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.
‘To the top, to the top, my little cabin-boy, to the
mizen-top-mast-head so high,
And spread abroad St. George’s flag, for under that we live or die.’
O then bespoke our gunner bold, and a well bespoken man was he,
‘Swab your guns, brave boys, while they’re hot, for powder and ball
you shall have free.’
‘Keep aluff, keep aluff;’ says the master’s mate, ‘keep aluff,
whilst that you may.
We’l fight it out like English boys; it ne’er shall be said we run
away.’
So to it we went like lions bold, as enemies do when they meet;
We fought from twelve to sun-rising, and spared but one sail of
their fleet.
O three we burnt, and three we sunk, and the other three run away;
And one we brought to old England, to shew them we had won the day.
All you that know our gallant ship, and want to know our captain’s
name,
It is Captain Mansfield of Bristol Town, and the _Marygold_, a ship
of fame.
_THE ALGIERS SLAVE’S RELEASEMENT; OR, THE UNCHANGEABLE BOAT-SWAIN._
No pain like the Jayl of Love, nor no such torments found
To those that loyal mean to prove, whose loves are firm and sound.
This loyal person ne’r would change; like a true lover he
Indur’d his fetters and his chains, and Betty’s captive be.
To the Tune of _Awake, oh my Cloris!_
Of a constant young seaman a story I’le tell,
That I hope all true lovers will please very well;
All his cry was still, ‘Though I continue a slave,
Yet the want of my dear is far worse than a grave.
‘All the tedious long night in close prison I lye,
But methinks I behold my dear love lying by;
In the midst of my pains this doth still give me ease:
That is pleasant to me, which some call a disease.
‘Sometimes to the gallies I’m forced to go,
Though amongst all my fellows like a slave I do row;
And when I am spent with this labour and pain
The thoughts of my love doth revive me again.
‘And when with strappadoes sometimes I do meet,
I find little pain, if I think on my sweet;
Thus ’twixt pleasure and pain my time I do spend,
Yet vow to be constant unto my life’s end.
‘No torture nor pain shall make me forsake
Nor flye from my reason for my Betty’s sake;
I do slight all the torments bestow’d by the Turk
When I think on my dear, and in gallies do work.
‘But [tho’] a renegado to make me they strive,
I’le never consent to ‘t whilst I am alive,
But will a couragious true Protestant be:
I’le be true to my faith and be constant to thee.
‘Ah, Betty, when billows do rage and do roar
For want of thy sight I am troubled sore:
Whilst other are troubled with terror and fear,
Yet I am cheer’d up with the thought of my dear.
‘No prison is like to the want of thy sight,
Which locks up my bliss, for thou art my delight:
Though distant I am, therefore only opprest,
Yet still my dear Betty doth lodge in my breast.
‘In the midst of my sorrows, whilst others do mourn,
’Tis the want of my love that doth make me forlorn;
Yet [I] would not enjoy thee in this cursed place,
Though for want of thy love my tears trickle apace.
‘But be of good cheer, for every one knows
’Tis an ill wind indeed that no comfort blows;
And again I do hope thee in England to see,
Then who’l be so happy as Betty and me?
‘And now, thorough Providence, I am return’d:
By shipwrack I ’scap’d, for our ship it was burn’d;
No torment like mine was when I was a slave,
For the want of my Betty was worse than a grave.’
_THE BENJAMIN’S LAMENTATION FOR THEIR SAD LOSS AT SEA BY STORMS AND
TEMPESTS:_
Being a brief narrative of one of his Majestie’s ships called the
Benjamin, that was drove into harbour at Plymouth, and received no
small harm by this tempest.
To the Tune of _The Poor Benjamin_.
Captain Chilver’s gone to sea,
_I, boys, O boys!_
With all his company, I!
Captain Chilver’s gone to sea,
With all his company,
_In the brave Benjamin, O!_
Thirty guns this ship did bear,
_I, boys, O boys!_
They were bound for Venice fair, I!
Thirty guns this ship did bear,
And a hundred men so clear,
_In the brave Benjamin, O!_
But by ill storms at sea,
_I, boys, O boys!_
Which bred our misery, I!
But by ill storms at sea
Were drove out o’ th’ way
_In the brave Benjamin, O!_
We had more wind than we could bear,
_I, boys, O boys!_
Our ship it would not steer, I!
We had more wind than we could bear,
Our masts and sails did tear
_In the brave Benjamin, O!_
The first harm that we had,
_I, boys, O boys!_
It makes my heart so sad, I!
The first harm that we had
We lost our fore-mast head:
_O the poor Benjamin, O!_
The seas aloud did roar,
_I, boys, O boys!_
We being far from shore, I!
The sea no favour shows
Unto friends nor foes,
_O the poor Benjamin, O!_
The next harm that we spy’d,
_I, boys, O boys!_
Then we to Heaven cry’d, I!
Down fell our main-mast head,
Which struck our senses dead
_In the poor Benjamin, O!_
Then we with seas were crost,
_I, boys, O boys!_
And on the ocean tost, I!
Thus we with seas was tost,
Many a brave man was lost
_In the brave Benjamin, O!_
The next harm that we had,
_I, boys, O boys!_
We had cause to be sad, I!
The next harm that we had
We lost four men from the yard
_In the poor Benjamin, O!_
Disabled as I name,
_I, boys, O boys!_
We were drove on the main, I!
So the next harm we had
We lost our rudder’s head
_In the poor Benjamin, O!_
Then we fell all to prayer,
_I, boys, O boys!_
The Lord our lives would spare, I!
Then we fell all to prayer,
And He at last did hear
_Us in the Benjamin, O!_
Although we sail’d in fear,
_I, boys, O boys!_
The Lord our ship did steer, I!
Our prayers so fervent were
That we had passage clear
_Into brave Plimouth Sound, O!_
We came in Plimouth Sound,
_I, boys, O boys!_
Our hearts did then resound, I!
When we came to Plymouth Sound
Our grief with joy was crown’d
_In the poor Benjamin, O!_
When we came all on shore,
_I, boys, O boys!_
Every man at his dore, I!
When we came all on shore
Our grief we did deplore
_In the poor Benjamin, O!_
You gallant young men all,
_I, boys, O boys!_
’Tis unto you I call, I!
Likewise brave seamen all,
Lament the loss and fall
_Of the poor Benjamin, O!_
_THE TREACHERY OF THE SPANIARDS OF PORTO RICO TO THE DARTMOUTH FRIGOT
AND HER COMPANY._
(‘Composed by Hovenden Walker on board the Dartmouth.’--MS. Note, by
Pepys.)
When the Dartmouth friggot lay off the town
That’s call’d Porto Rico, of some renown,
The captain sent thither to know if he cou’d
Come peaceably in for water and wood.
They answered we were welcome there,
And might venture in without all fear
And said it should be their only care
Whatever we wanted to prepare.
On the governor’s promised honour then
We took up the pilot, who carry’d us in.
We rid undisturbed and safe all the night,
Nor smoak’d any cheat till the morning’s light
Discovered their base and d[amned] intent;
For when to the wat’ring place we went
We were seiz’d and into prison sent;
And then we found out what ’twas they meant.
Quoth the governor, ‘Now you shall ne’re be free
Till I your commissions and orders do see;
For your ship is become a forfeiture,
And I’le sink her if she but dares to stirr:
For here my guns can command you all.
If she goes not where I say shee shall
I’le batter her sides with my iron ball
From every fort and the city wall.’
The council was call’d, and demurely they sate,
To manage the business by grave debate:
The bald-pated rascals (as if they were full
Of politick tricks) did squint and look dull,
Yet knew not what to doe in the case;
They could hardly look us in the face,
Their action was so openly base,
And guilt made ’em conscious of their digrace,
Till the Don cry’d out to the grey-bearded knaves,
‘We’ve now got a parcel of brawny slaves,
With provision enough to furnish the town;
For (unless we are fools) the ship is our own:
And since they are in, we’ll make ’em sure,
Our harbour’s mouth is the prison door.
Take my advice, and I will secure
They never shall goe to sea any more.
‘And because that the ship is under command,
Nor can they the force of our walls withstand,
Wee’ll suffer these silly poltroons to go free,
For their friggot thereby gets no libertie:
But I’le order them to goe where I
Will maul ’em with more conveniency,
Or where upon the shoals they may ly,
And then they may bid their ship good-by.’
The business they had consulted so well,
They sent us away, and sent one to tell
That if our commander refus’d to obey,
And didn’t immediately order to weigh,
And further within the harbour sail,
For certain then that he would not fail
To send some bullets to ferk our t[ail],
And those would be words that should prevail.
‘In vain,’ said the captain, ‘you threaten us, sirs,
For I value your guns but as barking of currs;
Begin when you please, you shall find us to be
As brave English hearts as e’re saw the sea.
To-morrow I will certainly weigh,
And brave all your guns in open day;
Maugre whatever you do or say,
Your governour’s orders I’le not obey.’
Next day, to decoy us, he cunningly sent
A fawning excuse and a complement,
And said he would try to dispatch us that day
And send us in peace and in safety away;
But he had no design in the thing
But writing letters unto our King,
Which a messenger, he said, should bring
Before the sun was near setting.
Our top-sails were loose, and the sheats were haul’d home,
We waited all day, but no messenger come.
We saw on the shoar the friars so gay,
And some were in black, but most were in grey;
To ev’ry fort and castle they went;
But the Lord in heav’n knowes what they meant,
Unless (that it might be their intent)
To bless e’ry man, gun, and battlement.
No sooner the fryars were gone to their home
But we heard an alarm beat by the drum,
And then a command was sent us agen
To furl our top-sails and warp further in;
And if we didn’t immediately
With what the governour said comply,
From all his forts he’d let the guns fly,
And batter us most confoundedly.
Then straight from the city we plainly could see,
The souldiers were marching most hastily,
And headed they were by their fat general,
To every fort and each castle wall:
But we were quite careless all the while,
And at their grand folly did only smile,
Resolving the Spaniards to beguile
And leave ’em without their wish’t-for spoil.
By this time the busie old sun was gone down,
And candles were lighting about the town;
The commander then cheared his men so brave,
And the word for cutting the cable gave,
Which was done ith’ twinkling of an eye,
And the sails were set as suddenly,
Which as soon as e’re they could espy
A volley of small shott did let fly.