Th' increasing sound is borne to either shore, Ply'd thick and close as when the fight begun, And now reduc'd on equal terms to fight, Their ships like wasted patrimonies show ; Where the thin scattering trees admit the light, And shun each other's shadows as they grow. The warlike prince had sever'd from the rest Two giant ships, the pride of all the main; Which with his one so vigorously he press'd, And flew so home they could not rise again. Already batter'd, by his lee they lay, In vain upon the passing winds they call : The passing winds through their torn canvass play, And flagging sails on heartless sailors fall. Their open'd sides receive a gloomy light, Dreadful as day let into shades below; Without grim Death rides barefac'd in their sight, And urges entering billows as they flow. When one dire shot, the last they could supply, Close by the board the prince's main-mast bore: All three now helpless by each other lie, And this offends not, and those fear no more. So have I seen some fearful hare maintain A course, till tir'd before the dog she lay : Who stretch'd behind her pants upon the plain, Past power to kill, as she to get away. With his loll'd tongue he faintly licks his prey; His warm breath blows her flix up as she lies; She, trembling, creeps upon the ground away, And looks back to him with beseeching eyes. The prince unjustly does his stars accuse, Which hinder'd him to push his fortune on; For what they to his courage did refuse, By mortal valour never must be done. This lucky hour the wise Batavian takes, And warns his tatter'd fleet to follow home: Proud to have so got off with equal stakes, Where 'twas a triumph not to be o'ercome. The general's force, as kept alive by fight, Now, not oppos'd, no longer can pursue : Lasting till Heaven had done his courage right; When he had conquer'd he his weakness knew. He casts a frown on the departing foe, And sighs to see him quit the watery field: His stern fix'd eyes no satisfaction show, For all the glories which the fight did yield. Though, as when fiends did miracles avow, He stands confess'd ev'n by the boastful Dutch: He only does his conquest disavow, And thinks too little what they found too much. Return'd, he with the fleet resolv'd to stay; [guide. For realms are households which the great must As those who unripe veins in mines explore, On the rich bed again the warm turf lay, Till time digests the yet imperfect ore, And know it will be gold another day: So looks our monarch on this early fight, Th' essay and rudiments of great success: Which all-maturing Time must bring to light, While he like Heaven does each day's labour bless. Heaven ended not the first or second day, Yet each was perfect to the work design'd: God and kings work, when they their work survey, A passive aptness in all subjects find. In burthen'd vessels first, with speedy care, His plenteous stores do season'd timber send: Thither the brawny carpenters repair, And as the surgeons of maim'd ships attend. With cord and canvass, from rich Hamburgh sent, All hands employ'd the royal work grows warm: With glewy wax some new foundations lay Or tend the sick, or educate the young. So here some pick out bullets from the sides, With boiling pitch another near at hand, From friendly Sweden brought, the seams instops: Which, well paid o'er, the salt sea waves withstand, And shakes them from the rising beak in drops. Some the gall'd ropes with dawby marline bind, Our careful monarch stands in person by, His new-cast cannons' firmness to explore: The strength of big-corn'd powder loves to try, And ball and cartridge sorts for every bore. Each day brings fresh supplics of arms and men, The goodly London in her gallant trim, The Phenix, daughter of the vanish'd old, Like a rich bride does to the ocean swim, And on her shadow rides in floating gold. Her flag aloft spread ruffling to the wind, And sanguine streamers seem the flood to fire: The weaver, charm'd with what his loom design'd, Goes on to sea, and knows not to retire. With roomy decks, her guns of mighty strength, Whose low-laid mouths each mounting billow laves : Deep in her draught, and warlike in her length, This martial present, piously design'd, Built, fitted, and maintain'd, to aid him bring. By viewing Nature, Nature's handmaid, Art, Their tail the rudder, and their head the prow. Some log perhaps upon the waters swam, An useless drift, which, rudely cut within, And hollow'd first, a floating trough became, And cross some rivulet passage did begin. In shipping such as this, the Irish kern, And untaught Indian on the stream did glide : Ere sharp-keel'd boats to stem the flood did learn, Or fin-like oars did spread from either side. Add but a sail, and Saturn so appear'd, Rude as their ships was navigation then; Of all who since have us'd the open sea, But what so long in vain, and yet unknown, The ebbs of tides and their mysterious flow, Instructed ships shall sail to quick commerce, Then we upon our globe's last verge shall go, This I foretell from your auspicious care, So the false spider, when her nets are spread, Then if at last she find him fast beset, She issues forth, and runs along her loom : She joys to touch the captive in her net, And drags the little wretch in triumph home. The Belgians hop'd that, with disorder'd haste, Our deep-cut keels upon the sands might run : Or if with caution leisurely were past, [one. Their numerous gross might charge us one by But with a fore-wind pushing them above, And swelling tide that heav'd them from below, O'er the blind flats our warlike squadrons move, And with spread sails to welcome battle go. It seem'd as there the British Neptune stood, To the pale foes they suddenly draw near, Now van to van the foremost squadrons meet, The midmost battles hastening up behind, Who view far off the storm of falling sleet, And hear their thunder rattling in the wind. At length the adverse admirals appear: The two bold champions of each country's right: Their eyes describe the lists as they come near, And draw the lines of death before they fight. The distance judg'd for shot of every size, The linstocs touch, the ponderous ball expires: The vigorous seaman every port-hole plies, And adds his heart to every gun he fires! Fierce was the fight on the proud Belgians' side, For honour, which they seldom sought before: But now they by their own vain boasts were ty'd, And forc'd at least in show to prize it more. But sharp remembrance on the English part, And shame of being match'd by such a foe, Rouze conscious virtue up in every heart, And seeming to be stronger makes them so. Nor long the Belgians could that fleet sustain, Which did two generals' fates, and Cæsar's bear : Each several ship a victory did gain, As Rupert or as Albemarle were there. Their batter'd admiral too soon withdrew, Unthank'd by ours for his unfinish'd fight: But he the minds of his Dutch masters knew, Who call'd that providence which we call'd flight. Never did men more joyfully obey, Or sooner understood the sign to fly : With such alacrity they bore away, As if, to praise them, all the States stood by. O famous leader of the Belgian flect, Thy monument inscrib'd such praise shall wear, As Varro timely flying once did meet, Because he did not of his Rome despair. Behold that navy, which a while before Or if too busily they will inquire Into a victory, which we disdain ; Our greedy seamen rummage every hold, Smile on the booty of each wealthier chest, And, as the priests who with their gods make bold, Take what they like, and sacrifice the rest. But ah! how insincere are all our joys! [no stay: Which, sent from Heaven, like lightning make Their palling taste the journey's length destroys, Or grief sent post o'ertakes them on the way. Swell'd with our late successes on the foe, Which France and Holland wanted power to cross, We urge an unseen fate to lay us low, And feed their envious eyes with English loss. Each element his dread command obeys, Who makes or ruins with a smile or frown; Who, as by one he did our nation raise, So now he with another pulls us down. Yet, London, empress of the northern clime, As when some dire usurper Heaven provides, Till, fully ripe, his swelling fate breaks out, Such was the rise of this prodigious Fire, Which in mean buildings first obscurely bred, The diligence of trades and noiseful gain, In this deep quiet, from what source unknown, Those seeds of Fire their fatal birth disclose; And first few scattering sparks about were blown, Big with the flames that to our ruin rose. Then in some close-pent room it crept along, Now like some rich or mighty murderer, So scapes th' insulting Fire his narrow jail, And makes small outlets into open air : There the fierce winds his tender force assail, And beat him downward to his first repair. The winds, like crafty courtezans, withheld And now no longer letted of his prey, The ghosts of traitors from the bridge descend, And sing their sabbath notes with feeble voice. Our guardian angel saw them where they sate And drooping, oft look'd back upon the wing. At length the crackling noise and dreadful blaze The next to danger, hot pursued by Fate, One mighty squadron with a side-wind sped, Another backward to the Tower would go, And slowly eats his way against the wind: But the main body of the marching foe Against th' imperial palace is design'd. Now day appears, and with the day the king, Near as he draws, thick harbingers of smoke With gloomy pillars cover all the place; Whose little intervals of night are broke By sparks, that drive against his sacred face. More than his guards his sorrows made him known, And pious tears which down his cheeks did shower: The wretched in his grief forgot their own; So much the pity of a king has power. He wept the flames of what he lov'd so well, Nor with an idle care did he behold: Subjects may grieve, but monarchs must redress; He cheers the fearful, and commends the bold, And makes despairers hope for good success. Himself directs what first is to be done, And orders all the succours which they bring : The helpful and the good about him run, And form an army worthy such a king. He sees the dire contagion spread so fast, The powder blows up all before the Fire : Th' amazed Flames stand gather'd on a heap; And from the precipice's brink retire, Afraid to venture on so large a leap. Thus fighting Fires awhile themselves consume, But straight, like Turks, forc'd on to win or die, They first lay tender bridges of their fume, And o'er the breach in unctuous vapours fly Part stay for passage, till a gust of wind Ships o'er their forces in a shining sheet: Part creeping under ground their journey blind, And climbing from below their fellows meet. Thus to some desert plain, or old wood side, Or sweep in clouds above the blasted ground. No help avails: for, hydra-like, the Fire Lifts up his hundred heads to aim his way : And scarce the wealthy can one half retire, Before he rushes in to share the prey. The rich grow suppliant, and the poor grow proud: When others' ruin may increase their store. As those who live by shores with joy behold So these but wait the owners' last despair, And what's permitted to the flames invade ; Ev'n from their jaws they hungry morsels tear And on their backs the spoils of Vulcan lade. The days were all in this lost labour spent ; And so shone still in his reflective light. Night came, but without darkness or repose, Those who have homes, when home they do repair, To a last lodging call their wandering friends: Their short uneasy sleeps are broke with care, To look how near their own destruction tends. Those who have none, sit round where once it was, And with full eyes each wonted room require: Haunting the yet warm ashes of the place, As murder❜d men walk where they did expire. Some stir up coals and watch the vestal fire, The most in fields like herded beasts lie down, While by the motion of the flames they guess And meets, instead of milk, a falling tear. No thought can ease them but their sovereign's care, Whose praise th' afflicted as their comfort sing: Ev'n those, whom want might drive to just despair, Think life a blessing under such a king. Meantime he sadly suffers in their grief, Outweeps an hermit, and outprays a saint: All the long night he studies their relief, How they may be supply'd and he may want. “O God,” said he, “ thou patron of my days, "Be thou my judge, with what unweary'd care And stop the issues of their wasting blood. |