New Advice to a PAINTER; A Poetical Essay describing the last Sea-Engagement with the DUTCH: MAY the 28th. 1673.  By an Eye-Witness. 
STrike up, bold Muse, loud as the trumpet sounds  
And wade through smoke and thunder, blood and wounds:  
Let wanton strains of the soft airy Lute,  
Yield to the triumphs of the Warlike Flute;  
Now shall Lepanto's Conflict be forgot,  
The Service there could not be half so hot.  
No sooner the Brave Prince his Flags assembled,  
But Neptune ducked under a wave, and trembled;  
A frightful prospect unto all that see't,  
The Elements of fire and water meet;  
Nor should a man have prejudiced his sense,  
Or reason, to derive the Thunder thence;  
Such a red Sea you round about discover,  
The Ocean swelled with blood, seemed to run over.  
By which o'erwhelmed, the Dutch may hope stop more  
Incursions of the French with floods of gore.  
Some flaming Ships men into th' water sent  
For death, to scape that fiercer Element;  
And hundreds swimming destitute of hope,  
To save their lives wished for a lucky Rope;  
Some sink to rights, and with a dismal cry,  
Sail in a moment to Eternity  
A thousand various Horoscopes agree,  
To puzzle Art in one Catastrophe;  
Born under different STARS like Fate they have,  
The Ship's their Coffin, and the Sea their Grave.  
The smoke (like that of Sodom) did aspire,  
As if the very Sea had been on Fire;  
Whilst each Broadside, until again ore-blown,  
Did make a dismal Midnight of High Noon;  
A darkness so Egyptian, you'd have thought,  
That every Ship by her own Firelight fought;  
Or that we might their flying Frigates miss,  
The Dutch sighed up a Fog as dark as this.  
But what could tempt them fight at such a rate?  
Sure the last Sink hath made them desperate;  
For this renders their misery much worse,  
We only fight for right, they upon force.  
Their wretched State to this sad pass being come,  
There's death abroad, and worse, despair at home.  
The Gallant Prince that in all dangers came,  
Wonders performed too great for th' mouth of Fame;  
Though they're entrenched with Sand, he thinks it meet,  
To fight, not dully to besiege a Fleet.  
Ruyter looked pale at an assault so brave,  
And Trump had much ado to scape a Grave;  
Of Common Boors such numbers breathless float,  
Their grosser Souls will sure sink Charon's Boat;  
For to avoid England's victorious Standard,  
Their shattered Squadrons in disorder wandered:  
And were so sensible of certain loss,  
The Belgic Lion couched before the Cross.  
The Panegyrics our Captains deserved,  
At large their own Swords in Dutch bosoms carved.  
So fought the French, they shall for future stand,  
Renowned for Arts at Sea as well as Land.  
But oh! with what deserving Eulogies,  
Shall we Embalm the glorious memories  
Of noble Worden, Fowls, Finch, and the rest,  
Snatched hence by Fate to th' Regions of the Blessed?  
That Hero-Troop ne'er to be praised enough,  
Whose Bodies fell, but Souls were Canon proof;  
Those Miracles of Valour, Honour's Sons,  
Brave bold Contemners of grim Death's great Guns;  
Those more than Worthies for their Country's good  
Who were so prodigal of their best Blood;  
Their Fame with us in story shall remain,  
Till Bodies reunite with Souls again.  
Whilst baffled hogen's quit the open main,  
And Mare Clausum we have proved again:  
'Tis fit our Monarches happy Birthday be  
Still ushered in with Joys of Victory.  
FINIS.   

LONDON, Printed in the Year, MDCLXXIII.