THE ROUTING OF DE-RUYTER, OR THE BARBADOES BRAVERY. By the Author of the Broad-side.
LOng look't for, thou hast hal'd many a Rope,
Fraught with thy Countries Poor distressed hope.
Thy Fleet is taking Castles in the Air,
Whilst they at home are drown'd, drown'd in despair.
Your Admirals that look't like floating Towers,
More Water drew by thrice Ten Foot than Ours;
Our Mackrel Boats took their forsaken Rags,
What matter? Colours where the courage Flags.
Opdam, and Stillinswerfe, and all the rest,
Whose mouth-confounding Names can't be exprest
(Or if they could, good faith I have forget 'em)
Are Crawling with the Crabs now in the bottom.
Trump had been crawling too, but that,
Though twice he sunk, He plaid the Water-Rat;
O how they swam about! you might discern
Many a Poop, but ne're a Count'nance Stern.
There up and down they toss'd Boar and mine Here,
Wishing the narrow Seas much narrower.
Some scap'd, yet had great reason to complain,
Who, beaten home, were beaten back again:
Fore-stroke, and back-stroke, this is for a need,
For they were beaten fore and off indeed.
The Trident-bearer Banquets now in State,
Their Admirals have furnish't Him with Plate.
And lest he want to try his Kitching stuffe,
Their Ships have Him supply'd with Fire enuffe.
De-Ruyter, thus I have before thee set,
Not a Diurnal, nor a Dutch Gazet;
But Truth it self, which Truth while I impart,
May Boreas break thy Cables, this thy Heart;
Thou fledst a loof, as something did inform
Thy quicker Genius of a following Storm.
Just so, the Swallow and Prophetick Mouse,
This shuns the Winter, that the falling House.
Go Noahs Raven, rove about, and sharck
For rest, there's no returning to the Ark.
Thy flatter Hopes thou mayst on Capers ground,
For, alas, there's no Olive to be found.
What dost thou else, but like thy Trojans Sire,
Embrace the Water to escape the Fire?
Or rather, I may say Ʋlysses-like,
Thou now dost Sail in Unknown Harbours strike.
To which Opinion I must needs encline,
For thy Companions are already Swine,
Before Our Isle thou cam'st with great Bravadoes;
But we had Boars enough in the Barbadoes.
And Men, that made it to thy Teeth appear,
There was no Planting for a Dutch-man there.
And therefore some of Your wild Blood we spill'd,
A Boar is never good till he be kill'd.
In a Plantation, do but let him forth,
He'l do more mischief than his Neck is worth.
But to prevent Your Snouts of such a chance,
We Rung them with a Peal of Ordinance.
Whence, by the way, though we Plant Sugar, You
May see that we can Plant Our Canons too.
Your Licorish Tooth, it seems for Sugar came,
'Tis well, but we have can'd You for the same.
May be for Indico You came, and truly
'Tis like enuffe, 'cause ye came off so blewly.
Of this attempt Your Boarships need not crack ho;
Barbadoes gave y' a base Pipe of Tobacco.
But stalk as many as you please, with which
You may set down and cure ye of the Itch.
Pray then that your Attempt may be forgoten,
For you and the Barbadoes cannot cotton.
Thou now hast Alexanders Portion, hope
And if that fails, thy Ship affords a Rope.
But stay, hold fast mine Here were't not a Ninny,
To hazard seven brave Provinces for Guynny.
Thus Aesops Dog, and say was he not mad ho,
Lost a substantial shoulder for a shadow.
Thus Dutch Don Quixot, rambles up and down,
To take more Countries in, and lose his own.
London Printed by R. Davenport. 1665.