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Three worthy persons 2 from his side it tore,
And dy'd his garment with their scatter'd gore.
Happy! to whom this glorious death arrives,
More to be valued than a thousand lives!
On such a theatre as this to die,

For such a cause, and such a witness by !
Who would not thus a sacrifice be made,
To have his blood on such an altar laid?
The rest about him strook with horror stood,
To see their leader cover'd o'er with blood.
So trembled Jacob, when he thought the stains
Of his son's coat had issued from his veins.
He feels no wound but in his troubled thought;
Before for honour, now revenge he fought :
His friends in pieces torn, (the bitter news
Not brought by Fame) with his own eyes he views.
His mind at once reflecting on their youth,
Their worth, their love, their valour, and their truth,
The joys of court, their mothers, and their wives,
To follow him abandon'd,—and their lives!
He storms and shoots; but flying bullets now,
To execute his rage, appear too slow:

They miss, or sweep but common souls away;
For such a loss Opdam his life must pay.
Encouraging his men, he gives the word,
With fierce intent that hated ship to board,
And make the guilty Dutch, with his own arm,
Wait on his friends, while yet their blood is warm.
His winged vessel like an eagle shows,

When through the clouds to truss a swan she goes:
The Belgian ship unmov'd, like some huge rock
Inhabiting the sea, expects the shock:

* Earl of Falmouth, Lord Muskerry, and Mr. Boyle.

From both the fleets men's eyes are bent this way,
Neglecting all the business of the day:
Bullets their flight, and guns their noise suspend;
The silent Ocean does the' event attend,
Which leader shall the doubtful victory bless,
And give an earnest of the war's success,
When Heav'n itself, for England to declare,
Turns ship, and men, and tackle, into air.
Their new commander from his charge is tost,
Which that young prince 3 had so unjustly lost,
Whose great progenitors, with better fate,
And better conduct, sway'd their infant state.
His flight tow'rds Heav'n the' aspiring Belgian took,
But fell, like Phaeton, with thunder strook :
From vaster hopes than his he seem'd to fall,
That dürst attempt the British Admiral:
From her broad sides à ruder flame is thrown
Than from the fiery chariot of the sun;
That bears the radiant ensign of the day,
And she the flag that governs in the sea.

The Duke, (ill pleas'd that fire should thus prevent The work which for his brighter sword he meant) Anger still burning in his valiant breast,

Goes to complete revenge upon the rest.
So on the guardless herd, their keeper slain,
Rushes a tiger in the Libyan plain.

The Dutch, accustom'd to the raging sea,

And in black storms the frowns of Heav'n to see, Never met tempest which more urg'd their fears, Than that which in the Prince's look appears. Fierce, goodly, young! Mars he resembles, when Jove sends him down to scourge perfidious men ;

15 Prince of Orange.

Such as with foul ingratitude have paid

Both those that led, and those that gave them aid.
Where he gives on, disposing of their fates,
Terror and death on his loud cannon waits,

With which he pleads his brother's cause so well,
He shakes the throne to which he does appeal.
The sea with spoils his angry bullets strow,
Widows and orphans making as they go :
Before his ship fragments of vessels torn,
Flags, arms, and Belgian carcasses, are borne,
And his despairing foes, to flight inclin'd,
Spread all their canvass to invite the wind.
So the rude Boreas, where he lists to blow,
Makes clouds above, and billows fly below,
Beating the shore, and with a boisterous rage
Does Heav'n' at once, and earth, and sea engage.
The Dutch, elsewhere, did through the wat❜ry field
Perform enough to have made others yield;
But English courage, growing as they fight,
In danger, noise, and slaughter, takes delight:
Their bloody task, unwearied still, they ply,
Only restrain'd by death or victory.

Iron and lead, from earth's dark entrails torn,
Like show'rs of hail, from either side are borne:
So high the rage of wretched mortals goes,
Hurling their mother's bowels at their foes!
Ingenious to their ruin, every age
Improves the arts and instruments of rage.
Death-hastening ills Nature enough has sent,
And yet men still a thousand more invent!

But Bacchus now, which led the Belgians on,
So fierce at first, to favour us begun :

Brandy and wine, (their wonted friends) at length Render them useless, and betray their strength.

So corn in fields, and in the garden flow'rs,
Revive and raise themselves with moderate show'rs;
But overcharg'd with never-ceasing rain,
Become too moist, and bend their heads again.
Their reeling ships on one another fall,
Without a foe, enough to ruin all.

Of this disorder, and the favouring wind,
The watchful English such advantage find,

Ships fraught with fire among the heap they throw,
And up the so-intangled Belgians blow.

The flame invades the powder-rooms, and then
Their guns shoot bullets, and their vessels men.
The scorch'd Batavians on the billows float,
Sent from their own, to pass in Charon's boat.
And now our Royal Admiral success

(With all the marks of victory) does bless :
The burning ships, the taken, and the slain,
Proclaim his triumph o'er the conquer'd main.
Nearer to Holland as their hasty flight
Carries the noise and tumult of the fight,

His cannons roar, forerunner of his fame,

Makes their Hague tremble, and their Amsterdam:
The British thunder does their houses rock,
And the Duke seems at every door to knock.
His dreadful streamer (like a comet's hair,
Threatening destruction) hastens their despair;
Makes them deplore their scatter'd fleet as lost,
And fear our present landing on their coast.

The trembling Dutch the' approaching Prince be-
As sheep a lion leaping tow'rds their fold:
[hold
Those piles which serve them to repel the main,
They think too weak his fury to restrain.

What wonders may not English valour work, Led by the' example of victorious York?

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Or what defence against him can they make,
Who at such distance does their country shake?
His fatal hand their bulwarks will o'erthrow,
And let in both the ocean and the foe.'

Thus cry the people;—and, their land to keep,
Allow our title to command the deep;

Blaming their States' ill conduct, to provoke
Those arms which freed them from the Spanish yoke.
Painter! excuse me, if I have a while
Forgot thy art, and us'd another style;
For though you draw arm'd heroes as they sit,
The task in battle does the Muses fit:
They in the dark confusion of a fight
Discover all, instruct us how to write;
And light and honour to brave actions yield,
Hid in the smoke and tumult of the field.
Ages to come shall know that leader's toil,
And his great name on whom the Muses smile :
Their dictates here let thy fam'd pencil trace,
And this relation with thy colours grace.

Then draw the Parliament, the nobles met,
And our Great Monarch 4 high above them set:
Like young Augustus let his image be,
Triumphing for that victory at sea,

Where Egypt's Queen', and Eastern Kings o'er-
Made the possession of the world his own. [thrown,
Last draw the Commons at his royal feet,
Pouring out treasure to supply his fleet:
They vow with lives and fortunes to maintain
Their King's eternal title to the main :
And with a present to the Duke, approve
His valour, conduct, and his country's love.

4 King Charles II.

5 Cleopatra.

VOL. I.

I

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