AN essay Upon his Royal Highness the Duke of YORK His Adventure against the DUTCH.  

SInce the proud Dutch will yet again provoke  
Heaven and the Duke to give the second stroke,  
May he strike deep, and let the angry Fates  
Make the Hogen Mogen, Poor distressed States.  
Why mayn't good Prayers do as much as charms,  
And make the Duke secure from shot and harms?  
If Prayers repeated backwards have such might,  
Sure they have greater when repeated right.   

May th'English Sea (like that famed steed would take  
No other but his Master on his back)  
Stoop to receive Great James, but praunced and throw  
The Dutch, and trample o'er th'usurping Foe,  
May't smile and frown at once, and every wave  
To him a Bulwark be to's Foes a Grave.  
There let'um with their bodies satisfy  
Neptune for th' Earth they stole out of the Sea.  
'tis fit some Colonies should be sent down,  
To people once again their drowned Town:  
Whose Steeples at low-tide peep out o'th' Sea,  
Showing what's become of all their Piety.   

May the kind Winds which from the British Shore  
Come whistling, on his head soft blessings pour.  
And when he fights like Vassals let them run,  
With their swift feet to aid the tardy Gun.  
But to the Duth may their infections breathe  
Not only Storms and Tempests bring but Death.  
Let 'em with oblique blasts their Bullets spoil,  
Or make 'em on their Master's heads recoil.  
And if the sacrilegious Lead comes near  
Great James, let it strait melt into a Tear:  
And fall at's feet, o'er come by's powerful rays  
Whilst no bold Thunder hurt's his conquering Bays.   

When e'er his bellowing Guns shall roar for prey,  
Impatient even of the short delay,  
Of these swift Messengers, they just now sent,  
Whirling through the amazed Element:  
May the sure Bullets, they (like Spiders) spun  
From their own bowels, prove destruction.  
And never from their bellies let 'em go  
But into those of the capacious Foe.  
Then may the Guns, as though they'd Victory got,  
With a great shout applaud the lucky shot.   

May the great cloud of Smoak be, while they fight,  
To our men Day, to those Egyptians Night.  
And when our Ships laden with Fire and Death,  
Directed by some Wind's auspicious breath.  
Shall catch their perjured Hulks, may they enlarge  
Whatever is committed to their charge.  
Chains, Bullets, Fire, and whatsoever else kills.  
As though they were Pandora's box of Ills.  
Let those ambitious Semele's of theirs  
Dye i' th' embraces of our Thunderers.  
Let ne'er a drunken Bacchus of them fly,  
For safety to the shelter of Jove's thigh.   

May our great Admiral still Victorious prove,  
Assisted by the Almighty Power above.  
Let wildfire from his Guns so swiftly fly,  
As if he'd borrowed lightning from the Sky.  
And if from theirs any attaque his Ship,  
Let it like lambent Meteors harmless skip,  
And on his Sails a lucky Castor be,  
A certain token of Prosperity.  
Whilst o'er the Dutchmen to enhance their fears,  
Nothing but Helen's boding Torch appears.  
And when great York from Sea returns again,  
May Squadrons of Dutch-Ships augment his train.   

Let Captive Holland into England come,  
And Conquering England into Holland roam.   
FINIS.   

Printed for W. Gilbert at the Half Moon in St. Paul's Churchyard, 1672.