On the Death of that Noble Knight Sr JOHN HARMAN, Who Died the 11th of October, 1673.
BRittania, Queen of th [...] Ocean, bad me write
Something memorial of this Noble Knight;
It must be Great, or nothing. Nay, said I,
Let Homers then, or Virgils Poetry
Record his Deeds, 'Tis not for meaner things
To speak, or think of Admirals or Kings.
But these are long since dead; Must therefore die
This Peerless Persons Glorious Memory?
No, no, that must not be; Rather than fail
Something to try, I'le with my self prevail.
The Sea-Nimphs prolling round the Watry World
Caught up his Name when to and fro 'twas hurld,
When Guns, Drums, Trumpets, to the Clefts did sound
His Fame, and caus'd them back the same Rebound,
These to my Muse did courteously impart
[...]air naked Truths, which need no Veils of Art.
When first in Youth some Voyages he made,
To prosecute Experience or Trade,
His worth disclos'd it self, and made men see,
None was more English Mariner than he.
T [...]ough hearty, sturdy Oak our Ships do frame
Our Seamen too (if rightly stamp'd) the same
And such was this Well-timber'd Man, be sure,
That such hard Storms and Bickerings could endure.
In former Wars, Spain, Portugal and Dutch
Will all confess, there were not many such.
Drake, Blague and Harman, Names that struck the Seas
As Zisca, Scanderbeg, Hunniades,
Did quash the Land; Foes hush'd their squaling Brats
Only by naming these Great Potentates.
But if those former Acts of his must be
Veil'd by Oblivion, be it so: yet he
By Latter Deeds will have his Name preserv'd
Wherein he hath his King and Country serv'd.
When Brittish Seas and Honour were assail'd
By Belgian Rivals; when the Plague prevail'd
1665
At home; by which when most mens Courage fail'd
He snatch'd some men from Death, Commands and Man'd
The Royal Charles, by Royal Charles Command;
And then perform'd his Manly part; how well,
Let both his Friends and Foes Spectators tell.
Next Year was Sixty six (that fatal Time,
When Londons old Foundations burnt to Lime)
Rear Admiral of the White then appear'd
And by his Foes he made his Henry fear'd.
Three Etna's did at once beset Her round,
Some of her men were Burnt, and some were Drown'd:
Yet then (as if he did both Elements scoff)
He fought his, Way, and brought her bravely off.
His Leg (but not his Courage) broke; and then▪
He sympathized with his maimed men.
Knighted, and Admiral made in Sixty seven,
With Fire-ships Two, and fighting-ships Eleven,
T' America he Steers, and did such Feats,
Dull Europeans will believe us Cheats
If we but tell the Truth. As, How he storm'd
Strong Martinico, Wonders there perform'd;
Into their Harbour how he forc'd his Way,
Where Thirty Warlike French and Dutch then lay;
Burnt Nine, sunk more; the rest (to scape his hands)
Did sink themselves, to hide amongst the Sands.
Threé Forts he there Attaqu'd and Fir'd. And then
To Syrenham and Chian wafts his men:
Courage and Conduct, there no less he shew'd,
Whereby he those Two Countreys soon subdu'd.
In Sev'nty two Vice-Admiral of the Blew,
He like a Tyger 'mongst the Dutchmen flew,
Nine Dutch begirt his Charles. There (sad to tell)
Three or four hundred of his Brave Men fell.
He paid them off; and when no boot to stay,
He nobly brought his tattred Hull away.
Lastly, in Sev'nty thrée, this present Year,
His long-try'd Courage lasting did appear
Vice Adm'ral of the Red. Though sick and weak
When scarcely could he go, or stand, or speak,
Yet could he fight, direct, encourage, see
All well perform'd. Meanwhile poor Gallant he
Sate like a Mark for ev'ry shot, in sight
Upon the Quarter-deck in ev'ry Fight.
We'l not reflect on any man; nor tell,
Who did amiss; only that He did well.
And having done his All, he then gave o're,
He made to Port, dropt Anchor, came ashore,
Never to plough the briny Ocean more.
From midst of Storms, Blood, Noise, Confusion, Fires,
He cooly, calmly, peaceably Expires,
Whose Death Religious: Living Actions were
Valiant, Iust, Humble, Patient, and Sincere.
To His LADY.
Madam, your loss is great, we must confess,
But yet compar'd, ours greater is, yours less;
Yours is a Private, ours a publique one,
In midst of storms (Alas!) our Pilot's gone:
Learn hence the better to sustain your Cross,
Behold! All England does lament your Loss.
To His SON.
YOu Martial Stripling, from his Stock a slip,
Make good the Proverb [Of th' old Block, a chip.]
To imitate him you've gone pretty far,
That you a Youth command a Man of War.
He dy'd a Protestant, and you I hope
Will live to make a Tacque upon the Pope.
Learn not to Hector, Drink, Drab, Swear and Play;
But as your Father did, Think, Fight and Pray.
O that of this sort all Commanders were!
Then Brittain should not need Invaders fear:
Nor Belgia vaunt at poor Brittania's wound,
When she shall hear th' old Harmans laid aground.
To His SEA-MEN.
MAriners mourn, Dous Topsail, wast your Flag,
Hand Streamers, Furle: Now Courage lyes a lag
And sneaks abaft, loose Anchor from the, Bough,
For Navigation lyes a Backstays now.
With Theseus Sails cloath your tall Ships of War,
If you want Blacks, besmear your selves with Tar.
With your own hands, while you lye thus becalm'd,
With Norway Gums, let his Corps be Embalm'd;
And (though you use not much to Weep, yet) here
Augment the Ocean with a briny Tear.
Then wipe your Eyes. Courage my Hearts, a [...]
Hoyse Sails, Give way; do as you use and ought.
Cheer up, Suzzau; and let your Enemies find,
Though Harman's dead, his Men, are left behind.
FINIS.
London, Printed in the Year 167 [...].
With Allowance.[?]