THE DUTCH GAZETTE: OR, The Sheet of Wildfire, that Fired the DUTCH FLEET.  

I'll tell ye not of Aetna's Flames, nor Troy's,  
That long ago has filled the World with noise:  
Nor of Romances, nor of Histories,  
Done Ages long before, whose Obsequies  
Were sung by Laureate Pens; that which I tell,  
The Stories of the World can't parallel.   

Rupert I sing, Duke Albemarle, and Homes,  
And of the rest, that sent those to their homes,  
Whose Pride and Envy, Hell itself ('twas such)  
Can't match, would you know who I mean, the Dutch.   

Who had a Hundred sixty Ships, and more,  
Of Merchantmen, lay sleeping on their Shore,  
And never dreamt of danger, till we came,  
And took them napping; Ask but Amsterdam,  
Who stood Spectators there, and saw their Sails  
Transformed to Sheets of Wildfire, and those Gales  
That use to swell and spread abroad their ' tire,  
Serve now as Bellows to set all on fire.  
For Guinnae some, others for Russia bound,  
Scarce one worth less than Fifteen thousand Pound.  
Did you ne'er see the Winged Troop, that flies  
From Flower to Flower, until their laden thighs  
Force a retreat? Did you ne'er see them strive,  
Which should go richest laden to his Hive?  
Just so each Soldier, in a pl●nteous measure,  
Has made his Cabb'n, a Cabinet of Treasure.  
Silks, Hollands, Silver-spoons, Plate, Cloth of Gold,  
All had their choice to take what e'er they would.   


These are the Dutch, that did but th' other day  
Make Bonfires o'er their Land for Victory,—  
But never thought of seeing This by Sea.—   
Where Helm and Rudder, Top, Top-sayl, and all,  
Within few hours to Dust and Ashes fall.   

Had but Will. Lilly seen this Blazing Comet,  
I'll lay my life it had portended Somewhat  
Of strange event, as he'd have made appear  
In his Prognostication for next Year.   

They'll block the Seas up, why then so they shall,  
No fitter Heads than theirs to do't withal;  
Where they may lay'um together, and counsel take,  
How many Bonfires they had best to make.   

Now will I lose the Pinion of my Quill,  
And dictate to my Muse a Word at will;  
That Fame itself, that Herald (and not I)  
Shall show the Blazon of our Victory.  
At which the World distracted stands with fear,  
And won't believe but that the Gods were there.   

Great MONK so thundered, that 'twas hard to say  
Whether 'twas He, or Fate, that got the Day.   

Smith sent such Thunderbolts as ne'er were madey  
By Vulcan, since he first wrought of his Trade;  
Who gazed, but durst not come within a Shot,  
For fear his other Leg had gone to Pott.  
'Twas Smith, whose Sword so often quenched in Blood,  
Returned so hard, as not to be withstood.:  
Steel to the Hilt; this Proverb has he got,  
He ne'er strikes stroke until the Iron's hot.   


Had Goffe., Ben. Johnson, or had Shakespeare been—  
Spectators there, such Acts they should have seen,—  
As they ne'er acted in an English Scene:—   
These fought with Blows, they only clashed in Words;  
They fought with foils, but these with naked Swords.  
Here should they've seen an angry Sea their Stage,  
Covered with rolling Billows, Foam and Rage;  
Now sunk to Hell, anon with Pride so high,  
As if it gave defiance to the Sky.  
There should they've seen retiring Rooms of War,  
Such Rooms as far excels Rome's Theatre:  
A Ghastful Scene, not Thebes, but Thetis Womb,  
Wherein the Actors did themselves entomb.   

Here dives a Corpse, there struggles one half dead;  
Here sinks a Trunk cut shorter by the Head;  
Here one 'twixt hope and fear thinks 'tis a dream;  
And there another strives against the stream;  
Here dive a hundred Dutch into their Graves;  
There die as many 'mbracing of the Waves;  
Here one turmoils, and there another strives,  
Yet scarce two in a hundred save their lives.   

Such Music as they had, had but Troy known,  
'Twould quickly have made the Grecians fled their Town.  
Had poor Ulysses heard but one broadside,  
'T had made him quake, and been afraid to ride  
The Grecian Horse, his wooden Bucephalus  
Had been transformed into a Pegasus.   

Had Monk but Thundered at proud Babel's Wall,  
Babel's proud Battlements had got a fall:  
Had th' Great Colossus stood where he discharges,  
He'd veiled his Bonnet to our Boanarges.   

Th' Egyptian Pyramid (whose massy Tower,  
The Jaws of Time could never yet devour)  
When he discharges, its proud Marbles must  
Lay down their palsy Heads within the Dust.   

Great Conquerors, could I your Worth indite,  
The World unworthy were of what I'd wtite.   

Your steely Soldiers too, I dare but name,  
For fear I over-charge the Trump of Fame,  
That caused the World proverbially to say,  
THEY fought like Englishmen, and won the Day.   

Return, Great Conquerors, live Men of Mirror,  
England's chief Glory, but the Duchess Terror.   

Who have a Tromp too, but the VVorld's to blame,  
If e'er they take Him for the Trump of Fame.   
Finis.   

Licenced Aug. 20. Roger L'Estrange. LONDON, Printed by T. Leach, in Shooe-Lane, 1666.