A Congratulatory POEM, To the Honourable Admiral Russel, on his Glorious Victory over the French Fleet.  

LOng did the Languishing Brittania grown  
Beneath French Power on the English Throne!  
French Councils, French Debauch'ry ruled the Roast,  
And generous English Courage quite was lost.  
Blake, Deane, and Lawson, whose each single Name,  
Without an Epithet, swells the Cheeks of Fame;  
England's brave Hero's, who disdained to Bear  
The Romish Yoke, or Gallic Fetters wear;  
Who all the Naval Power of Europe Swayed,  
And sturdy Algerines their Laws obeyed:  
Loaden with glory, These their Lives resign,  
And their loved Names in Fame's bright Annals shine.  
Great Ruport, and brave Monk a while Support  
The English Valour, since made Europe's sport,   

With these fell th' Honour of our English Fleet,  
Degenerate Souls Degenerous acts commit!  
Soft Dalliance now Emasculates the Land,  
Old Captains laid aside, and Boys Command;  
For Balls and Masquerades highly renowned,  
And Tilting Beedles in their Midnight-round;  
Effeminate Courts Effeminate Youths employ,  
These keep not up our glory, but destroy.  
An English King Managed by Bourillion,  
Is a fit Tool t'advance the Gallic Throne!  
Thus We who gave the boundless Ocean Law,  
And our Confederate Neighbours kept in Awe,  
Scorned and despised like Abjects, were become  
Slaves to the French, and Proselytes to Rome.   


At length Great Britain's better Genius saw,  
The heavy Yoke her Sons were forced to draw,  
And with Compassion touched the Generous Nassaw.   
Nassaw the Darling of heavens kinder Powers.  
Our Native Freedom to our Isle Restores;  
Like the First Kings or Chiefs, with Courage stout,  
He to the Battle leads his Captains out,  
In hottest Actions Foremost he appears,  
Nor shuns the Combat checked by Guilty Fears,  
His Martial Heat th' Old English Courage warms,  
Raised, and Revives the Credit of her Arms:  
From Ravenous Lewis he a Kingdom tore,  
Forced him his Boasted Ireland to Restore,  
And drove his baffled Troops home to their slavish Shoar,  
With winged Force pursues him on the Main,  
And checks the Progress of his Grand Campain;  
Whilst shifting Luxemburgh in Entrenchments hides  
His sneaking Troops, and Fastnesses proyides:  
His vaunting Squadrons dares not ours engage,  
But dread the shock of Conquering Nassaw's Rage;  
The Battle of the glorious Field they eat,  
And avoiding Fight, may be said to Run.   

Brave England's King, who knows not to b' afraid,  
Hath all the Daring Stratagems essaid,  
But all in vain, since the Inglorious French,  
Fearful of Vegeance, meanly do Entrench.  
Honour and Arms Great Orange Nobly Courts,  
Lewis to Treacherous Poison Resorts;  
Conscious, when those his hellish Arts shall fail,  
He ne'er can by his Guilty Arms prevail.   

On the French Conquests now our Monarch stands,  
And makes them Tributary to our Bands,  
With English Troops Dunkirk in Pound he keeps,  
And betwixt Lewis and his Dunkirk sleeps;  
Dunkirk that's lodged in Lewis' panting Breast,  
As of her Callais Mary once expressed:  
Dunkirk before, by English Valour ta'en,  
And for French Pistols basely Sold again:  
Great William's Sword must now the Knot untie,  
And regain by Arms what France with Gold did buy:   


Whist our great King, on Land, such Glories meet,  
To You he leaves the Conduct of his Fleet;  
You who have laid fresh Laurels at his Feet.   
Russel before England's Respects might Claim  
For a Champion, and a Martyr of that Name,  
You more a Debtor have your Country made,  
And raised that Fund of Honour they had laid.  
True to the Trust the Royal Pair Reposed,  
Their Interest and their Kingdoms You espoused.   

The first Years Expedition spent in vain,  
Hunting for Tourvill on the Foaming Main;  

That blustering Monsieur, who the Year before  
Showed his great French Armada on our Shore,  
Burning five Fisherboats, durst attempt no more.   
At Land, and Sea the French like Courage show,  
With equal Force they dare not see their Foe.  
The English Navy o'er the Ocean Rides,  
Proud of that glorious Burden on her Tides,  
With Indignation scours the Channel Round,  
But neither Tourvil nor his Fleet were found;  
Our eager Youth near mad with Martial Rage,  
Hunting a Foe they could not come t' engage;  
Perplexed, and Raving, scarcely they forbear,  
With violent Hands their very flesh to tear.  
Mean while our Hero with great pain suppressed  
The burning Indignation in his Breast,  
He forced his swelling Passion to obey,  
And for the next sit time for Vengeance stay.  
Kind Heaven agreed, and with a wished for gale  
Upon our Fleet this year drove fifty Sail,  

Their warm Reception quickly made them know,  
They now in earnest met a generous Foe,  
Would try their Courage e'er they'd let 'em go.   
With pompous Rage the Admiral's Amirals meet;  
Ours glad they'd found at last, the Gallic Fleet,  
And whatsoever detracting Frenchmen say,  
But Forty of our Ships could come in play;  
Th' unequal Odds our Captains scorn to shun,  
The Lesser Number Greater Glory won.  
With Peals of Joy our Men the Welkin tear,  
And with presaging Huzza's cleave the Air,  
glory's their aim, and that they close pursue,  
With warmth the French were unaccustomed too.  
Stout Carter who too early lost a Thigh,  
With his last Breath did still the Foe defy;  
He saw himself Revenged  he expired,  
And to the bed of Glory straight retired.   

Through gusts of Thunder bright Brittania's hurled.  
To find the Mistress of the Wat'ry World,  
She whom vain glorious Lewis built to sway  
The Ocean, as the Land must him obey;  
May she the Omen of his Fortune be,  
And his Arms at Land succeed as those at Sea!  
Resolved Russel storms her lofty sides,  
Humbles the vaunting Motto of her pride,  
All heat, all indignation, peals of Fire  
Break from his roaring tires, the affrighted Air  
Trembling and wounded, to the French Coast flies,  
And Echoes out their Navy's Obsequies.   

Tourvill, with warmth not seen in French before  
Receives the broadsides which our Cannons pour,  
He all his Force, and all his Skill applied  
To keep Victorious Russel from his side,  
But all in vain, England's Brave Admiral knew  
The Ocean's Sovereignty was England's due;  
Close to the Monsieurs fiery sides he bore,  
And with fresh Thunder Storms him o'er and o'er;  
Their Murdering Ball thick as their hail shot flew,  
And every broadside doth their rage renew;  
With Fire Brittania clouds the Rising Sun,  
And in flaming Circles on his Orb doth run,  
Arm-yard to Arm-yard closely they Engage,  
And in loud roaring volleys tell their Rage;  
ne'er on the Sea was greater bravery shown,  
Nor Honours prise with greater Glory won.  
After Five Hours dispute in Smoky Clouds,  
Storming of Hulls, Rending of Sinwey Shrouds,  
With all the Horrid pomp a Naval Fight  
Can e'er present, or Scaly Squadrons ' fright;  
The Rising Sun sinks in the Watery deep,  
And his Shining Glories in her Waves doth steep.  
Th' Immortal Palm You Mighty Sir have won,  
And have Eclipsed proud Lewis' Rising Sun.   

So have I seen in a disturbed Air  
Two Sable Clouds meeting from Regions far,  
Grown big with Tempests, at each other Flash,  
Till their loud Storms have made heavens vault to crash,  
Their Fires meet, and Combat in the Sky,  
And Bellow out their Thunders from on High,  
Disgorging Flame, as if the Globe they'd burn,  
And Earth's Foundations into Ashes turn;  
Their Sulphurous Store being spent, they melt in showers,  
And Rapid Torrents from the Mountains pour:  
In Lightning they begin, in Rain Expire,  
And Neptune's Flood Extinquisht Vulcan's Fire.  
Nor did your Captains little Bravery show,  
They signallized their Courage on the foe,  
Your great Example did their Spirits Raise;  
Each Fought for, and deserved a Conquerors Bays.  
Your Master, on the Land, his Troops Inspires,  
At Sea You Animate with your Martial Fires.  
Three mighty Ships into the Air were blown,  
Monsieurs flew capering up, came tumbling down:  
The rest o'th' shattered Fleet make to La-Hogue,  
And seek Protection from St. Patrick's Brogue;  
Lillie-Bollero's, who their Country lost,  
Were now made Guardians of the Norman Coast,  
These saw their Burning Squadrons in the Bay,  
On their own Coasts their Ships became our prey.   

Boast not of Mons, by Treacherous Priests betrayed,  
Nor Namur which the Floods thy Captive made!  
Whilst Heaven with saint Te Deums Lewis mocks,  
And with False Triumphs buoys his senseless Stocks,  
On his own Shoar his Flaming Flota lies,  
To the English Admiral a Sacrifice:  
Brave Russel scorns his Glorious King to greet  
With a less Bonfire than the Gallic Fleet.   

Methinks I see the King of the great Deep  
With all his Tritons Halcyon Revels keep,  
Glad their Right Lords Resume their Ancient sway;  
Swearing Allegiance to Brittannia.  
The Sirens our Brittania's Trymphs sing,  
And in Shells of Pearl Quaf Healths to Britain's King,  
The joyful Sea Gods pledge the Bumper round,  
And with shrill whistels make the Sea resound.  
Stave a French-prize, quoth Neptune, and Advance  
A Health to England in the Wine of France;  
That Conquering Hearse shall their Topsails Lower,  
Annals to come shall with his Conquests swell,  
Turkey, and India shall his Triumphs tell.  
To the Levant, and Utmost East then Fly,  
And tell each Port this Glorious Victory.  
This said they all Obeyed.   

But more substantial Votes attend your praise,  
Caesar, the Senate, and the City raise  
Eternal Trophies to their Admiral's Name,  
Shall equalise the longest date of Fame.  
So the Old Romans, when their Generals prove,  
By brave Exploits, worthy their Country's love;  
Raise Obelisks, and Statues to make known  
The Victories, and Battles they had won.   

When future Parliaments shall come to Note  
In their Records our August Senates Vote,  
With what unanimous consent they own  
The Courage, Conduct, Faith your zeal hath shown:  
Restored its former Glory to our Isle,  
And of a Navy made a Funeral Pile;  
This in times calendar shall far surpass  
The Roman Marble, or Corinthian Brass.  
'Tis England's Thanks that are acknowledged due  
By her great Representatives to you!  
May no Invidious Vermin ever tear  
That sacred Vellum, let it always bear  
To future times the Mighty things 've done,  
And an obliged Kingdoms praise have won.  
May pale and Treacherous Envy ever hid  
Her guilty head; whilst still each flowing Tide  
Shall waft fresh Triumphs to great Russel's Name,  
And sar as th' Ocean Rowls your high desert Proclaim.   
Licenced according to Order, E. Bohun.   

ADVERTISEMENT.  
When this was Written, Dixmuyd and Fernes were in the English Hands   

London, Printed and Sold by T. Moor. 1693.