THE CHARACTER OF HOLLAND.  

HOlland, that scarce deserves the name of Land,  
As but th' Of-scowring of the British Sand;  
And so much Earth as was contributed  
By English Pilots, when they heaved the Lead;  
Or what by th' Ocean's slow alluvion fell  
Of Shipwrackt Cockle and the Mussle shell;  
This Indigested Vomit of the Sea  
Fell to the Dutch by just Propriety.   

Glad then, as Miners that have found the Ore,  
They with mad labour fished the Land to Shore;  
And dived as desperately for each piece  
Of Earth, as if 't had been of Ambergris;  
Collecting anxiously small Loads of Clay,  
Less than what building Swallows bear away;  
Or then those Pills which sordid Beetles roll  
Transfusing into them their Dunghill Soul.   

How did they rivet with Gigantic Piles  
Thorough the Centre their new-catched Miles:  
And to the Stake a struggling Country bound,  
Where barking waves, still bait the forced ground;  
Building their watery Babel far more high  
To reach the Sea, than those to scale the Sky.   

Yet still his claim the injured Ocean laid,  
And oft at Leapfrog o'er their Steeples played;  
As if on purpose it on land had come  
To show them what's their Mare Liberum.  
A daily Deluge over them does boil:  
The Earth and Water play at Level coil.  
The Fish oft times the Burger dispossessed,  
And sat not as a Meat, but as a Guest:  
And oft the Tritons and the Sea-Nymphs saw  
Whole shoals of Dutch served up for Cabillau.  
Or as they over the new Level ranged,  
For Pickled Herring, pickled Heeren changed.  
Nature, it seemed, ashamed of her mistake,  
Would throw their land away at Duck & Drake.   

Therefore necessity, that first made Kings,  
Something like Government among them brings.  
For as with Pigmies, who best kills the Crane;  
Among the hungry, he that treasures Grain;  
Among the blind, the one-eyed blinkard reigns;  
So rules among the drowned, he that drains.  
Not who first sees the rising Sun, commands,  
But who could first discern the rising Lands.  
Who best could know to pump an Earth so leak,  
Him they their Lord & Countries Father speak.  
To make a Bank was a great Plot of State,  
Invent a Shovel and be Magistrate.  
Hence some small Dyke-grave, unperceived invades  
The power, & grows as 'twere a King of Spades:  
But for less envy some joint States endures,  
Who look like a Commission of the Sewers.  
For these Half-anders, half wet, and half dry,  
Nor bear strict Service nor pure Liberty.   

'Tis probable Religion after this  
Came next in order, which they could not miss:  
How could the Dutch but be converted, when  
Th' Apostles were so many Fishermen?  
Beside the Waters of themselves did rise,  
And as their Land, so them did rebaptize.  
Though Herring to be God few voices missed,  
And Poore-John to have been th' Evangelist.  
Faith, that could never Twins conceive before,  
Never so fertile, Spavvned upon this Shore:  
More pregnant than their Marg'et, that laid down  
For Hans-in-Kelder of a whole Hans-Town.   

Sure when Religion did itself Embark,  
And from the East would Westward steer its ark;  
It struck, and splitting on this unknown ground,  
Each one thence pillaged the first piece he found:  
Hence Amsterdam Turk-Christian-Pagan-Iew,  
Staple of Sects, and Mint of Schism grew.  
That Bank of Conscience, where not one so strange  
Opinion, but finds Credit and Exchange.  
In vain for Catholics ourselves we bear,  
The Universal Church is only There.   

Nor can Civility there want for Tillage,  
Where wisely for their Court they chose a Village.  
How fit a Title clothes their Governors;  
Themselves the Hog's, as all their Subjects Boars.   

Let it suffice to give their Country Fame,  
That it had one Civilis called by Name;  
Some Fifteen Hundred, and more Years ago,  
But surely never any that was so.   

See but their Mermaids, with their tails of fish,  
Reeking at Church over the Chafing-Dish.  
A Vestal turf enshrined in Earthen ware,  
Fumes through the loopholes of a wooden square  
Each to the Temple with these Altars tend,  
(But still does place it at her Western end:)  
While the fat steam of Female Sacrifice  
Fills the Priests Nostrils, and puts out his Eyes.   

Or what a spectacle the Skipper gross,  
A Water- Hercules, Butter-Colosse,  
Turned up with all their several Towns of Beer;  
When staggering upon some Land, Snick and Sneer,  
They try, like Statuaryes, if they can  
Cut out each others Athos to a Man;  
And carve in their large bodies, where they please,  
The Arms of the United Provinces:   

Vainly did this Slap-Dragon fury hope,  
With sober English valour ere to cope:  
Not though they Primed their barbarous mornings-draught  
With Powder, and with Pipes of Brandy fraught:  
Yet Rupert, Sandwich, and of all, the Duke,  
The Duke has made their Sea-sick courage puke.  
Like the three Comets, sent from heaven down  
With Fiery Flails to swinge th' ingrateful Clown.   
FINIS.   

London, Printed by T. Mabb for Robert Horn at the Angel in Popes-head alley, 1665.