holland’s States beware your pates, we shall you roughly greet:
Your treachery at Guiny stands yet upon the score:
You shall pay, at the day _when the cannons loud do roar_.

Then volontiers come in amain to fight against the foe,
For your reward, you shall have gaine, when to the wars you go;
The Hogan Mogan’s for us all, their riches keep in store:
Then be bold, fight for gold, _when the cannons loud do roar_.

Brave Allen our Rear Admiral, it was his hap to meet,
Near Cadiz on the Spanish coast, part of the Smyrna fleet:
Where some he took, and others sunk, the rest he battered sore,
Thus they lost, and were crost, _when the cannons loud did roar_.

Then Butter-boxes mark your hitts, for all your wits are dull,
Wee’le teach you better manners yet, than ever did old Noll:
You then were basted pretty well, and forc’t to cry and lower:
And to weep, on the deep, _when the cannons loud did roar_.

We have tall ships, that’s newly built, the best that e’re did sayl,
We shall the Flemish vessels pelt, no doubt we shall prevail:
Our oaken-boards will hold it out as well now as before;
Wee’le not flinch, not an inch, _when the cannons loud do roar_.

Then courage all brave English-men, and never be dismaid,
But fight it out most gallantly, we shall be nobly paid:
When we return with victory, with gold and silver store,
Bells shall ring, whilst we sing, _and the cannons loud shall roar_.

_SONG WRITTEN AT SEA._

To all you ladies now at land
We men at sea indite;
But first would have you understand
How hard it is to write;
The Muses now, and Neptune too,
We must implore to write to you.
_With a fa, la, la, la, la._

For though the Muses should prove kind,
And fill our empty brain,
Yet if rough Neptune rouse the wind
To wave the azure main,
Our paper, pen, and ink, and we,
Roll up and down our ships at sea.

Then if we write not by each post,
Think not we are unkind,
Nor yet conclude our ships are lost
By Dutchmen, or by wind;
Our tears we’ll send a speedier way,
The tide shall waft them twice a day.

The King with wonder and surprise
Will swear the seas grow bold,
Because the tides will higher rise,
Than e’er they did of old;
But let him know it is our tears
Brings floods of grief to Whitehall-stairs.

Should foggy Opdam chance to know
Our sad and dismal story,
The Dutch would scorn so weak a foe,
And quit their fort at Goree,
For what resistance can they find
From men who’ve left their hearts behind?

Let wind and weather do its worst,
Be you to us but kind,
Let Dutchmen vapour, Spaniards curse,
No sorrow we shall find;
’Tis then no matter how things go,
Or who’s our friend, or who’s our foe.

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.