A lamentable relation of a fearful fight at sea, upon our English Coast, between the Spaniard and the Hollander, who after their first meeting and fight which was on Friday the sixth of Septembr last passed: and the final fight on Friday being the eleventh of October following: The event whereof you may hear in this following Ditty.  
To the tune of, Let us to the Wars again.  

IN every place where men did meet,  
The talk was of the Spanish Fleet,  
Which the stout Dutchmen with great boast,  
Besieged upon our English coast:  
Now every several expectation  
Is satisfied by this relation.  
Great pity 'tis that any pen  
Should note such hate 'twixt christian men.   

It was a pitiful conclusion,  
Of Christian blood so much effusion,  
That who the story reads or hears,  
If he can scape the shedding tears,  
'tis what the writer could not miss,  
When he the story wrote of this.  
Great pity this that any pen,  
Should note such hate 'twixt Christian men.   

This Spanish Navy (as 'tis said)  
To th'cardinal Infanto's aid,  
Was carrying men and money store,  
Hoping to land on Flanders shore:  
But their intention now is void,  
The Dutch hath them almost destroyed.  
Great pity 'tis that any pen,  
Should note such hate betwixt Christian men.   

The Hollender who long hath been  
Against the Spaniard armed with spleen,  
Waits all occasions that he may,  
To circumvent him any way,  
As now for him he laid a train  
To catch him far enough from Spain.  
Great pity 'tis that any pen,  
Should note such hate betwixt Christian men.   

The Spaniards being pestered sore,  
With what they could have wished on shore,  
Unarmed men for sea unfit,  
Few of them being prepared for it,  
And lying long on our cold clime,  
Many were thrown o'er board that time:  
Great pity 'tis that any pen  
Should note such hate betwixt Christian men.   

The Hollender with fresh supply,  
Insulteth over his enemy,  
Vowing the total overthrow  
Of th'Spanish Navy at one blow.  
To say the truth their odds was much;  
Fourscore Spaniards, sixscore Dutch.  
Great pity 'tis that any pen, etc.   

On Friday morning that sad time,  
This bloody battle was in prime,  
The stately Admiral of Spain,  
Weighed Anchor, and put forth to th'Main,  
The Hollend Admiral did the like,  
One did against another strike.  
Great pity 'tis that any pen  
Should note such hate betwixt Christian men.   

A certain space they did abide,  
Fight all stoutly on each side,  
So that the Ordinance of the Dutch,  
Hath Lower Deal spoilt very much.  
Out of the Town the people fled,  
Yet many cattle were struck dead.  
Great pity 'tis that any pen  
Should note such hate betwixt Christian men.   

At last the Spanish Navy stout,  
(O'ercome with force) was put to rout,  
And of their ships full twenty four,  
Were gravelled on our English shore,  
At Dover and at other Ports,  
Where ships for safety oft resorts.  
Great pity 'tis that any pen  
Should note such hate 'twixt Christian men.   

Eight of the Spanish ships that day  
Were burnt and utterly cast away,  
The Admiral when he did see  
His ship perforce must taken be,  
He with a manly resolution,  
Set it on fire in the conclusion.  
Great pity 'tis that any pen  
Should note snch hate betwixt Christian men.   

It was a spictacle of woe,  
(Grant Lord that time the like ne'er show)  
To see men from a fired ship.  
How they out of the Portholes scip,  
Each one pronouncing this good word,  
Have mercy on my soul O Lord.  
Great pity 'tis that any pen  
Should note such hate betwixt Christian men.   

What loss the Hollander hath had,  
Was not in this relation sad,  
Mentioned at all, but at the last,  
Will bring to memory things forepast,  
But certainly we may conjecture,  
That Canons preach a bloody Lecture.  
Great pity 'tis that any pen  
Should note such hate betwixt Christian men.   

A thousand men or rather more,  
Are of the Spaniards swom on shore,  
At Dover, Deal, and Waymouth, they  
Are living all this present day,  
This was the fiercest fight at Sea,  
That hath been fought this many a day.  
Great pity 'tis that any pen  
Should note such hate betwixt Christian men.   

A multitude the sea cast up,  
Which all had tasted of death's cup,  
Some without heads, some wanting arms,  
Some legs, all showing what great harms  
Proceed from that inveterate spleen,  
Which hath long time inventing been.  
Great pity 'tis that any pen, etc.   

I oft have heard that winter's thunder,  
To us produceth Summer's wonder,  
The fourteenth of january last,  
Thunder and Lightnings made us aghast,  
And now this thundering on the main,  
Happed on our coast'twixt Holland and Spain  
Great pity 'tis that any pen, etc.   

O that all Christians would accord,  
To fight the battle of our Lord,  
Against the Infidel and Turk,  
That upon our dissension work,  
He counts it a most politic matter,  
Always to fish in troubled water.  
But God grant peace, and right all wrongs,  
By giving right, where right belongs.   
FINIS.  By Martin Parkin.  

Printed at London by M. F. for Tho. Lambert.