Holland Turn'd to Tinder ; or, England's Third Great Royal Victory

The weather is clear, which was late overcast
And our long expectations are answer'd at last,
With news from the navie, which I shal impart
Enough to rejoyce every English-mans heart,
That's honest and true,
(And is not a Jew)
But would give to God and to Caesar his due.
This will be a joyfull and royal relation
To such as love God, the King and the nation :
Those Dutch demigorgons, God's power convinces
And makes them all servants that aim'd to be princes.

On Wednesday last the twenty fift day of July,
Came in this narration which He tell ye truly,
From brave Cap. Talbot a man of stout carriage
That then brought a part of this news into Harwich,
Both ruine and rage,
(In brave equipage)
Last Wednesday at noone both fleets did ingage
The winds were our freinds, and did fill out our sails
With very fresh northerly brave top-sail gales;
We din'd with the Hogens upon their own coast,
You might a had Dutch-men there boild or roast.

At first both the navies did fight in a line,
Three hours with much fury and force, but in fine,
The enemies fleet into three squadrons flew,
And Sir Jeremie Smith (Admiral of the Blew)
By lot was to face,
Persue, and to chase
Out the Zelanders squadron, the strongest that was.
They fought it out furiously, all the day after,
And fiercely encounter'd, like wild-fire and water,
A frigat of ours called the Resolution,
'Was burnt by the Dutch in this depth of confusion.

The White and Red squadrons did ply that two other
So fast that they almost were choak'd with the smother ;
They tugg'd very hard who should stand it out longest,
Our Blew was the weakest, the Zealand the strongest,
And yet they fight
'Till so late at night,
That powder and darkness depriv'd them of sight.
The two Holland squadrons both turn'd tail and fled
Pursued by the squadrons of our White and Red,
Upon Thursday morning betwixt nine and ten,
The Zealand's were cripled and hopp'd home agen.

To aid the Blew squadron a thousand stout men
Were sent (in the frigats) by Sir William Pen,
And Talbot doth tell us ere he did retire,
On Wednesday night he saw six Dutch ships on fire ;
Two hundred almost
Of our men were lost,
Such victories seldom 'are gain'd without cost;
The Zealanders Admiral some think is gone
Unto his last home, when his flag was shot down,
'Tis highly presum'd by the best knowing men,
They nere will be able to fight us agen.

The prestmen wel mingl'd with stout voluntiers
Did drink away dolor and fight away fears :
'Our small shot did stand to't with valiant desire,
Their guns spit and sparkl'd like bay-leaves in fire ;
Our cannons did roare
They sunk and they tore,
Thousands that heard them will nere hear them more.
It is better far in a good cause to dye,
Then with a bad conscience to live great and high :
And in acts of honour there's no better thing,
Then dye a true martyr for God and the King.

Our White and Red squadrons Du Ruiter engag'd
Five hours, till at last his fierce fury aswaged,
He fought as if he had been Mars his own son,
From ten in the morning, till three afternoon.
Our Red and our White
Did dazel his sight,
They made him to turn and to run away quite,
For no other reason as some men suppose
But courage did fall from his heart to his hose :
Though bad men seek victory, and think to win it,
It never will prosper, if God be not in it.

Our frigots persued him, our canons did roare,
Until they were come within two miles of shore :
Our great ships persu'd, and continued the slaughter,
So far till they were within six fathom water:
They durst not look back,
To see what we lack,
But posting for life, to their harbors they tack ;
Their flags being struck, and not set up again,
'Tis thought that Van Trump and Du Ruiter is slain.
He that doth protect us, will save us from evil,
In spight of the Dutch, the Dane, or the Devil.

Besides all the damage our shipping hath done
To vessels and men, in their fight, and their run,
Two very stout ships we have taken and fir'd,
And in them five hundred and ninety men tyr'd,
With tugging for that,
They cannot get at
To make England stoop to their pittyful state;
When slaves are turn'd princes, no tyrant so evil,
When beggers are mounted, they ride to the Devil,
No souls so insulting as such sordid slaves,
As climb to preferment on honest mens graves.

Our gen'rals and navy, are all safe and sound,
The Prince and the Duke have our foes in the pound ;
They in their own harbors are prisoners at ease,
The King of Great Brittain commands where he please.
We ride on the ocean,
And waite for the motion,
To venter again they have no great devotion.
Had they not crept in, they'd been burnt to a cinder
And Holland by this time, had been turn'd to tinder.
God bless King and Queen, with the Duke and all such,
As are friends to Great Brittain, and foes to the Dutch.