The Glorious and Living CINQVE-PORTS of our fortunate Island Thrice happy in the Persons of HIS SACRED MAJESTY.  
The Illustrious and Puissant PRINCE His Royal Highness JAMES Duke of YORK.  
The two Victorious and Loyal Generals, their United EXCELLENCIES, PRINCE RUPERT, AND GEORGE Duke of ALBERMARLE.  
The Heroic and Daring Captains in this Signal VICTORY.  
To whom the Author humbly presents this following EPINIKEON.  
EDM. GAYTON.  
OXON. Printed by H. H. 1666.   

To the KING'S most Excellent Majesty.  

STill in the Royal Oak? let it still be,  
And let her Arms extend to th' breadth o'th' Sea,  
Dare Frogs (vermin antimonarchical)  
Croak Panic Thunder, or toss Mimmick ball  
Against the Tree that's sacred unto jove?  
Which does fear Him, not Thunder from above  
Nor yours below, fat Cyclops, slaves to fire,  
Aetna, and scorched Vesuvius be your hire,  
Deluded Wigeons, mere decoys, no more  
Your fausen proud 
* D' Wit  Achitophel, adore  
That water Oracle; Otters lift up  
Your ugly snouts before your farewell Cupp:  
Here is Flap- Dragon sent you from the Main,  
And Brandy spouted from the Sovereign.  
Insulting Frogs stand off, for the Huge Thing  
You took to be a log, it proves a King:  
Amands you from her presence, which does send  
You quick, unto Proserpina's grimm Friend.   

But hush, not one word more, no farther on,  
Be mute and hear the Canto of Sr john:  
Be dumb you tinkling Rhimes, poor petite things  
When such a Poet writes, and the King sings.    

To his Royal Highness JAMES Duke of YORK, Lord high Admiral of England.  
OH for a Vein, a Fancy, Head, or Quill,  
Like his that whilom wrote of Cooper's (Hill!  
Or such a style as his, who colours taught  
To speak, and paint t'engage, & skirmish brought;  
Yet not that Pen of his, Oh a sad work!  
Which lately Panegyrckt our 
* Olivet.  English TURK.  
Great SIR, our Oxford (near to Otmore Geese,  
And Wolvercott) afford us none of these.  
Such as they are your Highness they shall show,  
And set Your Worth forth to the public view.  
Let Opdam speak, that now with Neptune dwells,  
Condemned to Swordfish in his watery Cells,  
For daring to attaque Your Royal Ship,  
With his unequal and confounded skipp:  
See where he flew in Sulphurous atoms, sent  
To th' Prince of Flames, for his most bold attempt:  
Yet he did boast (audacious Wretch!) to sink  
The Admiral, but paid for it I think.  
Prince's must die (as punished in first age)  
Not in their proper Persons, but by Page:  
Falmouth was thy obliged Proxy, dies  
For Royal York, a surety sacrifice:  
O Noble Widow! weep not for that Head,  
Which lies for ever in Dame Honour's bed;  
The Armful that you want, fair Thetis lays  
In her own Lap, and Tritons work his Bays.  
But MINGS with swift Revenge did sell his life  
At such a rate, as gratifyd a Wife.  
So home we came with Captived Holland Fleet,  
And JAMES Batavicus we loudly greet:  
So may we shout! let thy great Spirit be  
Our Genius, Guardian, and Victory.   

To the most equally High and Valiant Prince RUPERT, and the Duke of ALBERMARLE, the Incorporate Generals of the English Navy.  
SO shine our Castor, and our Pollux Rays,  
Which scatter victories, & Triumphant Bays.  
Brave ominous Conjunction! that portends  
More than Albumazars can tell, or fiends:  
The Ephemerideses is drunk, we laugh  
To see your Height above the jacob-staff▪  
Look up, and view in tail o'th' Wain of Charles,  
Two newfound Lights, rupert's and Albemarls.  
Did ever Fortune before loss of Eyes  
More justly temper these great Deities  
Unto a pondus valiant? a rare rate,  
Of which Physicians do but fond prate.  
That Valour and Success, which on Edg-hill  
Entered the Camp, doth rest upon Thee still.  
It is the same with Thee (Nephew of Kings)  
To baffle Squadrons, as thou once didst Wings.  
MONK with's Powder doth sublime those logs  
Of flesh, the Dutch, and makes them flying bogs.  
Where's Necromantic dog? my Dearest 
* Arthur Trever, Counsel to the Prince.  Trever  
Scylla, and all her dogs wait on him ever,  
And in his watery Cabin the dog lies,  
And like the Dog-star burns their Skips and Hoys.  
The Ships are Bonfires to themselves, that light  
Saves them the charge of Beacons in the Night.  
You Rascals, steal no more our English coals,  
Lest your whole Navy burns in Creeks and Holes:  
Remember how you rob the Seas, We can  
Call ourselves Vindex of the Ocean.  
Your Sea-rapes, and Amboyna's murders stand  
The dire account of your perfidious land,  
So on the foot you owe our Admiral,  
Your thorough Ruin, then 'tis All-to mall.   

Upon the victorious Sea Captains, Generals of Squadrons, Wonders in Fire and Water, Flag Officers that never flagged.  
WHat Lights are these create us a new day  
Shine like those stars in Via Lactea?  
Streamers and Flags of Honour, like the tail  
Of Comets shooting fate where they look pale.  
Our Netherlands have found their influence,  
And now that they're Low-Countries have a sense:  
You beasts o'th' people humbly bring your gelt,  
And save your Dorps, let no more blood be spilt.  
Fire hath no mercy, your Tar-pawlin jowles  
Will fry like rashers on Newcastle coals.  
Sr Robert's a Prometheus, if he pleases,  
He'll make a Troy of your seven Provinces.  
Yield, or be ashes, strait give up your Borronghs,  
Before you are calcined into Gomorrah's,  
And thou Grand Beaufort, that hast made a halt  
To see these fires, shalt be a Pile of Salt:  
Poor Undertakers, and forlorn in hope,  
When Fleets do yield to Faufan and a Sloope,  
The French Armado from the hills o'th' Main;  
(As once from land) may e'en go back again:  
And if you want a driver in the rear,  
Sr Robert make our Valiant Gardener,  
He, and our Oxford janes' shall give 'em knocks,  
And pepper 'em, I'll warrant, to their Pox.   

To the Valiant, Vigorous, Loyal, and Successful SOLDIERS in the Royal Navy, Red-coats, White-coats, & others, wherewith the GENERALS take Dutchmen and Ships, as they take Whiting, Haddock, and Mackarel with pieces of Cloth.  

NOw you have played, brave Blades, your parts,  
Let us play ours, us of the Arts,  
Who now in Regulation high,  
Do fling our Caps, like you, to th' sky.  
We are distinguished by our Gowns,  
As you in Squadrons on the Downs;  
And in our new and disciplined joys,  
Know Graduates plaudits from the Boys.  
Our way of praises are the Hum,  
Which you out-vapor with the Drum.  
We burn the Faggots, piles of Wood,  
And you burn Ships, which is as good,  
And Holland Towns, for the poor skellum  
Lament their toasted Cheese, and Smell'um.  
The Dog days did not hurt your Butter,  
So much as MONK encountering Ruyter,  
Who did so bang, and thwack, and thump  
You both, you cant tell which is Trump:  
Nay'tis soft whispered, that De-Witte  
Is stepped aside, that lesuit,  
And proud and politic Machevael,  
To take some hempen Cordial,  
He might have stayed at home, the people  
Would fain have trussed him in the Steeple,  
For he deceived them with his lies,  
Flying reports, for which he flies:  
De-Wit's out-witted, for he thought  
That Albemarle would ne'er have fought,  
And Rupert both, in one tall good  
Ship, but in several Squadrons stood;  
Nor ever did they dream, Sr. Robert  
Should have the plundering of their Cupboard,  
For all the frokens, and the froes,  
Most Brawny Wenches fat as Does,  
Do curse him day and night, for they  
Make houses clean, we clean away.  
Oh slave, (says Mistress Vandermast)  
I'm burnt even quite below the Waste:  
Holland was never in such plight;  
They thought it Goshen, 'twas so light.  
Mourning there is, for cuts and slashes,  
Yet not in sack, nor cloth, but ashes;  
For those Sr Roberts mwn of Cockets  
Put up in Belly, and in pockets.   

I think, poor Hogen Mogen Ninnies,  
That Holmes has paid you for your Guinyes,  
And for his polt o'th' pate; for Schelling  
Can tell how divelshly he fell in,  
And made a Bonfire of a Dorp that day,  
By which his Soldiers ran away,  
'Twas better so, then longer stay.   
FINIS.