On the Death of that Noble Knight Sr JOHN HARMAN, Who Died the 11th of October, 1673.  

BRittania, Queen of th● Ocean, bade me write  
Something memorial of this Noble Knight;  
It must be Great, or nothing. Nay, said I,  
Let Homer's then, or Virgil's Poetry  
Record his Deeds, 'Tis not for meaner things  
To speak, or think of Admirals or Kings.  
But these are long since dead; Must therefore die  
This Peerless Persons Glorious Memory?  
No, no, that must not be; Rather than fail  
Something to try, I'll with my self prevail.   

The Sea-nymphs prowling round the Watery World  
Caught up his Name when to and fro 'twas hurled,  
When Guns, Drums, Trumpets, to the Clefts did sound  
His Fame, and caused them back the same Rebound,  
These to my Muse did courteously impart  
●air naked Truths, which need no Veils of Art.   

When first in Youth some Voyages he made,  
To prosecute Experience or Trade,  
His worth disclosed itself, and made men see,  
None was more English Mariner than he.  
T●ough hearty, sturdy Oak our Ships do frame  
Our Seamen too (if rightly stamped) the same  
And such was this Well-timbered Man, be sure,  
That such hard Storms and Bicker could endure.   

In former Wars, Spain, Portugal and Dutch  
Will all confess, there were not many such.  
Drake, Blague and Harman, Names that struck the Seas  
As Zisca, Scanderbag, Hunniades,  
Did quash the Land; Foes hushed their squaling Brats  
Only by naming these Great Potentates.  
But if those former Acts of his must be  
Veiled by Oblivion, be it so: yet he  
By Latter Deeds will have his Name preserved  
Wherein he hath his King and Country served.   


When British Seas and Honour were assailed  
By Belgian Rivals; when the Plague prevailed 
1665   
At home; by which when most men's Courage failed   
He snatched some men from Death, Commands and Man'd  
The Royal Charles, by Royal Charles Command;  
And then performed his Manly part; how well,  
Let both his Friends and Foes Spectators tell.   

Next Year was Sixty six (that fatal Time,  
When London's old Foundations burnt to Lime)  
Rear Admiral of the White then appeared  
And by his Foes he made his Henry feared.  
Three Aetna 's did at once beset Her round,  
Some of her men were Burnt, and some were Drowned:  
Yet then (as if he did both Elements scoff)  
He fought his, Way, and brought her bravely off.  
His Leg (but not his Courage) broke; and then▪  
He sympathized with his maimed men.  
Knighted, and Admiral made in Sixty seven,  
With Fireships Two, and fighting-ships Eleven,  
T' America he Steers, and did such Feats,  
Dull Europeans will believe us Cheats  
If we but tell the Truth. As, How he stormed  
Strong Martinico, Wonders there performed;  
Into their Harbour how he forced his Way,  
Where Thirty Warlike French and Dutch then lay;  
Burnt Nine, sunk more; the rest (to scape his hands)  
Did sink themselves, to hid amongst the Sands.  
Threé Forts he there Attaqu'd and Fired. And then  
To Syrenham and Chian wafts his men:  
Courage and Conduct, there no less he showed,  
Whereby he those Two countries' soon subdued.   

In seventy two Vice-Admiral of the Blue,  
He like a Tiger 'mongst the Dutchmen flew,  
Nine Dutch begirt his Charles. There (sad to tell)  
Three or four hundred of his Brave Men fell.  
He paid them off; and when no boot to stay,  
He nobly brought his tattered Hull away.   

Lastly, in seventy three, this present Year,  
His long-tryed Courage lasting did appear  
Vice Adm'ral of the Red. Though sick and weak  
When scarcely could he go, or stand, or speak,  
Yet could he fight, direct, encourage, see  
All well performed. Meanwhile poor Gallant he  
Sat like a Mark for every shot, in sight  
Upon the Quarter-deck in every Fight.  
We'll not reflect on any man; nor tell,  
Who did amiss; only that He did well.  

And having done his All, he then gave o'er,  
He made to Port, dropped Anchor, came ashore,  
Never to plough the briny Ocean more.   
From midst of Storms, Blood, Noise, Confusion, Fires,  
He coolly, calmly, peaceably Expires,  
Whose Death Religious: Living Actions were  
Valiant, Just, Humble, Patient, and Sincere.    

To His LADY.  

Madam, your loss is great, we must confess,  
But yet compared, ours greater is, yours less;  
Yours is a Private, ours a public one,  
In midst of storms (Alas!) our Pilot's gone:  
Learn hence the better to sustain your Cross,  
Behold! All England does lament your Loss.    

To His SON.  

YOu Martial Stripling, from his Stock a slip,  
Make good the Proverb [Of th' old Block, a chip.]  
To imitate him 've gone pretty far,  
That you a Youth command a Man of War.  
He died a Protestant, and you I hope  
Will live to make a Tacque upon the Pope.  
Learn not to Hector, Drink, Drab, Swear and Play;  
But as your Father did, Think, Fight and Pray.  
O that of this sort all Commanders were!  
Then Britain should not need Invaders fear:  
Nor Belgia vaunt at poor Brittania's wound,  
When she shall hear th' old Harmans' laid aground.    

To His SEAMEN.  

Mariner's mourn, Dous Topsail, wast your Flag,  
Hand Streamers, Furl: Now Courage lies a lag  
And sneaks abaft, lose Anchor from the, Bow,  
For Navigation lies a Backstays now.  
With Theseus' Sails cloth your tall Ships of War,  
If you want Blacks, besmear yourselves with Tar.  
With your own hands, while you lie thus becalmed,  
With Norway Gums, let his Corpse be Embalmed;  
And (though you use not much to Weep, yet) here  
Augment the Ocean with a briny Tear.   

Then wipe your Eyes. Courage my Hearts, a●●●●●…  
Hoist Sails, Give way; do as you use and aught.  
Cheer up, Suzzau; and let your Enemies find,  
Though Harman's dead, his Men, are left behind.   
FINIS.   

London, Printed in the Year 167●.   

With Allowance.