Sir ROBERT HOLMES HIS BONEFIRE: OR, THE DUTCH DOOMSDAY.
WHere are those boasting
Boors, what are their names?
That swore they blockt 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 atchievement they have brought to pass,
Like
Sampson with the jaw-bone of an Ass.
But having wak't the
English Lyon, they
Who were his Enemies, are now his pray.
Brag's a good Dog; The
Dutch I can compare
To nothing, but an Armie in the Air;
Where they look terrible, but take no prize,
And only Combate 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 mov'd but, and these apparitions sound,
Like
Quixots Wind-Mills, swistly tacking round.
Soon as they saw the
English made up? they
Progress'd 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're I come among,
The lowest spirits have the loudest tongue.
Now Sea-sick Soveraigns, would not mercy be,
In your distress, a soveraign remedie?
Where are the
English now? why they are truly,
If I be not mistaken, at the Vly;
VVhere they are imitating the flames of
Troy,
And making Bonefires of their Towns for joy:
VVhere once again, as well my Author notes,
VVe fought their Admirals with Fisher-boats.
Where by cross fate their fortunes did expire,
Not (as they fear'd) by water, but by fire.
VVhilst we were giving Thanks to Heaven, we found
Our former victory with a second crown'd.
And thereupon we had, and well we might,
Thanksgiving-day, and a Thanksgiving night.
Our Streets were thick with Bonefires large and tall,
But
Holmes one Bonefire made, was worth'em all.
VVell done Sir
Robert, bravely done I swear,
VVhilst we made Bonefires here, you made'em there.
There was no Bonefire money beg'd with you,
if you want Faggots, youl make Frigats do.
You fir'd their Fleet? an hundred sixty odd,
In their own Harbour too; blessed be God.
VVhen Pitch and Tarr, and all their wealthy stuff,
VVas on a flame, sure they were warm enuff.
This was your VVater-work, 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 Gold-smiths Shop:
The bold adventurers such booty gat,
No Sea-man 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.
Licensed, August 18. 1666.