A Hue and Cry AFTER THE DUTCH FLEET OR, Joyful Congratulations for our late VICTORY.
SHall Fires expire through Joy, and yet shall I
Express no sense of this Great VICTORY?
I swell, and needs must burst, if not declare
My Joyes as ample as our Conquests are.
Shall Bells in Changes Ring our GEN'RALS Praise,
Whilst some standstill, and do no Trophies raise
Unto their lasting Name? Let all such be
Hung up like Bells for their Malignity?
Shall roaring Oannons every where proclaim
Our English HEROES everlasting Fame,
And I be Dumb? Can ROYALLISTS forbear
To speak, when they such joyful tydings hear?
Let Vultures, Vipers, and Woolfs cloath'd like Sheep,
Instead of joy, be silent now, and weep.
Whose Zeals Detraction, and whose chiefest good,
Is traiterously to Spill, not spend their Blood
For King or Countrey; whose late mischievous words
Import more danger then the hostile Swords
Of our now Vanquisht Foes; whose Reason
Is flat Rebellion, and their Truth is Treason.
Ne're hope that Dutchmen fed on Mire, and Mud
Shall bathe your Plots in the sweet sented Blood
Of LOYALLISTS. This was their fatal Lot,
They turn'd up Tromp, but we the HONOURS got.
These Gamesters play'd for Fewel, Food, and Fish,
Instead thereof they'l have this in their Dish,
That a small Sloop of Ours, two Guns, no more,
Should fight their Admiral on their own Shore.
For shame let's not this Observation make,
That Our small Cock should make Their Lion Quake.
In this all Quarrels reconcil'd we see,
And no more talk of inconformity;
But like true English men we'l make it known,
We're for no King or Countrey, but our Own,
Now give me leave to speak as to the Fight,
And first of the two Squadrons, Red and White.
Never were Ships so throng'd with Noble Spirits,
Striving t outvye each other by their Merits.
About to Fight, they one and all did cry,
We for our Countrey willing are to dye.
These joyful Shouts excited us to Fight,
But made their Courage show it self in flight.
Our Valour caused Horror to appear
In their pale Faces, and distracting Fear
Did so inslave their Hearts, that streight they run;
A most approved way (by them to shun
Approaching harm: we in the Rear pursue,
Leaving a share o'th Conquest to the BLUE.
Brave SMITH hath verified on the Maine,
This proverb, that True Blue will never Stain.
Environ'd round with Foes, with Fire, and Smoke,
Made the Dutch know he had an heart of OAKE.
Death staring in his Face, he still did minde
To husband all th' advantages of Winde.
His Foes did wait Him, but at last did meet,
They'd paid for waiting, were they not too Fleet;
If ought th' had cause to boast of heretofore,
W'have more then ev'ned that pretended Score
This Conquest shows our GEN'RALS understand
A Kingdoms Steerage, and how to Command.
Th'have so out done themselves, their Actions past,
Seems but as Gleams, and Shadows of this Last.
For which eternal Bayes their Brows adorn,
And time shall never see their Race out-worn.
Belov'd by PRINCES, and by all desir'd,
By Holland fear'd, and by the World admir'd.
Printed with Allowance. LONDON, Printed by L. Miller, for Richard Head, 1666.