SIGNAL DANGERS AND D …

SIGNAL DANGERS AND DELIVERANCES Both by LAND and SEA: Comprehending a short Account of the Raising of the SIEGE OF VIENNA. One of the most Memorable in this last Age.

TOGETHER With a Description of a Violent TEMPEST on the FORTH.

In two small POEMS by the same Hand.

Re-printed in the Year 1685.

THE SIEGE and BATTEL OF VIENNA, BEING A short Description of the SALLYS of the DE­FENDANTS, the Breaking up of the SIEGE; The ROUT of the VIZIER, and the whole OTTOMAN ARMY: By the Prodigious, and Prosperous VALOUR, of the Great, and Glorious KING of POLAND: (well worthy being GENERAL of the Forces, of all CHRISTENDOM, against these Infidels,) upon the 12. day of September, 1683.

To the Tone of Armida.
I.
BAse Apostate Rebel, Count TEKLY by Name, PROTES­TANTS shame:
All CHRISTENDOMS Scandal,
To find his IMPERIAL Land-lord, new Work,
Divorc'd all Religion, stricks match with the TƲRK:
Quits Cross for a Crescent; the Sun for the Moon;
The Truth for a Turbant; takes Mecha for Rome.
Paunds his Grace, and his GOD, and each glorious thing,
For the Nickname, and Noise of a Titular KING.
II.
Thrusts his Head, (in a dread of the EMPERORS harms,)
In the Dev'ls own Bosom, an Infidels Arms;
Whose two hundred thousand, laid Siege to VIEN:
Which nine Weeks was kept by fifteen thousand men:
This huge torrent of Turks, all bristled with Steel,
In maugre their numbers, brave Sallys did feel.
For in all their Assaults, they found still to their Costs,
Their Ma'met, unequal to our LORD of Hosts.
III.
O're Bulwarks, and Rav'lins, and Ramparts, and Works,
O're Ditches, and Trenches, and Turbants of Turks,
O're Fields clad with Ir'n, Horse glitt'ring with Steel,
O're Cannons, and Bombos, Granados that reel:
Throw Hailshowrs of Bullets, and Tempests of Fire,
Throw Mines and Scalados, Smoak, Sweat, and Desire:
Throw Dangers, and Deaths, thousand Horrors, and Frays,
Bold Hearts, make brave Hands, with sharp Swords cut them Wayes.
IV
Yet th' Valiant Defendants, with stout Staremberdg,
Whose Merit surmounteth a Glory that's large,
With Famine and Watching, Wounds, Haz [...]rds, and Toil;
Each spent to shadow, puts ten Turks to Foil.
These Muslems dread trying Angels at Death.
Such seem'd these Ghosts, meagr'd with cleanness of Teeth.
All at point of being starved, or slormed, or yeeld!
Their Sign bids brave POLZKI, and Lorrain take Field.
V.
Attacking the Visiers Quarters, so hot!
That he fled with his Horse, and expos'd his Foot:
When Starmberg the Tutelar Glory comes up,
With some five thousand Ghosts yet alive of his Troop;
In a trice, many thousands of Turbants Dance rounds,
And the Red Cross is sign'd on Mahometans Crowns.
The Eagle and Ostrich, bath both in one Flood,
Huge Rivers, and Seas, of the Musleman Blood.
VI.
The GLORY of Poland, had thrice seen before,
His Victorious Shadow, in Ottoman Gore:
A Mirror, wherein (if a wish, GOD grant mine)
All CHRIST'NDOMS Monarchs, their Swords may see shine;
Each Christian Blow, deals some one Turk a Death,
And rids his black Soul of its rank Onion Breath.
Dooms day which the Turks call a day of deceit,
They now see and feel in their total defeat.
VII.
Heavens Tutelar ANGELS of Glory come down!
But their dread noise of Drums, the Trumpets voice drown.
Their shining Swords light'n. loud Cannons do roar
And thunder the Turks, both behind and before!
The dark Clouds of Smoak, and of Dust doth arise!
And thick Shawrs of Lead, dropping Blood blinds their Eyes:
Huge flashes of Fire, a sulphurous smell,
Tell the Turks to their Noses how near they're to Fell.
VIII.
Proud Nighings of Horses! sad Rattlings of Arms,
Cross'd Banners display'd, pierce their Souls with Alarms.
Their Hearts, Hands, and Swords shake and tremble apace,
Pale Fate Prints their Brows with confusion of Face!
The groans of the Dying, the falls of the Dead;
Loud shouts of the Victors, wide Wounds gushing Blood!
The flights of the Coward! the preass of the Strong,
Makes Death deal all shapes of Amazement, in throng!
IX.
These Turk stroying Angels, rend Heav'n with a shout,
When the Ottoman Host's all at once put to rout:
Their Scimitars droop, and their Musquets let fall!
Quick Death leaves no respit to say their last Alla, The Name of GOD beginning the Turkish Prayers. All —
While they stagger, fall, spraul, and they die by degrees
By whole Regiments at once, of their Cheats old Disease.
In vain to their Rescue, their Prophets bid come:
With their dying looks aim'd toward Mahomets Tomb.
X.
The stout King of Poland, with's wing-flying Horse,
Doth Charge fight, and Wheel, with a Whirlewinds force
They Curvet, they Prance, and they Stamp in the quick
The Mahometans Souls, throw the Earth to old Nick:
And Starbergs bold Ghosts, strow Fields, Posts and Trenches,
With the Janizars Hides, and Timariots Paunches.
They leap o're the Lines, and they skip o're the Ditches,
And whip their revenge on the Turks naked Breeches.
XI.
Duke Lorrain, Prince Waldeck, do many brave Feat,
At the Bast of the Court, and before the Scots Gate,
Dispatching with speed, many thousand blind Souls,
To Ma'mets apartment in Hell, by vast Shoals:
They trip to their Prophet the speedier way,
And tell him for News! its the CHRISTIANS DAY.
Camp, Cannon, Tents, Treasure's their Valors just Prey,
A Plague on base TECKLEY! may both the SIDES say.
XII.
All CHRISTENDOMS Triumph, the Walls of Vien,
Sound this GLORY of KINGS, that Wonder of Men;
Fame, Prowess, and Trophees, loud Praise, and rais'd Sorgs,
To Polands great PRINCE, and brave Starberg belongs.
Home Vizier! and tell thy proud Sultans rude Boasts,
And Blasphemies heard by the LORD GOD of Hosts.
To whom our Souls offer the Calves of our Lips,
That our Sun shines in GLORY; their Moon's in ECCLIPSE.
XIII.
If Christendoms Monarchs, would ruine the Turk?
Their ten thousand a piece, might do all the great work:
And of each lesser PRINCE, Republick, Hans-Towns,
Ten Collours of Foot, with ten Troops of Dragoons:
Would these by next March, march at once to the Field,
Glad Victims to GOD; Joy to Man it would yield:
This Year, which our Aera computes eighty three!
The last of the Turkish HIGIR A should be.
Deo, Regi, & Ecclesiae.
THE TEMPEST, Between …

THE TEMPEST, Between BURNT-ISLAND And LEITH, IN A BOAT Called, The BLESSING. In November, 1681.

By the same Author.

Re-printed in the Year 1685.

THE TEMPEST, BEING An ACCOƲNT of a dangerous PAS­SAGE from BURNT-ISLAND to LEITH, in a BOAT called the BLESSING: in company of CLA­VERHOUSE, several GENTLE-WOMEN, MINISTERS, and a whole THRONG of common Passengers.
Upon the 26. of November, 1681.

I Parted from my House, some Hours e're Day,
Nov. 25.
The rising Sun, saw me on Banks of Tay;
When lo! a rustling surly West-wind blew,
Whose ev'ry Sigh, white foaming Billows threw
Like floating Fleeces, and these hoarse Waves Roar,
A Tempests Eccho; dash't from Shoar to Shoar:
No Boat dares pass; and what dare I? but stay;
For tho the Test bid Sail, the Wind said nay.
My forced Stay, and better Hap together,
Bring me t' a Reverend Lord, and Holy Father:
Who had no sooner tender'd some the Test;
And me the least of all GODS Servants blest:
When straight, a Silence followed in Heaven!
The Waters wrinkled Visage looked even
Like polisht Marble; or the smoothest Mirror;
My Thoughts burst Silence, midst a holy Terror.
What sacred Seer! Oaths! Benediction's these!
Whom Heav'n, Air, Winds, and Waves, and Seas obeys!
NExt Morrows Blessing quite another was!
Nov. 26.
On FORTH, where many more and I did pass:
No sooner set we Sail, on Board the Blessing,
When Eolus set a Fowlers Cape on Fishing:
And while we're scarce put forth without the Heads,
Neptune spits o're our Mast, his Watry Beads;
SOoner then you can Wink; the furious Gale
Like Shott unseen, till Felt, doth us Assail:
And what on Shore seems but a Gust to them;
'S to Ʋs a Storm, might bear a Tempests name.
We climb strait Hills of Seas! as if we meant
T' Invade the Heav'ns; and Scale the Firmament.
And when wee're on the Waves steep farther Breast,
Wee seem to seek the Center, for our Rest.
We skipp on Seas proud tops, as if we flew!
Anon plung'd down, as if Hells-mouth we plew.
A Wat'ry Dust, the Foaming Billows raise,
Puffing Rain upwards; mingling Clouds with Seas
Each Monstrous Mountain Wave, still upward hyes.
With Wat'ry Mouth, to kiss and wett the Skyes.
And underneath so deep a rouling Pit,
That Hell's a shallowness, compar'd to it.
THe Sea swells Babels up, as if she meant
To mingle with Seas above the Firmament;
Then downward Rowls, as if she'd two Desires,
To quench Heav'ns highest, drown Hells lowest Fires;
And, as if Heav'n, Earth, Water, Air and Spheres,
Had (in a meddly) fall'n about our Ears!
The Ʋniverse sounds all one Cataract;
And Nature seems to Chaos at the Crack.
The great Turks Guns, would seem to us but Whispers,
And loudest Thunders, to our Noise were Lispers:
Ratling of Arms, Drums, Trumpets, Horses nyes,
Loud Shouts of Armies vanquishd's Victors Cryes!
Fir'd Ships, sprung Mines, storm'd Cities dreadful Voices!
Might all strike Dumb to our loud Roaring Noises!
Thousands our own Shrikes were, Sighs, Crys, Commands!
Passers turn Pilots, Sailers silent stands.
Some onward, backward, some to Seas; the Bark
Thus floats, great Babel, in our little Ark;
Which serves us now, for House, Church, Fortress, Beer,
For all the World, to us, swims ventur'd here.
Now hopes of Life, and fears of Death take leave;
And each proud Billow, bids a humble Grave.
WHen? as if Earth sigh'd all her Intrals out,
At her last Gasp meant to blow all Wind out!
It blew, and blew, and roar'd, and rumbled higher,
Then Heav'n with overbreathing were t' expire:
Sooner than you read this, three Giant Billows
Might Cradled hugest Whales, or their Snow Pillows.
Come on apace; each kept his Time, and Place,
As if they meant to Drown us with a Grace.
THe first, came tumbling on our Boats broad-side;
And knock't us twice her breadth and more aside;
But vex't, that it had wrought's no more Disgrace!
It spues on us, spits in it's Followers face,
Like hundred Leviathans, in a Plump,
Next made's near founder with it's dreadful Thump;
And we to pacify its angry Pride,
Yield, Bow, and Fall; and ly upon our Side;
THe third, as if some Sluce had drain'd the Deep:
Rowls o're our Heads, laid prostrate at its Feet:
A sore Convulsion-fitt, now shakes our Ship!
Our Mast an Ague! till the Sail down slip;
A trembling Palsie seiz'd it! and our Hould,
Drunk with the Waves, a Salt Hydropsie sweld:
Like half drown'd Mice! we're with salt Water choakt,
A Sport to Winds and Waves, our Barge scarce rockt;
It jogg'd a little, rose at length by Stealth,
Unfit to pledge the Seas another Health:
Now one go down anew, without remeed
Had quench'd our Drought; and drunk, and drown'd us Dead.
We Hull a little, then with humbler Sail,
'Twixt Life and Death we sculk alongs the Gale:
WEll Sea-skill'd
The Skippers Name.
Dowglas, and his Sailers had
No thoughts but Death, amidst their Wat'ry Trade:
ANd we who Preach to all, Contempt of Breath,
Tremble but to touch, the easiest, softest Death!
Unlike th' Apostles, we believed then,
Fearing, Sea Monsters Mouths might Fish us Men;
And Neptunes Tritons, ere we parted thence,
Should proul's by Pole, and pick our Peter-pence.
COurage is still the same on Land, at Sea,
Claver­house.
He who can boldly kill, dares bravely die:
Yet he whose Ire hath smil'd on Seas of Blood,
Looks pale on Water, in his coolest Mood.
Souldiers stern Fire, abhorres the death of Slaves;
It can't Resist, nor Vengeance wreck on Waves.
Mars crops his Fame, on Camps, Fields, Cities hie:
But what's ten thousand Swords against a Sea?
Gentle­women.
FEmales fall flat and prone; if true they say?
When drown'd, their Corps are ever found this Way;
They ly along on Hatches, Hoodwinkt Fac'd,
Afraid to die, in their own presence plac'd.
THus fall, so ly, the Horses flat in Hould,
Aloft their Backs, Pitch-Casks with Seas are rowld;
Casks full and empty, troul, swim, justle, knocks,
Dasht 'gainst the Hatches sides, like Ships on Rocks.
Buckets and Pump, are still employ'd in vain,
Waves into Waves spu'd, we drink up again:
A Land lock't Plash, stands prison'd in our Hould;
Which as we Dance, the Waves doth joul and joul
Our In-land Gulf, shews in Epitomie
Both Map, and Islands of the Mid-land Sea.
We slowly trail alongst the Watry Hills,
Clogg'd with a Pond, on Board, might sted some Mills.
The Sea bears us, and we bear up a Sea
Of many Tunns, to Leiths Port, Custom free;
We shake our Ears, Hats, Cloaths, and in a trice,
We creep on Shore, like Water ducked Flies.
That we scap't Monsters, Maws, and our last Fishing,
GOD, by good Dowglas, gave us't with a BLESSING.

DEO, REGI, & ECCLESIAE.

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