University of Virginia Library

Sand***ch in Spain now, and the Duke in love.
Let's with new Gen'rals a New Painter prove:
Lylly's a Dutchman, danger's in his Art,
His Pencils may Intelligence impart.
Thou Gibson, that amongst thy Navy small
Of Muscle-shells commandest Admiral,
Thy self so slender, that thou shew'st no more
Than Barnacle new hatch'd of them before:
Come mix thy Water-colours, and express,
Drawing in little, what we yet do less.

First paint me George and Rupert ratling far
Both in one Box, like the two Dice of War?
And let the terror of their linked Name,
Fly through the Air, like Chain-shot, tearing Fame:
Jove in one Cloud did scarcely ever wrap
Lightning so fierce, but never such a clap.
United Gen'rals sure are th'onely spell,
Wherewith United Provinces to quell:
Alas, even they, though shell'd in treble Oak,
Will prove an Addle Egge, with double Yolk.
And therefore next uncouple either Hound,
And loo them at two Hares e're one be found:
Rupert to Beaufort; halloo! ah, there Rupert
Like the phantastick hunting of St. Hubert,
When he with Airy Hounds, and Horn of Air,
Pursues by Fountain bleau the witchy Hare.
Deep providence of State! that could so soon
Fight Beaufort here, e're he had quit Thouloon.
So have I seen, e're Human Quarrels rise,
Fore-boding Meteors combate in the Skies.
But let the Prince to fight with Rumour go,
The Gen'rals meet a more substantial Foe:
Ruyter he spies, and full of youthful heat,
Though half their number, thinks the odds too great:
The Fowler watching so his watry spot,
And more the Fowl, hopes for the better shot.
Though such a Limb was from his Navy torn,
He found no weakness yet, like Sampson shorn;
But swoln with sence of former Glory won,
Thought Monk must be by Albemarle out done:
Little he knew with the same Arm and Sword,
How far the Gentleman out-cuts the Lord.
Ruyter, inferiour unto none for Heart,
Superiour now in number and in Art;
Ask'd if he thought, as once our Rebel-Nation,
To conquer Theirs too, with a Declaration?
And threatens, though he now so proudly Sail,
He shall tread back his Iter Boreale:
This said, he the short Period, e're it ends,
With Iron-words from Brazen-Mouths extends:
Monk yet prevents him, e're the Navies meet,
And charges in himself alone a Fleet;
And with so quick and frequent motion Wound
His murthering sides about, the Ship seem'd round;
And the Exchanges of his Circling Tire,
Like whirling Hoops, shew'd of triumphant Fire.
Single he doth at their whole Navy aim,
And shoots them through a Porcupine of Flame.
In noise so regular his Cannons met,
You'd think that Thunder was to Musick set:
Ah! had the rest but kept a time as true
What Age could such a Martial Consort shew!
The listning Air unto the distant Shore,
Through secret Pipes conveys the tuned Roar;
Till as the Eccho's, vanishing, abate,
Men feel a dead sound like the pulse of State.
If Fate expire, let Monk her place supply,
His Guns determine who shall live or dye.
But Victory doth always hate a Rant;
Valour's her Brave, but Skill is her Gallant:
Ruyter no less with vertuous Envy burns,
And prodigies for Miracles returns:
Yet he observ'd how still his Iron Balls
Recoyl'd in vain against our Oaken Walls.
How the hard Pellets fell away as dead,
By our inchanted Timber fillipped.
Leave then, said he, th'invulnerable Keel,
We'll find they're feeble, like Achilles Heel:
He quickly taught, pours in continual Clouds
Of chain'd Dilemma's through our sinew'd Shrouds.
Forrests of Masts fall with their rude embrace,
Our stiff Sails masht, and netted into Lace;
Till our whole Navy lay their wanton Mark,
Nor any Ship could Sail but as the Ark,
Shot in the Wing, so at the Powder's call,
The disappointed Bird doth flutt'ring fall.
Yet Monk disabl'd, still such courage shews,
That none into his mortal gripe dare close:
So an old Bustard, maim'd yet loth to yeild,
Duels the Fowler in New-Market Field.
But since he found it was in vain to fight,
He imps his Plumes the best he can to flight:
This, Painter, were a noble Task to tell,
What indignation his great Breast did swell!