University of Virginia Library

Of Ramblings and Follies you oft have been told,
Since (their Wits and their Language confounded of old)
Our Fathers Knights Errant from Babylon strol'd.
The Macedon rang'd for Drink, Women, and Glory,
And Cæsar for Matter to pen a fine Story.
Ambition and Love sent old Tony a madding;
And People will fancy why Sheba ran gadding.
Next Chivalry flourish'd, till Fate proving kind,
The Heroes and Lovers to Bedlam confin'd:
Then Mankind with wandring Devotion possest,
To Relicks and Shrines weary Journeys addrest,
On Pilgrimage holy. The Loretto Church
Bilkt her Lodgings, and left the poor Turk in the lurch.
Of Byrnham Wood Travels, Scotch Chronicles talk,
And Kynaston Hill (as Stow tells us) did walk.
Sticks and Stones may prove Blockheads, and keep a damn'd Stir,
But Things that have Reason and Sense should not err.
Will our Nephews believe, that a Prince should outrun
(And no Friend to withhold him) his Country and Throne?
'Tis Nonsense so obvious, they never will bear it;
Tho Glanvile should write it, or Titus Oates swear it.

With a Rabble of Princes an Hero was come,
To see those strange Sights he had heard of at home,
On a rusty Throne long had he reverently snor'd,
By his Brother Brutes envy'd, by's Subjects ador'd;
For he thought like his Dad, that the Joys of Mankind
Were to Brandy and Wenches by Heav'n confin'd,
Till Fame (so well skill'd in her Banter and Lies,
As to make Cutts a Hero and Williamson Wise)
With Dreams of strange Pleasure, and hopes to grow great,
Took a Fancy to puzzle his Worshipful Pate:
Of Countries she told him, and quarrelsom Crowns,
Fam'd for cutting of Throats, and demolishing Towns,
Where the old Men were sage, and the Youngkers all brave;
That is, th'one was a Fool, and the other a Knave:
Nay she swore, 'twas a Shame that a Monarch shou'd rest
Content with his Ease, and well pleas'd to be blest,
While all Europe was mad, (nor she hop'd would be wiser.)
From the Atheist of France to the bigotted Keisar.
So young Mr. went out without writing or reading,
To Sardam for Study, and Holland for Breeding.
Strait an Embassy thither is order'd to go,
To make a fine Speech, and a very brave Show;
But lest that his Nobles mistook in their Story,
Or fail'd in their Credit should tarnish his Glory,
Disguis'd in the midst of their Train he was got,
As Teague us'd to carry the Letters he wrote.
Thus a Whimsey of Fortune transform'd the poor Czar,
From the Pride of the North, to an aukward Dutch Tar.
So Jove from his Glories and Godhead releast,
When he rang'd for new Joys took the Shape of a Beast.

To Amsterdam came; having view'd the whole City,
He star'd, and he scratch'd, and he swore it was pretty;
But Sardam alone (like his Mosco) could find
Joys worthy of Czar, and conform to his Mind:
'Twas there with his Friend he had formerly made
A Smith (but the Great Turk himself has his Trade)
To study a Science so wond'rous he staid.
It was there that his Praise on their Anvils all rung;
It was there that he hammer'd, he drank, and he sung:
So Vulcan of old, from Divinity tost,
In the Joys of a Forge found the Heaven he lost.
But Venus to crown all his Glories did fail,
Till Love pierc'd his Heart with a Ten-penny Nail,
Which from bonny Kate he mischievously stole,
Kate, the Smith's only Hope and Delight of his Soul,
With Eyes bright as Fire, and black as a Coal:
Eyes that with Pleasure her Lover behold,
In a Region like Ætna, what Nymph could be cold,
Or with nice Resistance could baulk the warm Joy,
Where the hardest of Metals grow gentle and ply?

Thus he liv'd, and with Fetters so soft ne'er had strove,
Till Honour all envying the Conquest of Love,
In the Name of the Tars, to Texel did cite him,
To a Farce of their own, they were sure would delight him;
With Musket and Feather, the Youth of the Town,
In Hoys, and in Dung-Boats were nimbly drawn down;
A well-whisker'd Tar was the Head of the Show,
Whose Fame and Mustachios did equally grow.
He mounted in one Yacht, the Czar in another,
Resolv'd to distinguish themselves in the Pother:
But what Muse is able to tell the wild Rout;
How these gave Broad Sides, and how those tack'd about;
Till the Admirals boldly resolved to close,
And venture for Fame, there was no fear of Blows?
And now mighty Actions had surely been done;
Much Prowess display'd and great Honour been won,
Of which the Courants, and the Gazetts had rung,
And Ballads unborn might hereafter have sung.
But Fate (which still sports with the mightiest of Things,
Breaks the strongest Designs, banters Heroes and Kings)
Made the Rain to pour down, and the Weather to blow;
Besides dismal Groans did resound from below.
Some thought 'twas de Ruyter, who loudly proclaim'd,
That of each aukward Folly his Ghost was asham'd.
But others in Nether-Dutch Sounds not unknowing,
Say 'twas nothing but Frogs, disturb'd by their rowing:
But whether it were the old Phantom they fear'd,
Or whether they fancy'd what never was heard;
Their Trouble was great, for away they all slunk,
The Dutch to their Brandy, the Czar to his Punk.