ESSAY: OR, A NARRATIVE OF THE Two Great Fights at Sea BETWEEN The ENGLISH and the DUTCH, on the 1. 2, 3, and 4. of June, and on the 25. and 26. of July, in the Year of our LORD 1666.  
Licenced Aug. 29. 1666. Roger L'Estrange.  
LONDON, Printed by E. C. for Henry Brome over against the Dyal in Little-Brittain, 1666.   

An ESSAY: OR, A NARRATIVE OF THE Two Great FIGHTS at SEA BETWEEN The ENGLISH and the DUTCH, on the 1, 2, 3, and 4. of June, and on the 25. and 26. of July, in the Year of our LORD 1666.  

BE Calm ye Seas, Let a deep Silence creep  
O'er all your Waves, and Lull the Winds asleep:  
Stand and admire the Greatness of each Fleet;  
Wonders expect, when such Great Navies meet;  
Where Conduct, and where Courage on each Side  
Command, and Act, and both in Triumph Ride.  
Where the sole Rule of the vast Ocean lies,  
At stake, and must become the Victor's Prize.  
English and Dutch struggling at once to be  
Lords of the World, if Conquerors at Sea.   

The Dutch Enraged with the last Summer's Blow,  
Resolved now to Revenge that Overthrow;  
And what they ' l than have shunned by secret Flight,  
They now Seek out, and Eager are to Fight.  
Fleshed with the Prince's Absence, who they heard,  
Off from our Fleet, 'bove Twenty Sail had steered,  
Found an Occasion better than they Sought,  
And were even Proud with Conquest ere they Fought.  
So Cowards, when Advantage gives them Way,  
Dream nothing but to Conquer, Kill, and Slay.   

The English (whom great Numbers never Daunt)  
Made up with Valour, what in Ships they want.  
Valour, Which in each English Breast dares more,  
Then Crowds of Dutch at Sea, or French on Shore.  
They scarce Discovered where the Dutch Fleet lay,  
But were more Eager of the Fight, then They,  
More Full with Courage, than their Sails with Wind,  
Flew as they ' l leave the Winds themselves behind,  
And as they Sailed, loud Shouts of Conquest sent,  
To tell their Foes, that They their Ruin meant.  
Thinking their Ships yet still to Conquest Slow,  
Breathed as they went Destruction to their Foe.   

The Sun now past his Height, the Fleets Engage,  
Both Sides Resolved to Act th' Extremes of Rage.  
From the Ships sides the Dreadful Canons Roar,  
And on each hand Amaze the trembling Shore;  
And Rocks, and Shelves, with such Convulsions shook,  
As if they ' d been with some strange Earthquake struck.  
Some ready are to Kill, and some to Dye,  
And Arms and Legs as well as Bullets Fly.  
Dark Clouds of Smoak arise, and Interpose  
'Twixt Heaven and Them, as if ashamed t' Expose  
To Heaven a Sight so dreadful, or the Sun  
Should be Spectactor, whilst such Muscheif's done.  
The Seas and Winds both angry grow, and Swell,  
To see the Rage of Men should theirs Excel;  
Or to appear more Merciful than They,  
Strive by their Fury to appease this Fray:  
But all in vain. Too resolute are the Foes,  
The Battle hotter, and still hotter Grows.  
And now Ships all on Fire from each side are  
Sent, to Destroy what Bullets seem to spare.   

Mean while the Duke (Brave Soul!) as Good as Great  
For others Safety did his own Forget;  
And midst a Crowd of Dangers did Outdo  
Soldier, and Seaman, and a General too.  
His Tongue Directions gave, and his Own Hand  
Was still the First to Act his own Command.  
His Men (who knew far better how to Die,  
Then Cowardlike, either to Yield or Fly.)  
Fought as they meant their Death (too slow) to Meet.  
Such was the Valour of our English Fleet.   

The Enemy (whose Daring Humours Spring,  
Not from their Cause, but Numbers which they bring)  
Like the Great Turk, with Multitudes Oppress,  
These, and their Brandy, make them hope Success.  
Success, which on each Party Doubtful stood,  
Favoured not Us, although Our Cause was Good;  
Nor Them, though fresh Recruits from Shore are sent  
At once their Strength and Courage to Augment.  
But both the Fleets still Fight, and still Pursue  
Amazed victory, whilst from Each she Flew.   

Two Days and Half the Fight still Greater Grows,  
Wounds are Returned for Wounds, and Blows for Blows.  
At last the News (almost too slow) o'ertook  
The Active Prince, who with Amazement shook.  
The Duke Engaged, and He not there? O Shame!  
What should He Do? Where should He lay the Blame?  
Through the Rough Seas He Cuts his Speedy Way,  
And Fears no Dangers now, but in Delay:  
Quarrels with Winds and Seas, as if too slow  
To make him fall Revenged upon the Foe.  
Spreads all his Sails, uses all Art, that might  
Hast Him, if not to Conquer, yet to Fight.  
So Great his Valour is, so strangely High,  
It Dangers Courts, as well as Victory;  
Dangers as Thick and Great, as Fire, and Sword,  
And Guns, and Rage of Enemies can afford:  
Nor Values he his Life, or Limbs, or Blood,  
Servants to is Honour, and his Countries Good.  
Impatient, till he had at last Espied  
Where both the Fleets (almost quite Tired) Ride.  
Love and Revenge tells him He's now too Slow,  
Love to the Duke, Revenge upon the Foe.  
Up then He bears, and swift as Thought he Flies  
To help the Duke, and Fight his Enemies.   

He Came, He Saw, and had He Conquest won,  
He had done more than Caesar e'er had done;  
Whose mighty Triumphs were o'er Trembling Spears,  
Men void of Courage, and possessed with Fears;  
Not over Guns, which Ships in pieces rend,  
Ploughed up the Seas, and shook the Firmament;  
Not over bold Batavians used to Toil  
To Deaths, and Dangers, and to Rape, and Spoil.   

The Night draws on, Darkness both sides Relieves,  
And Strength, and Courage, to each Navy Gives.  
To Act next Day the dreadfullest Scene the Sun,  
And Seas e'er saw since first the World begun.   

The English Valour Watchful as the Morn  
Broke out next Day, as soon as Light was Born.  
Like sleepy Lions roused, they rage, and rave,  
Nought but a Fight Enemy they crave;  
Whom at a distance they at last Descry  
More ready to Engage again, then Fly.  
Proud with the sight their Squadrons up they drew,  
And hotter then before the Fight renew;  
So wondrous hot, you ' l think the Day of Doom  
Was not to be Hereafter, but now Come.  
Such Lightnings were, such Thunders, and such Clouds,  
Death so Triumphant 'midst the wounded Crowds.  
The Sea with floating Carcases so spread,  
As if it were Now to Give up its Dead.  
Destructive Balls from Fleet to Fleet are shot,  
Danger and Safety are by both forgot.  
Revenge and Honour make them both outdare  
Those who snatch up a Courage from Despair.   

Thus they continue, till the Dutch at last  
All Fight, as all Hopes of Conquest past,  
To their own Coasts in great Confusion flee,  
Leaving us Masters of the Conquered Sea.  
God Home, (as they are wont) they proudly Boast,  
And Brag, that We, not They, the Day had lost:  
Through the wide World they straight disperse their Lies:  
If they can't Get, they can Make Victories.   

Mean while all Art, and speed, are by each side  
To Cure the Wounded Men and Ships applied.  
Fresh Men and Ships are sent from off each shore,  
To make up what the Fight destroyed before.   

The Dutch more hasty, then successful prove,  
And from their Coasts the New-rigged Squadrons move,  
Men fill their Ships, Brandy and Pride their Men,  
Both fitted out to be Destroyed again.  
The Seas now clear of Foes, they venture o'er,  
And leave their Own for a more fatal shore.  
Towards the English Coast with speed they made,  
Threatening, but yet not Daring to Invade;  
Where for a while they Rant and Domineer,  
Because they saw no Enemy Appear.   

Our Fleet (which Care, not want of Courage stayed)  
At last Hoyst up their Sails, and Anchors weighed.  
Towards their vapouring Foes they make their way,  
And nothing feared, but that they would not stay.  
But stay they did, and when they saw our Fleet  
Resolved their Fate not to avoid, but meet.  
Both much alike in strength: The Difference was  
Ours had more Valour, and the better Cause.   

Both now make out to Sea once more to try  
Which should or win, or lose the Victory.  
The Squadrons Ranged in Battalio stand,  
Ready to Act each Admiral's Command.  
And now the Sign is given, and Fight begun,  
Death and Destruction through both Navies run;  
All Instruments, all Arts of Ruin now  
Are used to work each others Overthrow;  
The fatal Bullets Ships and Men do wound,  
And scattered Limbs of both on Seas are found.  
Both Fire, and Sword, Noise and Confusion Rage,  
Whilst Men with Men, and Ships with Ships Engage.   

The Tide now turns: The Courage of our Foe  
Begins to Ebb, ours more and more to Flow.  
Two of their Squadrons Tack, and bid adieu  
To victory, Ours both It and Them Pursue.  
The Third (though Strength and Courage both abate,)  
Struggle yet still with their prevailing Fate.  
Safety at last alone in Flight they find,  
Leaving both Foes and Victory behind;  
Their Sails now full with Wind, themselves with fear,  
To their own Coast their flying Ships they steer.  
Where the Remainders of their Squadrons lay  
Shattered, and in as great Distress as they,  
Beholding to their Sands and Shelves to save,  
What else we'd then have had, and yet may have:  
Whilst Ours on their own Coast in Triumph Reign  
Victors o'er them, and o'er the Conquered Main.   

Heaven saw our Cause was Just, and was our Guide,  
Taught us to Fight, and to O'ercome beside:  
And will in time teach the proud Dutch to know  
That Those who raised them High, can lay them Low.   
FINIS.