THE ROUTING OF DE-RUYTER, OR THE BARBADOSS BRAVERY. By the Author of the Broadside.  
LOng looked for, thou hast haled many a Rope,  
Fraught with thy Country's Poor distressed hope.  
Thy Fleet is taking Castles in the Air,  
Whilst they at home are drowned, drowned in despair.  
Your Admirals that looked like floating Towers,  
More Water drew by thrice Ten Foot than Ours;  
Our Mackrel Boats took their forsaken Rags,  
What matter? Colours where the courage Flags.  
Opdam, and Stillinswerfe, and all the rest,  
Whose mouth-confounding Names can't be expressed  
(Or if they could, good faith I have forget 'em)  
Are Crawling with the Crabs now in the bottom.  
Trump had been crawling too, but that,  
Though twice he sunk, He played the Water-Rat;  
O how they swum about! you might discern  
Many a Poop, but ne'er a Countenance Stern.  
There up and down they tossed Boar and mine Here,  
Wishing the narrow Seas much narrower.  
Some scaped, yet had great reason to complain,  
Who, beaten home, were beaten back again:  
Fore-stroke, and back-stroke, this is for a need,  
For they were beaten fore and off indeed.  
The Trident-bearer Banquet's now in State,  
Their Admirals have furnished Him with Plate.  
And lest he want to try his Kitchen stuff,  
Their Ships have Him supplied with Fire enough.  
De-Ruyter, thus I have before thee set,  
Not a Diurnal, nor a Dutch Gazet;  
But Truth itself, which Truth while I impart,  
May Boreas break thy Cables, this thy Heart;  
Thou fledst a loof, as something did inform  
Thy quicker Genius of a following Storm.  
Just so, the Swallow and Prophetic Mouse,  
This shuns the Winter, that the falling House.  
Go Noah's Raven, rove about, and sharck  
For rest, there's no returning to the Ark.  
Thy flatter Hopes thou mayst on Capers ground,  
For, alas, there's no Olive to be found.  
What dost thou else, but like thy Trojans Sire,  
Embrace the Water to escape the Fire?  
Or rather, I may say Ulysses-like,  
Thou now dost Sail in Unknown Harbours strike.  
To which Opinion I must needs incline,  
For thy Companions are already Swine,  
Before Our Isle thou cam'st with great Bravadoes;  
But we had Boars enough in the Barbadoss.  
And Men, that made it to thy Teeth appear,  
There was no Planting for a Dutchman there.  
And therefore some of Your wild Blood we spilled,  
A Boar is never good till he be killed.  
In a Plantation, do but let him forth,  
He'll do more mischief than his Neck is worth.  
But to prevent Your Snouts of such a chance,  
We Rung them with a Peal of Ordinance.  
Whence, by the way, though we Plant Sugar, You  
May see that we can Plant Our Canons too.  
Your Liquorish Tooth, it seems for Sugar came,  
'Tis well, but we have caned You for the same.  
May be for Indigo You came, and truly  
'Tis like enough, 'cause ye came off so blewly.  
Of this attempt Your Boarships need not crack ho;  
Barbadoes gave ye a base Pipe of Tobacco.  
But stalk as many as you please, with which  
You may set down and cure ye of the Itch.  
Pray then that your Attempt may be forgotten,  
For you and the Barbadoss cannot cotton.  
Thou now hast Alexander's Portion, hope  
And if that fails, thy Ship affords a Rope.  
But stay, hold fast mine Here were't not a Ninny,  
To hazard seven brave Provinces for Guynny.  
Thus Aesop's Dog, and say was he not mad ho,  
Lost a substantial shoulder for a shadow.  
Thus Dutch Don Quixot, rambles up and down,  
To take more Countries in, and lose his own.   

London Printed by R. Davenport. 1665.