A POEM.  
BEING An Essay upon the present War with THE DUTCH, Since the first Battle and Victory obtained by His Highness Royal, June 3. 1665.  
Continued to and upon the late Happy Victory, OBTAINED BY His Majesty's Forces at Sea, under the conduct of his Highness' Prince Rupert, and his Grace the Duke of Albemarle, July 25. 1666.  
By JOHN EAMES.  
Haec in Primitiis Tentamina parva manebunt,  Juven. 
LONDON, Printed for Henry Herringman, and are to be sold at his Shop at the Sign of the Anchor on the Lower walk of the New Exchange. 1666.   

A POEM. Being an Assay upon the present War with THE DUTCH, Since the first Battle and Victory obtained by HIS HIGHNESS ROYAL June 3. 1665.  

SCarce the black Curtains of the Night were spread,  
When drowsy Poppy round my Temples shed  
A solemn sleep; from whose dark womb a dream,  
The soul from her close mansion did redeem:  
This eager vapour arched the burnished Sky,  
From either Pole extended to the eye;  
Thence the glad Sun had banished dreary night,  
And no dull shadow durst impeach his light.  
The Sea I saw as calm as when the Wind,  
Sports with the Spring, and to soft Buds is kind;  
Whilst Thetis rocked on wanton Billows plays,  
And mirth through shining troops of Nymphs conveys:  
Neptune, and all that watery host beside,  
In triumph o'er that Azure Empire ride.  
This Pompous show of wonder and delight,  
Ushers a winged Forest to my sight;  
Whose Aspect joyful characters betrayed,  
For a late Combat which that triumph made:  
It was the Navy on the Ocean spread,  
Which from pursuing of the Dutch was led  
By ROYAL YORK; whose awful Brows retain,  
The growing Emblems of the conquered Main.  
And whilst ambitious Gales this prospect blew  
To the glad Ports, my fettered eyes pursue;  
Till shouts and thunder echoed from the Shore,  
The Soul to her first faculties restore.   

Awaked (though not like those whose sullen phlegm  
Draws sacred precepts from a guilty dream)  
My Numbers are encouraged to relate  
The wand'ring homage of the Belgian State.  
How from remotest shores Atonements come,  
And centre in our Channel as their home;  
Whilst fear instructs their anger to forsake  
The Strait, as Fowls abhor Avernus Lake:  
How they believe the Pole, and think to find  
No Storm to urge the murmurs of their mind.  
Trusting the North as the securer way,  
They court the night for treasures of the day;  
Sweet Spices, Gums, and all the Sun can boast,  
Or the Indulgence of the Indian Coast,  
Pay tribute to their hopes; which lest they may  
Perish near home in withered Norway stay:  
Where that rough satire Bergen, is possessed  
Of the rich spoils of the luxurious East.  
The Port was the dark burden of that womb,  
Whose liquid bowels are the greedy tomb  
Of trade and hope, by Art improved to be  
From Foes a Refuge, boisterous Winds and Sea.  
The worth and safety, though not equal Fate  
Of this fair prize, might Jason's emulate;  
That yellow fleece Bulls hoofed with thunder kept,  
And a more watchful guard that never slept;  
This cloistered in the hostile Harbour lay,  
Maintained by Castles and a treacherous way.  
The English that this proud return did wait,  
(More conscious of revenge than guilty fate)  
Attempt with one bold Squadron of their Fleet,  
To render vows though not their hopes complete;  
Obsequious to their courage, they dispense  
Through the sad lake a bloody influence;  
Which tears in sight of the unfaithful shore,  
And spoils the fraught we would have saved before.  
Art, fury, all to ruin had designed  
Those joys of peace, but the mamoured wind,  
Which like a Phoenix in that nest would lie,  
And with a surfeit of those odours, die;  
Thus jealous grown, does with full cheeks oppose,  
Those flames which ships dissembled to our foes.  
Retreating thence as Lions, which some Wile  
Or Stratagem did of their Prey beguile.  
We cleave the briny Element to meet  
Dodona sacred to our Jove, the Fleet.   

The Dutch at home improve their Hulls with Men,  
And Rigg their vanquished Ruins out again;  
Not to impeach our bays, but to Convoy  
The frighted Barks we laboured to destroy.  
Arrived they tell their joy, and wing their Sails  
With greeting shouts, that breath conspiring Gales;  
When Heaven (to show how frail men's passions are,  
How soon proud hope is changed to sad despair)  
Contracts his brow, and buries in a cloud,  
The world's bright Eye; whilst Aeolus aloud  
Proclaims his challenge through the troubled Main,  
That now repeats their danger once again.  
The clouds drawn down upon the labouring deep,  
Divide (as Shepherds scattered from their Sheep)  
The armed Convoys from the wealthy Fleet  
Which beg from the wild Contest a retreat,  
With sighs that break th' abortive womb of fear,  
When English Frigates, louder storms, appear.  
Some the loud summons of our Cannon wait,  
Others with dread and silence watch their fate;  
Those that got safe and 'scapt both Enemies,  
Paleness and grief entitled to the Prize.  
So shiptwrackt Men which safely swim to shore,  
Their treasures in hoarse Surges lost deplore.   

Now Titan in his oblique course had strayed,  
From the just balance of the days, and made  
The sullen brow of Winter to maintain  
The privilege of Naval wars in vain:  
For the incensed Dutch invade the Skies,  
And their wise rage the blackest storm defies;  
Cloudy Orion with their Fleet they dare,  
And Regiments of fish disbanded are  
To their revenge and fate; loud Engines roar  
On bleating cattle objects on the shore.  
Thus we Caligula in Records view,  
(His Legions in Battalia) to subdue  
The harmless Ocean, when their Helmets bore  
Trophies of Cockle from our Neighbour shore.   

The aged Solstice gone, new months supply  
The teeming Earth with visits from the sky,  
Soft Zephyrs breathing on the opening Scene  
Of fragrancy, with blushing vestures, green;  
The softer bosom of the Earth is charged  
With buds from blossoms tenderly enlarged:  
The painted flowers with their early pride,  
Steal from their prisons to adorn the bride,  
Nature; whose youth (propensive to increase,  
And celebrate the Festivals of Peace)  
Does with unwilling looks new vigour give,  
When war's cold embers in fresh flames do live;  
But time and war one strict resemblance hold,  
And in Eccentrick Circles both are rolled:  
Strife moves a milder course when leaves appear,  
And silent sleeps, when Storms infest the Year.  
The Spring our Navy from its moist abode,  
To Neptune's spacious Courts invites abroad;  
Where floating (thus sick fortune proved unkind)  
Another way one Squadron is designed.  
The wary Dutch the silent Ocean shade  
In Castles lined, with Nations for their aid,  
So bold; hope seemed espoused and banished fear:  
The Duke still constant in them both drew near;  
His courage like a Rock frowns on the Main,  
Storms in their wildest fury to restrain.  
Approached the business of the day is plied,  
With terror, noise and death on either side;  
In Sable shades of rolling smoke they fight,  
Till they Anticipate the wings of night;  
And when the stifled Sun had cleansed his beams,  
From their pollution in th' Hesperian streams,  
Aurora, Heaven with guilded lustres graced,  
Which were again by Stygian rage defaced.   

The Belgian courage shone like flames which rise  
From wood, and not improved by Bellws, dies:  
The English burns like oil, nor needs the Name  
Of wind or wine-improvements to a flame;  
Nor ebbs and flows with fortunes erring tides,  
But 'bove the power of her Empire rides:  
So small our force that could we own her frown,  
The bold Attempt might teach the world Renown.  
The Hero managed by his prowess steers,  
And the safe bulwark of his Charge appears;  
His Conduct such, his Antique Laurels now  
Spread to defend as well as Grace his brow:  
Want to reprove the clamours of the sky,  
Here his bold wreaths a louder fate defy.   

Now shifts the doubtful Scene, and we descry  
The message of new hopes hang in the sky:  
So shows the radiant Ensign of the day,  
When Storms submit to his Majestic ray.  
The Prince appears, with whom whilst we unite,  
The Dutch like Thiefs are Victors made by flight;  
With full spread Sails they leave the dreadful News,  
Panting Revenge as hastily pursues,  
And summons to repeat the Tragick-Play,  
Whilst the confused Sea and Sun obey,  
The Emphasis of rage, and all things there  
Dissolved from their first principals appear.  
The colder Element becomes the Stage,  
On which the first dares improve his rage.  
The heavy bowels of the Earth do fly,  
(As though they centred upward) through the Sky.  
Those fatal drugs which wretched Arts compose,  
To wing those fates that pregnant Guns enclose,  
To the dull Earth once quiet Tenants were;  
Now in thick Mists inhabiting the Air,  
Obstruct the passage of prevailing fire,  
Which lost in its own bowels climbs no higher.   

Those stately Piles of wonder and delight,  
Which on the rolling Billows did invite  
The silver-footed Nymphs to feast their eyes,  
And doubt them of their watery Deities;  
●●●nt stained with gore, and loud with groans appear  
No more their objects of delight, but fear.  
There flaming Aetna and Vesuvius seem  
Belching out smoke and fire on the stream:  
The Portholes flames, and iron showers dispense  
As burning Caverns do curled Cinders thence.  
Here burning Pines sad Funeral Rites supply;  
There Tumults of one wound together die:  
Some climb the waves, and in their Bowels meet  
The fate from which their hasty fears retreat.   

Confusion spreads her Sable Plumes, as Night  
And clouds obscure the Canopy of light;  
Through which black vail (so burning Meteors blaze,  
And Mortals with approaching ills amaze)  
Shines Rupert like another Jove, from whom  
The Dutch by thunder do receive their doom:  
His floating Tower is the sphere which hides,  
Whole flakes of dying fury in its sides;  
His Martial influence by Heaven sent,  
Taught the Capricious Goddess to repent.  
So the Dictaean God did Iris send,  
When victory to either side should bend.   

Live the blessed Theme of the Castalian Spring,  
You that were made your Countries Offerring!  
Though dying in a crowd, may every Name  
Swell the immortal Heraldry of fame;  
Whose wings now open to salute our shore,  
Laden with homage as the year before:  
Whilst the success, mysterious Holland (wise  
●n figures) by Synecdoche belies;  
And with Italian Arts betrays the world,  
Through which her subtle Characters are hurled.  
Nor had the bays obeyed the doubtful laws  
Of disputation, whilst the weary Cause  
interest and Envy urge; but the dispute  
Must have slept quiet in a loud pursuit,  
Had not those lofty Sirs, which crowned of late,  
●ome mighty Grove stooped to their second Fate,  
And prostrate on the Deck disarmed the wind,  
And the two Heroes to their Rage confined:  
Whilst the Batavians with their shattered Fleet  
First leave the Seas, and to their Ports retreat.   

PAle Phoebe had not twice her silver gleams  
Of light replenished by her Brother's Beams,  
When the Dutch Navy reached the British Coasts,  
Proud to deceive the Christian World with boasts,  
To mend the Errors of this fatal Chance,  
After some time our ready Sails advance;  
While the dull Belgians with a guilty look  
(Like one in his own politics mistook)  
Survey the motion of this dreadful Fleet,  
By which they must their shame or ruin meet:  
They gaze like men, whose wand'ring sight betrayed,  
By the vast distance of the object made,  
To think that but some rising Bank, which nigh,  
Results a Hill, whose Forehead beats the Sky.   

At Sea the Day propitious to their Rage,  
These floating Armies furiously engage;  
Whilst Arctic and Antarctic Kingdoms wait  
(With Continents between) to know the Fate  
Of the loud Combat, and the Nations, who  
Parcel the Regions which they ne'er subdue.  
So Pompey's Gallant did old Rome divide,  
When the Pharsalian Victor spoiled their pride.   

Not many Hours blood and ruin breathed,  
The waves discoloured, human Bowels sheathed  
With flying Balls; but triumph and success,  
With all their Marks our Generals do bless:  
These Heroes lodged within that ample Frame,  
Whose Pride displays our mighty Monarch's Name  
(No Vulgar Crowds fit for their Nobe Rage)  
The Chieftain of the Belgian Fleet engage.  
Courage does Heaven oblige, and such Attempts  
Like future Faith from threatened Harms exempts.  
Now Death on the pale wings of lightning flies,  
And fatal storms of Thunder wound the Skies.  
The Royal ship such heavy Ruins throws,  
De Ruyter can no longer bear the blows;  
But spreads his Canvas to entreat the wind  
From following foes security to find.   

Some as they fly we seize, the rest that reach  
Their Ports, the fatal Overthrow do preach;  
With which alarmed, their Beacons burn on shore,  
Afraid of what they threatened us before.   

One Squadron of their Fleet by Heaven designed  
To a more Cruel Fate remains behind;  
With which the Admiral of the blue contends,  
Who burns, and sinks, and with his Ordnance rends;  
Till the maimed Remnant with obedient Sails  
Implores the succours of assisting Gales.  
Here one might see those solid Planks the Grace,  
And latest Pride of Thames pursue the Chase;  
Whilst the Ambitious Air before their Ports,  
With our Victorious Flags and Standart sports:  
The Chieftains now dispencing as they please  
The fate of all that float the vanquished Seas.    

To the KING upon the same.  

GREAT SIR! to whom as the first source we owe,  
What by degrees descends on us below;  
Olympus owns a Triumph in Your Name,  
And echoes to the joy our shouts proclaim.   

Nations will now their Neutral Arts forget,  
As streams their Currents in one Ocean met.  
Spain will desert her Phlegm to reach that shore  
Whose Kindness ruin'd Nations can restore.   

France that forgot her Annals may advise  
With her old Ruins, and too late grow wise.  
Denmark (whose white and airy Mountains dare  
Sin to another Babel in the Air)  
Her angry Rocks may quarrel with the Sea,  
But from Your Influence cannot be free.   

Now Amphitrite is Your own, You may  
Teach Kingdoms with Your Trident to obey:  
The Gordian Knots their Interests have tied,  
Your Power is extended to divide;  
Whilst Your Victorous Frigates press the Main,  
Your Title to that Empire to maintain.   
FINIS.