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.
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._