Ingratitude Revenged: OR, A POEM UPON THE HAPPY VICTORY OF HIS Majesty's Naval Forces AGAINST THE DUTCH; June the 3. and 4. 1665. Under the Auspicious CONDUCT of His ROYAL HIGHNESS, JAMES DUKE of YORK, Lord High Admiral of England, etc. Non ego ventosae plebis suffragia venor, Contentus paucis lectoribus.— Horat. LONDON: Printed by T. J. for Dixy Page, at the Turks-head in Cornhill, near the Royal Exchange, 1665. TO HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS, JAMES Duke of York & Albany, Earl of Ulster, Constable of Dover Castle, Lord Warden of the Cinque-Ports, Governor of the Town of Portsmouth, Knight of the most Noble Order of the Garter, Lord High Admiral of England, Ireland and Wales, and the Dominions and Islands thereto belonging, of the Town of Calis, and Marches of the same; of Normandy, Gascoigne, and Aquitane; And One of His Majesty's Most Honourable Privy Council. May it please Your Highness, THough I may be supposed to undertake vainly, like him, who would needs read Lectures of Martial Stratagems to the Great Carthaginian, yet Your Highness his innate Candour, and Command in the late Happy Victory, obliged me to prostrate these Lines at Your feet. And in this Pamphlet is as much dutiful Affection, as if it were a greater Volume of the Authors, who humbly implores the honour to subscribe himself, Your ROYAL HIGHNESS Most obedient Servant, William Smith. INGRATITUDE REVENGED. SCarce had poor Holland baffled potent Spain, When she usurps upon the spacious Main; And (oh ingrateful!) first affronts that Crown, Whose Power alone kept her from sinking down, Whose kinder pity and relieving grace, Stamped High and Mighty on her Brazen-face. So the revived Snake seeks to destroy That Life, by which she did her own enjoy. No sooner had our misemployed Sword Dissolved their Yoke, expelled their Natural Lord, But (oh perfidious!) these Dutch Fishermen Their Patrons quite forget, demonstrate plain How they'll requite us. And our Merchants find To whom i'th' Indies they had been so kind. Their baseness had unsheathed our * King James sovereign's Blade, If th' High and Mighty had not quickly made Humble Requests for Peace; which got, how soon Broke? witness Lantoree and Poleroon, And that unparallelled dire Cruelty AMBOYNA saw, of all the Epitome. Not any Heathen, any Christian Prince, But breaking Leagues, they have abused since; And if their sly Endeavours had not failed, The World from Holland must have all retailed. His Sacred MAJESTY now taking Care, A Nest of Pirates should not Christians scare, (A Crew of Infidels, that domineers In thieving Tunis, and in proud Algiers) With th' Dutch contracts by joined Power t'invade These Vile Obstructors of all Public Trade. But (oh! the like can any Age produce?) These treacherous Toads with Algiers strikes a Truce; Intending to make LONDON stoop as low To peddling Amsterdam, as Antwerp now. When Reparation's sought for, with fresh throngs They do require us of renewed Wrongs, And will with Arms, and armed Fleets maintain, Forgetting their last Fate, their Pride again. All this yet our Heroic Neptune views With un-disturbed looks, no passion shows; Yet doth at last with a Majestic Frown Tell them, Mine Heer must veil to th' English Crown. Now is His ROYAL HIGHNESS out at Sea, And wondering Thetis is amazed to see Whole Forests float upon her face, Whilst her soft Bosom moving Castles grace. Neptune displeased to find his Tritons caught Within a Wooden City, labouring sought To makes Escape, cries out; Here's one that reigns O'er me, and binds my vaster arms in chains; Here's he, who Rules as far as Winds do blow, Or winged Fleets upon my Surface go; Whose weighty Navies make my shoulders crack, Whose daring Subjects plough my ample back, Who have touched all by their Discoveries, That rising, or that setting Phoebus sees. Then his affrighted head th'astonished God Sunk down again into his moist Abode. Now had kind Zeph'rus with auspicious Gales Stretched out our Canvas, filled our pregnant Sails, And in triumphant order wafted o'er Our well-manned Fleet to view the Belgian shore, Our still-victorious Flags there riding, made The poor Dutch Lion shrink into a shade. Strait angry Corus doth usurp the Deep, Their Festivals the wanton Porpus keep, Presaging Storms; but ours, some Tackling lost, Recover safe again the British Coast: These Storms at last the bragging Dutch bring out, Storms or more kind or cruel, is a doubt, Which though permitting to join with their Friends, Hurried them on to their approaching ends. * Saturday the 3 of June, at three of the Clock in the morning. 1665 Unwilling Phoebus slowly hastened, As very loath to leave his Eastern Bed: Desiring rather to eclipse his Ray, Than view the Slaughters of th'ensuing day. Heaven's smaller Lights than seemed to cease to burn, Dreading the ancient Chaos might return. And now our Fleet bears up, enraged (they say) That Winds and Ocean were more calm than they. The Cycladeses you might have then believed, Torn from their firm Foundations, had been heaved On the rude Waves; or that vast Mountains had Strongly against Mountains there encountered; Or two unfixed Towns, or floating Woods, Or Islands rolling on the curled Floods. The War-presaging Trumpet and loud Drum, In horrid accents tell the Dutch We come; Who after Brandywine and Gunpowder Had well provoked their duller Souls draw near, Such Morning-Draughts Sarmatians never take, Nor those that border on Meotis Lake; The Dutch those Cannibals intent t' outvie, As well in Barbarism, as in Cruelty. The Tiger, Lion, Elephant and Bear, The Leopard, Wolf, the Boar, the Dog appear Fiercely advancing, threatening bloody strife, With an aspect far grimmer than the Life, Making depressed Amphitrite show A savage Wilderness, or like unto Old Rome's great Circus, where these beasts did breathe Their last, in acting serious parts of Death. The Tempest-breathing Brass soon spoke aloud, Muffling Day's Visage in a dusky cloud, Forthwith involving in a sable Cloak Contending Fleets, whilst Seas lay hid in smoke; And from its angry Mouth fierce Bullets fly, Impartial Messengers of Destiny. If some old Greek, or Roman Poet had But heard this dismal Noise, and viewed the sad And never-equalled Slaughters here, no words Had now been left us in the famed Records Of Troy or Thebes; Ulysses still had lay Forgotten in his Native Ithaca: Aeneas too had unremembered come From the Sigiean shore to Latium; Sicilian Aetna ne'er had kept such coil, Nor the loud Cataracts of Seven mouthed Nile. Fiercely each Ship in a resolved Rage, All terrors of grim Death forgot, engage; Upon each other a tempestuous Shower Of fatal Broadsides never-ceasing power, Whilst meager Death (but then in Purple clad) Is satiated with the wounds they made: Cross Charon rails at him with winged feet, Because he had not rigged him out a Fleet, Or tallowed his old Boat; Legions of Ghosts Vex the old Sculler, fill the Stygian Coasts. The sense of Hearing is by hearing crossed, All Fear by too much cause of fear is lost; The loud-mouthed Cannons roaring silenced then The groans of wounded, and of dying men: Nought left but Valour, here's no way to run, No means approaching Dangers left to shun, Here all men know (if they come any more) Their hands, not feet, must bring them to the shore. Here might be seen a helpless Pine, had got 'Twixt wind and water an unlucky Shot; But whilst the colder Element steals in, She burns; then a grand Combat doth begin Between old Neptune and the God of Fire, Till in the conquering Waves he must expire; Mean while her men need take no care for Graves, Both crackling Flames, and rough devouting Waves Are ready; Death sits in's Majestic weeds, The furious Bullets take away their Heads; Next comes a whistling Chain-shot, sweeps away Hundreds from Vulcan's rage into the Sea; Though different Planets, various Aspects reigned When they were born, they centre in one end. Let antique days forget their Actium now, The stout Agrippa and Augustus too, And let the Legends never more be seen Of mad Antonius, or th' Egyptian Queen; Nor let the Austrian Prince Lepanto name His Naval Conquest, nor the Turkish shame. Audacious Opdam toward the Duke does steer His Gouty Limbs, included in a Chair, Kindly salutes with his Broadsides, and then His Highness sharply answers him again; His ROYAL HIGHNESS on whose Conquering Brow So many Naval Coronets shall grow. Here's Eight of theirs with Four of ours engaged; * Saturday, 5 in the evening. Never till now thus dire Bellona raged: One Ball by a sad inauspicious blow, Muskerry, Boyl, and loved Falmouth slew, Close by His HIGHNESS, who undaunted stood, Although besprinkled with their purple blood. Now Opdam's wounded, when a happy Shot altars the Scene, and spoils the present Plot. Oh happy Shot! whose sure unerring blow Relieved His HIGHNESS, and procured too Brave Smith an Honour, and a lasting Name, To live in the Eternal Books of Fame; Whilst Opdam's End, or th' Oriana's Fate, Shall be lamented by the Hogen State. Now Opdam's Ship takes fire, high thunder spoke, Belching up horrid Waves of flames and smoke, Obnubilating the disturbed Skies, A pitchy Cloud of Powder roaring flies. Not so the vast Enceladus doth roar, Shaking the Basis o'th' Trinacrian shore, When from hot Aetna's subterranean Caves, Huge cindered Rocks, curled Flames and Fumes he heaves. This Tempest bears up all; torn Members there Of half-dead Mortals fly i'th' yielding Air, Using an Art beyond Dedalian skill, To mount Air's Regions with no feathered Quill; Men, Decks, Guns, Tackling, broken Planks and tall Masts, i'th' same Chaos are evolved all; And into Stepdame Thetis must fall low, As Phaethon into the River Poe. Now might be seen upon the liquid Plain Two Foes, though swimming, fierce t' engage again, Struggling together, till both loose their breath; Poor souls! though foes in life, yet friends in death. Two brothers shaking hands forsake the light, Both slain together, take their last Good-night, And dying thus in their own blood they lie, Truly conjoined in Consanguinity. Here's one whose Arms are gone, (than useful Limbs) Yet wanting them (alas!) a while he swims, Thinking to catch kind Planks; till out of breath, And wearied, armless he embraceth Death. But you thrice Noble, thrice Illustrious Souls, Whom immaturer Destiny Enrolls Dear Victims to your grateful Country's good, Who for your KING and Country spent your blood, How must we mourn you! Oh! those colder Waves Whereon you died, whereon such horror raves, Are scarce with all their brackish Floods, Supplies Enough to furnish our lamenting Eyes! These HEROES knew it was a gallant toil To lose their Lives to save their Native Soil. These were our Decii; let our Matrons mourn, Let th' People's Hearts be their eternal Urn; And, though the chiller Seas Entomb them now. Tell the next Age what they, and theirs do owe To such Deserts! whilst in a doleful Knell We give our Salve, and our last Farewell. Oh happy Worthies! if my humble Pen Could here have reached the old Poetic Strain, You should have lived!— Yet your lasting Fame Shall be Eternised by a purer Flame. The Dutch thus worsted, and five Admirals slain, Nine taken, Eighteen sunk, they strive to gain The Texel with the rest; but many come A great way short of their desired Home. But oh! GREAT SIR, the Title's due to You, To His Majesty. Of Britain's Parent, and its Refuge too! In Your long, happy, and successful Reign, Saturnian Ages will return again. You many careful Nights (Great Prince) do make, That we may all our rest securely take. You by Your Royal Care and Wisdom, know To guard us from ourselves, and from our Foe. The proudest Nations on the Globe must Greet, With stooping Sails, each Vessel of the Fleet; Whilst by most Potent Princes, YOU alone For the World's feared Neptune shall be known. And You, Illustrious Sir, by whose great Care To the Duke of York. And happy Conduct we successful are, How many Naval Honours, Triumphs you, And Rostrate Columns doth your Country owe? A Herd of Sheep with such a Chieftain might Tigers subdue, and Leopards put to flight; How can the Mastiff ere be conquered, Whilst there's a Royal Lion for his Head? When Thetis saw you furrowing her Plains, We may suppose she used these kinder strains. Here's He, whose early Glories do outrun The envied Lustre of my Warlike Son; Whose worth in Honors-Field one hour declares Greater, than he attained in ten years. And, oh Heroic Prince, your Conduct too To Prince Rupert. Subdues proud Holland, with our Hearts also; This Happy Victory can do no less, Than Crown your former Labours with Success. Brave Sandwich, Lawson, Ascugh, Holms, their Glory Shall in our Annals have a living Story, With all the rest of those bold Worthies, who Revenged their injured Country on its Foe. And You, the Noblest Patriots, ever were To the Two Houses of Parliament. Within those Walls, your wise foreseeing Care, With liberal hearts provide for fresh Supplies, Knowing in Money War's best Sinews lies. What shall not England now not dare to do, Embraced both by her Sovereign and You? And thou, oh stately City, whose fair face To the City of London. Minerva, Mercury, Bellona grace, Whose Arms and Arts astonished Europe owns, Whose Trade the frigid and the torrid Zones, Whose double-named River kindly brings [As Tribute] useful, and all precious things, Rich Indian Harvests, what is rare or strange, Whilst his transparent Streams the World's Exchange, Thy helping hand was here. What though * London Frigate. that's gone Which bore thy Name? thy willing heart builds one Greater than She, whom angry Fates no more Resolved should terrify the Belgic shore. Oh may thou flourish still secure from Foes, Whilst lucid Thames in his Meanders goes Through reedy Banks; but slowly hastening thus, To the Embraces of Oceanus. FINIS.