Sir ROBERT HOLMES HIS BONFIRE: OR, THE DUTCH DOOMSDAY.  

WHere are those boasting Boors, what are their names?  
That swore they blocked us up i'th' River Thames?  
Brave, were it done; I must confess the Hogan  
Was very willing, but he wanted Mogan.  
Are they not impudent, proudly to bid  
The World believe the thing they never did?  
They are beholden to their valiant Lungs,  
If they can block up Kingdoms with their Tongues;  
For this achievement they have brought to pass,  
Like Samson with the jawbone of an Ass.  
But having waked the English Lion, they  
Who were his Enemies, are now his prey.  
Brag's a good Dog; The Dutch I can compare  
To nothing, but an Army in the Air;  
Where they look terrible, but take no prize,  
And only Combat our deluded eyes:  
They talk they routed us, and they gave Thanks,  
For what? because we had not cut their Banks.  
If beaten they give thanks, the men I swear,  
Under correction very thankful are:  
So a great company, once, when time was,  
Were routed by the Bear and Hudibras:  
We moved but, and these apparitions sound,  
Like Quixots Windmills, swistly tacking round.  
Soon as they saw the English made up? they  
Progressed like Crabs, the clean contrary way.  
Who then ' has cause to boast, the World may see,  
They are our shadows, follow and they flee?  
Hence I conclude, who e'er I come among,  
The lowest spirits have the loudest tongue.  
Now Sea-sick Sovereigns, would not mercy be,  
In your distress, a sovereign remedy?  
Where are the English now? why they are truly,  
If I be not mistaken, at the Vly;  
Where they are imitating the flames of Troy,  
And making Bonfires of their Towns for joy:  
Where once again, as well my Author notes,  
We fought their Admirals with Fisher-boats.  
Where by cross fate their fortunes did expire,  
Not (as they feared) by water, but by fire.  
Whilst we were giving Thanks to Heaven, we found  
Our former victory with a second crowned.  
And thereupon we had, and well we might,  
Thanksgiving-day, and a Thanksgiving night.  
Our Streets were thick with Bonfires large and tall,  
But Holmes one Bonfire made, was worth'em all.  
Well done Sir Robert, bravely done I swear,  
Whilst we made Bonfires here, you made'em there.  
There was no Bonfire money begged with you,  
if you want Faggots, you'll make Frigates do.  
You fired their Fleet? an hundred sixty odd,  
In their own Harbour too; blessed be God.  
When Pitch and Tarr, and all their wealthy stuff,  
Was on a flame, sure they were warm enuff.  
This was your Waterwork, but to come nigher,  
You set your foot ashore, their Towns a fire:  
And nobly let a thousand houses burn,  
To light you to a safe and brave return,  
Not a lame fortune, but it got a prop,  
For every Cabin was a Goldsmith's Shop:  
The bold adventurers such booty got,  
No Seaman but he drank in his own Plate,  
God and our Generals we thank, for even  
Through th' Alm of Flesh, we see the Arm of Heaven   
FINIS.   

Licenced, August 18. 1666.