Britannia Victrix: OR, THE TRIUMPHS OF THE ROYAL NAVY, In the late Victorious Engagement with the FRENCH FLEET MAY, 1692.  
A Pindaric POEM.  
— Domitosque Herculea manu  
Telluris Juvenes, unde Periculum  
Fulgens contremuit Domus  
Saturnis Veteri.—  Hor. lib. 2. Ode 12. 
LONDON, Printed for R. Taylor near Stationers-Hall, 1692.   

Britannia Victrix:  

I.  
FOrbear a while, my dearest Friend, forbear,  
With more glad Tidings to regale my ear,  
Lest crowding Tales of new Success,  
Which to my Thoughts so fast their Welcome press,  
Should even the Pleasure of the Mind destroy,  
And my Soul sink beneath the mighty Joy;  
Gently, and by degrees relate,  
The Gallick-Fleet's Inglorious Fated;  
But let not from thy Labouring Tongue,  
So very quick the welcome Accents Throng,  
Tho sweet are all the Tidings of thy Breath,  
I would not be with Roses pressed to Death,  
Some Gall in all our Pleasure's Fate Distils,  
And Joy wound up too high, too often Kills:  
So when Diagoras of Old,  
Whose three brave Sons had won immortal Fame,  
By Prizes in th' Olympic Game,  
Was by themselves of their good Fortune told,  
When they their Garlands humbly laid  
Upon their Aged Father's Head,  
With such excess of Joy his Blood was Fired,  
That in their Arms the Good Old Man Expired.   

II.  
But yet if ever an excess of Joy,  
Might be allowed to be no Crime,  
It must be surely at this time,  
A Victory so bravely won,  
And with such Vigour carried on,  
That Neptune did in a full Council own,  
Since he the Ocean's Government had known,  
He never saw such manly Courage shown,  
As did the English when they Fought;  
And wondered by what Magic Spell,  
Which on the Hearts of Frenchmen fell,  
They should in such confusion run,  
And would have Sailed as quick as Wind and Thought.  
For scarcely was th' Engagement o'er,  
But his Blue Tritans from the Shore,  
Took up the Wrecks from tattered Ships did fall,  
Which they in memory of the Day,  
Of the auspicious Conquering MAY,  
Hung up as Trophies in their Masters watr'y Hall.   

III.  
Auspicious Month indeed, from whence we may,  
Of our new Happiness the Aera Date,  
Since all the Storms, which did of late  
So threaten us, are now blown quite away.  
See a most pleasing Scene appears,  
Of Rolling, Smiling, Peaceful Years;  
When free from War and its Alarms,  
Each shall his Property Possess,  
Under the shade of Welcome Peace,  
Fearless of Foreign and Domestic Harms;  
For when, (as Poets feign,) Adromeda,  
Chained to a Rock, stood still exposed  
To each Sea-Monster's hungry Jaws;  
So, but of late Fair Albion lay,  
Till Victory, like Perseus came,  
To Rescue the Afflicted Dame,  
Chased the grim Tyrants of the Sea,  
In narrow Creeks to be enclosed,  
And to the British Ocean gave new Laws   

IU.  
Poets in this, as well as Painter's share,  
That what they would attempt to do, they dare,  
But what kind Muse will now my Breast Inspire,  
With Waller's Rapture, or with Denham's Fire,  
Those Noble Bards did in immortal Verse,  
Some late Sea Fights so movingly Rehearse  
Each line with such new Spirit did they write,  
Readers in fancy might behold the Fight,  
As plain as if with Tellescopes they stood  
On shore, and each minutest Action viewed,  
Of warm Engagements on the Purple Flood.  
Come then my Muse, and furl thy Fancy's Sail,  
And on the streams of Helicon,  
Launch out with a successful Gale.  
But ah, if in the bold Attempt,  
(As who from chance can be exempt?)  
Thou shouldst in spite of thy Endeavours fail,  
'Twill yet of thee, as once of Phaeton  
Be said, although he was undone  
In guiding Chariot of the Sun,  
Yet for the bare attempt some praise he Won.   

V  
Behold, with mighty Pleasure, Muse, behold,  
Those floating Castles of the Sea,  
Impregnable to Guns and Gold;  
Observe the Royal Navy how she Glides,  
And Cuts the Silver Froth of yielding Tides,  
In proud Procession how they go,  
To meet the Lurking and Absconding Foe;  
For several Leagues they spread their Canvas Wings,  
A goodly sight which mighty pleasure brings,  
With more Majestic Pride they Sail,  
Than the Venetian Fleet by Bucentoro Led,  
When with her mighty Duke she goes  
In pomp the Adriatic Sea to Wed,  
See how they Tide it with a merry Gale,  
While from each Deck is heard the Voice  
Of the loud Trumpets Martial noise,  
A sound which Cowards can inspire,  
And in the coldest Breast strike sparks of Fire;  
Hark how the Tritons on the Rocks which dwell,  
With pleasure hear the Warlike sign,  
And each one winds his Concave shell,  
To make the Harmony still more Divine.   

VI  
On Quarter Deck (the Post of Honour) stands,  
The Hero who the Ship Commands,  
With manly Terror on his Brow,  
To his Ships Crew he seems to show,  
That Danger is a word he does not know:  
Nor come the Sailors far behind,  
Tho moving in a lower Sphere,  
Each has a Brave and Noble Mind,  
And scorns to name or think of Fear;  
If one on Board they thought there was,  
Who hide a Coward in his Breast,  
Quite Overboard they'd throw the Ass,  
Lest he should prove Infectious to the rest;  
With long Delays they all impatient grow,  
And only wish to meet the skulking Foe.   

VII.  
A Sail, a Sail,— I have a Fleet in ken,  
From Top mast Head is heard,— a welcome sound,  
Which Echoes all the Navy round,  
And with new Souls inspires the Men,  
Each to his Post in Order Runs,  
As cheerfully to tend the Guns,  
As Shepherd e'er at dawn of Day did creep,  
O'er Verdant Lawns to tend his gentle Sheep.  
The Line of Battle Formed, each ready stands  
To wait his Admiral's Commands  
When he shall Fire, and when to Vere and Turn,  
When to break through, and resolutely Burn;  
And though a wild Confusion seems to Reign,  
On a Ships Deck when Battles near;  
Yet one may plainly see that every Man,  
As little of Disorder knows, as Fear,  
With spreading Sails they see the threatening Foe  
Approach; which they as gladly meet,  
As e'er did Bridegroom on his Wedding Night,  
Th' Embraces of the Blushing Fair,  
And wish to feel the first Provoking-Blow.   

VIII.  
And now gins the warm Dispute,  
Throwing from sides of Oaken Walls,  
Their Death Denouncing Iron Balls,  
Each other Mortally Salute;  
See how the shot their Sails and Riging tears,  
While Splinters thick as Hail,  
More Mischief do than Cannon-Ball.  
Now a Broadside a Ships Deck almost Clears,  
For Bullets no Distinction know  
Between an Admiral and a Common Tar,  
But both promiscuously Bow,  
When it comes whisting through the Air;  
Down to the shades the Dead in clusters go,  
While on the Deck the Wounded lie,  
And in good earnest wish to Die,  
Since Life is grown a Burden now;  
Now Fate and Death their public Revels keep,  
And leave the Land a while, to Frolic in the Deep.   

IX.  
The Goddess Victory at Distance stood,  
And saw the Contest on the Purple Flood,  
(Now Purple grown indeed, with human Blood)  
At last with mighty haste her Course she bore,  
And with her Silver Wings our Navy shadowed o'er,  
Whilst all the Fleet with Joy the Omen Viewed,  
And for her Welcome, loud Discharges Roar;  
And though but just before,  
The French with bravery kept the Watery Field,  
Since them does wished Success forsake,  
Their Cannons now as faint as Echoes speak;  
Their Petards Languish, their Guns are weak,  
And all Dispirited prepare to Run or Yield.   

X.  
But whither, whither, O ye rigid Stars,  
For safety shall the  Fleet retire  
To disappoint 'em, since the Winds conspire;  
Homewards their Course they cannot steer,  
And no kind Hospitable Harbour's near;  
No Turkish Bay, nor Creek of Algerine,  
Can on the British Seas be seen;  
Their Brethren of the Turban would  
In their Distress have helped them if they could,  
But ah, no Turkish Port their Navy can secure,  
The Dardanells are far from Cape Barfleur.   

XI.  
Barfleur, a Word which after ages shall  
To mind with grateful Memory recall,  
And lessen much the Famed Report  
Of Bullogne Siege, Poicteurs, and Argencourt,  
Places where bravely our Forefathers Fought,  
And home their Conquering Laurels brought,  
By much Barfleur their Glory does outvie,  
Where we obtained a greater Victory,  
Those Battles formerly we won,  
Perhaps might shake the  Throne;  
But the Convulsion soon was o'er,  
This has done infinitely more,  
For now Determined is the Fate of France,  
Its Ruin fixed, its Doom is Sealed  
Which has for Ages been concealed,  
And all its hopes of Universal Monarchy,  
Now Languish in a dull Expiring Trance.   

XII.  
Their hasty Flight my Muse does now Descry,  
Like Parthians shooting while they run,  
Casting a fearful look behind,  
Whilst every loud Discharging Gun,  
Does only bruise the Air and crush the Wind;  
Like trembling Hares upon a plain they fly,  
Double, Redouble and all Courses try  
A wretched Life to save,  
They foam with Anger and with fury Rave.  
They foam with Anger, and with Fury rave,  
In haste they run, and we in haste pursue,  
Cutting with nimble Keels the Silver Wave;  
And though they swift as Lightning flew,  
Our Fleet as fast could Sail, since Winds and Waves conspire,  
To further ours, and frustrate their Desire.   

XIII.  
Too weak alas, are all Attempts of Verse;  
Great russel's Glory to rehearse;  
Nor can the nicest Studied Praise,  
Sufficient Trophies to his Virtue Raise,  
A Work deserving Eme and Bays.  
RUSSELL a Name, which after times shall Bless,  
When they in Chronicles shall Read,  
His mighty Actions and his great Success:  
And what against the  Fleet he did;  
Born to revenge his Noble Kinsman's Blood; 
Lord Russell.   
Who to French Councils fell a Sacrifice,  
But he has bravely sluiced a flood,  
Of purple Gore, for every precious Drop of his.   

XIV.  
Tho the Illustrious House of Bedford claims,  
A share of Glory with the first,  
Of all the English Nobleses Names;  
And can as many Trophies show,  
Upon her Ancient Arms and Crest,  
As any Warlike Hero's who were Born,  
Their Name and Country to adorn.  
Yet Envy must itself allow,  
Tho dazzling Beams of Light her Orb does fill,  
That by the Admiral of the Name,  
(Darling of Victory and Fame)  
She shines with greater, brighter Lustre still;  
And sure it is a happiness,  
Which few great Families does bless,  
But theirs, to whom the mighty Luck does fall,  
To have produced a Martyr and an Admiral.   

XV.  
If Subjects we with Sovereign's may compare,  
(Tho' we the mighty Difference must allow)  
With his Victorious Prince does Russell share  
In all the Hardships and Fatigues of War,  
If Heavenly Bodies, as the Learned hold,  
Insencibles do move affairs below,  
Who without wonder can behold,  
A Noble General dispense,  
Through a vast Camp his warning Influence,  
Whilst every Warlike Soldiers Limb,  
Seems but to be a part of him.  
Just so at Sea, the Sailors one and all,  
Each Morning bless their much Lord Admiral;  
To doubt of wished Success what Mortal can,  
When too such Heroes do the Cause maintain,  
Nassaw at Land, and Russel on the Main.   

XVI.  
Hard Fate of Generals in War,  
Who scarce do Nature's common Blessings share,  
When our brave Admiral all day,  
In Fire and Smoke maintained the fray,  
One would have thought that Balmy Sleep at night,  
Should his tired Senses to repose invite,  
But still his Manly Cares deny  
Rest to his Thoughts, or Slumber to his Eye;  
But yet behold! to recompense  
The Burden of his weary Sense,  
A Night-piece, Victory prepares,  
To please his Eyes, and gratify his Ears.  
Three Ships at distance, like three Meteors show,  
Dressed all in Flames from poop to prow,  
By Gun-Powder's unlucky Blow,  
Whilst the poor Mortals did inhabit there,  
By Destinies too rigid Frown,  
Are doomed at once to Burn and Drown,  
Thrown up like Rockets in the Air,  
Then down again into the Deep with wild Despair.   

XVII.  
For little Service little Praise is due,  
But if the Thoughts Reverse we view,  
What store of Laurels will not fall,  
Upon the Brows of conquering Delavall;  
For when by winds and British Fury chased,  
To Cape de Wyke the French for shelter got,  
And on that little watery spot,  
Esteemed themselves secure, and danger past,  
Then the Vice Admiral of the Red,  
Came with his Squadron well prepared,  
To do whatever Courage dared.  
They saw the Skulking Ships in Corners lie,  
As if to move they were afraid;  
And since the Tide admittance does deny,  
To Ships of Burden they prepared,  
With Boats well Man'd, and Fireships to declare  
Defiance to the Enemy:  
See, see, the wished desired Success,  
Which does their bold endeavour bless.  
Behold, the flames from  Decks, which rise  
To Victory, a Grateful Sacrifice,  
Whilst Rigid Fate all Succours still denies.   

XVIII.  
Behold the Glory of their Fleet,  
The Royal-Sun now all on flame,  
A most unlooked for Exit meet,  
While with impatience the gay Gilded Dame.  
Views the Encroachments of the Fire,  
Upon her Gallant rich Attire:  
She does with passion rave, with anger weep,  
And as she downward goes,  
Her Hissing Curses throws;  
Then sinks a Hundred Fathom in the deep,  
The Heavenly Sun, when he has run his Race  
About the Globe, yet every welcome Night,  
Plunges in Thetis watrey soft embrace,  
Next Morning rising with new Rays of Light,  
But the French Sun, once darling of their Eyes,  
Is set, and never never more will rise;  
So vain, short lived, and Transitory,  
Are all the Pomps and Shows of humane Glory.   

XIX.  
If he who burned Diana's Temple, stands,  
Recorded in the Book of Fame,  
(The bold Attempt of an inglorious Slave,  
That was a Villains Act, but this a brave)  
Can be to Heath denied a Glorious Name,  
Who dared to set the Royal Sun on Flame;  
The Conquerant a noble Vessel made,  
From Head to Stern, a heap of burning Brands,  
With Fury see the Boats invade;  
The Admirable, who although she makes  
Some faint resistance of the others Fate partakes;  
Fowlis his Ship, deserved a better Fate,  
(The bold may be unfortunate)  
For in the hottest of the Fight,  
When Clouds of Smoak made Artificial Night,  
He slackened not a Joint, nor shrank a Nerve,  
And though denied his wished Success,  
Yet to his Praise this Truth we must confess,  
Bravely to dare is bravely to deserve.   

XX.  
Can nothing scape discerning russel's Eye,  
Who sure has got a Writ from Destiny,  
The  Fleet to overturn,  
To Admiral Rook he Order gives,  
In Cape le Hogue, their Ships to burn,  
Who the Commission joyfully Receives,  
And boldly Ventures on the Enterprise,  
Six over night in flames expire,  
And Morrows Dawn six more observes on fire,  
Whilst English do with pleasure see  
This Sea Burnt-Offering made to Victory,  
A Grateful Morning, and an Evenings Sacrifice;  
But still to make the victory more complete,  
With their own Guns the Enemy we beat;  
From their Mud Plat-forms, now by Fates Decree,  
Successess grown, both by the Land and Sea.  
Tell me who can, my labouring Muse  
Ashby's and Shovels Praise refuse;  
Raised by a Prince, who best their Merits knew,  
Who found them always brave, and always true:  
To Honour's Temple we may truly say,  
Desert now only leads the way,  
And not as heretofore,  
When Interest, Bribes, and blind unthinking chance  
Did thousands more then Worth advance,  
And th' greatest share in Court Preferments bore,  
Cautious in Council, they prepare  
For all the worst events in War:  
But when the wished for Minute does invite,  
And the loud Cannon calls to fight,  
Fearless of Danger on their Decks they stood,  
Ready to Sacrifiee their Blood,  
For the best Cause, and their dear Countries good.   

XXII.  
Who without Sorrow, and a kind Regret,  
Can think of Daring Carter's Fate?  
Or when he hears how valiant Hastings died,  
Refuse the Tribute of a Tear,  
Fate even in Death would not their loves divide,  
Who to each other were in Life so dear,  
The Verdant Laurels heretofore,  
Which they upon their Temples wore;  
Now since their Deaths appear more fresh and green,  
And their brave actions, which before  
The World in Whispers only cared to Name,  
Is now become the welcome Talk of Fame,  
Who to the World their Daring Acts will tell,  
While Sighs and Tears ring out their Funeral Knell.   

XXII.  
Nor must the Common Seamen want their Praise,  
Who more than common Bravery showed,  
And by undaunted Courage did express  
The Love which their Country's cause they owed:  
For one and all they firmly stood,  
Each free from Cowardice or Fear,  
To Random Shots exposed his Bosom bare;  
Like Wall of Brass, and not of Flesh and Blood;  
And tho' the boisterous Seas,  
Their proper Element for fight is;  
Yet when near Coast of Normandy they drew,  
And had the Army then in view,  
Impatient of Delays they all implore,  
To try their fortune on the shore;  
For flushed with late success they did not doubt  
To give the Enemy a total rout,  
But their Commander wisely checked their Rage,  
Not suffering them so rashly to engage,  
Tho' late Defeats did more Defeats presage.   

XXIV.  
Hark in loud Consort how the Trumpets join,  
A grateful sound to hear,  
Which does to every listening Ear,  
The welcome News of victory bear;  
News truly Charming and Divine,  
Which may with Songs supply the Mighty Nine,  
Whilst Fame with strong and active Lungs,  
Borrows a Thousand Thousand Tongues,  
On Albion's happy shores to tell,  
How a French Fleet esteemed invincible,  
To British Rage, a Grateful Victim fell.   

XXV.  
Hail! Welcome News, with triple welcome Hail,  
No little Infant e'er was seen,  
The Milk from Breast more greedily to suck in,  
Than we with pleasure catch thy wondrous tale,  
Suspense that torture of the Mind,  
Long had our Thoughts in doubts dark Cave confined,  
Yet hope the gay Forerunner of Success,  
With gladsome smiles would often bless  
Our Anxious Souls until at last,  
We did the Luscious Banquet taste,  
Who the exalted pleasure can express,  
When Tidings of a Victory,  
Confirmed by all convincing certainty,  
From dark Suspicions did our Souls Release;  
The Joys, blessed Souls unbodied feel,  
Tho' far above our power to tell,  
Yet we in part their Mighty Transports guests;  
By lively Mirth which still controls,  
And keeps her Revels in our Souls,  
So great, that words cannot its Love express.   

XXVI.  
The thinking Statesman, when the News he hears,  
How e'er his Thought may be employed,  
In projects for his Country's good,  
Now lays aside the weight of public cares,  
And with a Mind unbent, prepares  
To share the common Joy, since now  
In Mirth to Revel, Stoics would allow,  
The Plodding Man of Business too;  
Smooths up the wrinkles of his Brow,  
Puts on a cheerful look, and seems to say,  
His Mind shall now keep Holiday;  
The Rustic leaves his weary Plough,  
And on a Lovely Verdant Green,  
Are Tytirus and Phillis seen,  
Dancing with other Nymphs and Swains,  
Forgetting all their Amorous pains,  
They trip it o'er the Lawns, & frisk upon the Plains.  
All Men from high to low degree,  
Are filled with Mirth and Jollity,  
And Albion enjoys an Universal Jubilee.   

XXVII.  
Amidst the Public Triumphs, yet appear  
Some Angry Looks, and Clouded Brows,  
Faces, which Melancholy wear,  
And who the wondrous Riddle knows,  
That Discontent should have a Seat,  
So near, where all the Sons of Joy are met:  
Wonder no more, but pity rather  
This envious Crooking Murmuring Brood,  
With Hopes uneertain as the Wether,  
Foes to their own, and to the Public good:  
But let the Brave and Loyal Heart,  
Insensible of Envy's smart;  
For Mighty Joy allow a mighty Scope,  
And still for more and more Successes hope.   

XXVIII.  
But must the mighty Joy be known,  
To Albion's happy Land alone?  
No, No, Industrious Fame takes care,  
To spread the Tidings far and near,  
Which does, as  Interest guides,  
Their Souls with different Passions fill,  
And first, with winged speed she glides,  
To great Nassaw, the News to tell,  
Whom Heaven indulgently does bless  
In all his actions with a wished Success;  
The welcome News he soon Communicates,  
To's Princely Allies and Confederates;  
Who knowing that the Fortune of their Arms,  
Depend upon the Fate of his:  
Bless the kind Omen which alarms,  
With Panic fear, th' Insulting Foe,  
Who with a strange Amazement hear  
Their ill Success, in Naval War,  
Dreading by Land another Fatal Blow.   

XXIX.  
Go on, Great Prince, till thy great Actions swell  
So very high, that even Fame  
Shall think't a Talk almost impossible,  
To after Ages half thy Acts to tell,  
But ah! what spot of Earth is there,  
Upon this lower Globes Terrestrial Sphere,  
Which has not heard thy Glorious Name?  
Thou hast a Thousand Actions done,  
Which will for ever make thee known,  
Whilst Princes, who by  arts have tried  
To purchase Lasting Fame, have been denied,  
And as inglorious lived, ingloriously have died.   

XXX.  
But whilst abroad he seeks Renown by Arms,  
Can we at home forget Maria's Charms?  
Who while her Royal Consort shares  
The long Fatigue of Foreign Wars,  
Employs her most Industrious Cares;  
For Albion's safety too too happy Isle,  
While on thy Banks such Constelations smile.  
But oh how bright will be the Sphere,  
When after all the longer fatigues,  
Of War and Stratagems close Intrigues:  
WILLIAM and MARY shall through Europe be  
Esteemed the Arbiters of Peace and Liberty.   
FINIS.