Classic Poem

London, October 1 st , 1666

Sandwich in Spain now, and the duke in love,
Let's with new gen'rals a new painter prove:
Lely's a Dutchman, danger in his art;
His pencils may intelligence impart.
Thou, Gibson, that among thy navy small
Of marshaled shells commandest admiral
(Thyself so slender that thou show'st no more
Than barnacle new-hatched of them before)
Come, mix thy water-colors and express,
Drawing in little, how we do yet less.
First paint me George and Rupert, rattling far
Within one box, like the two dice of war,
And let the terror of their linked mane
Fly through the air like chain-shot, tearing fame.
Jove in one cloud did scarcely ever wrap
Lightning so fierce, but never such a clap!
United gen'rals! sure the only spell
Wherewith United Provinces to quell.
Alas, e'en they, though shelled in treble oak,
Will prove an addle egg with double yolk.
And therefore next uncouple either hound
And loo them at two hares ere one be found.
Rupert to Beaufort hollo, " Ay there, Rupert! "
Like the fantastic hunting of St. Hubert
When he, with airy hounds and horn of air,
Pursues by Fontainebleau the witchy hare —
Deep providence of state that could so soon
Fight Beaufort here ere he had quit Toulon!
So have I seen, ere human quarrels rise,
Foreboding meteors combat with the skies.
But let the prince to fight with Rumor go;
The gen'ral meets a more substantial foe.
Ruyter he spies, and full of youthful heat,
Though half their number, thinks his odds too great.
The fowler, so, watches the wat'ry spot,
And more the fowl, hopes for the better shot.
Though such a limb were from his navy torn,
He found no weakness yet, like Sampson shorn,
But swoll'n with sense of former glory won,
Thought Monck must be by Albemarle outdone.
Little he knew, with the same arm and sword,
How far the gentleman outcuts the lord.
Ruyter, inferior unto none for heart,
Superior now in number and in art,
Asked if he thought, as once our rebel nation,
To conquer theirs too by a declaration?
And threatens, though he now so proudly sail,
He shall tread back his Iter Boreale .
This said, he the short period, ere it ends,
With iron words from brazen mouths extends.
Monck yet prevents him ere the navies meet
And charges in, himself alone a fleet,
And with so quick and frequent motion wound
His murd'ring sides about, the ship seemed round,
And the exchanges of his circling tire
Like whirling hoops showed of triumphal fire.
Single he does at their whole navy aim
And shoots them through a porcupine of flame.
He plays with danger and his bullets trolls
(As 'twere at trou-madam) through all their holls.
In noise so regular his cannon met
You'd think that thunder were to music set.
Ah, had the rest but kept a time as true,
What age could such a martial consort shew?
The list'ning air unto the distant shore
Through secret pipes conveys the tuned roar,
Till, as the echoes vanishing abate,
Men feel a deaf sound like the pulse of Fate.
If Fate expire, let Monck her place supply:
His guns determine who shall live or die.
But Victory does always hate a rant:
Valor her brave, but Skill is her gallant.
Ruyter no less with virtuous envy burns
And prodigies for miracles returns.
Yet she observed how still his iron balls
Bricoled in vain against our oaken walls,
And the hard pellets fell away as dead,
Which our enchanted timber fillipped.
" Leave then, " said she, " th' invulnerable keel;
We'll find their foible, like Achilles' heel. "
He, quickly taught, pours in continual clouds
Of chained dilemmas through our sinewy shrouds.
Forests of masts fall with their rude embrace;
Our stiff sails, mashed, are netted into lace,
Till our whole navy lay their wanton mark,
Nor any ship could sail but as the Ark.
Shot in the wing, so, at the powder's call
The disappointed bird does flutt'ring fall.
Yet Monck, disabled, still such courage shows
That none into his mortal gripe durst close.
So an old bustard, maimed, yet loth to yield,
Duels the fowler in Newmarket field.
But soon he found 't was now in vain to fight
And imps his plumes the best he may for flight.
This, Painter, were a noble task, to tell
What indignation his great breast did swell
Not virtuous men unworthily abused,
Not constant lovers without cause refused,
Not honest merchant broke, not skillful player
Hissed off the stage, not sinner in despair,
Not losing rooks, not favorites disgraced,
Not Rump by Oliver or Monck displaced,
Not kings deposed, not prelates ere they die,
Feel half the rage of gen'rals when they fly.
Ah, rather than transmit our scorn to fame,
Draw curtains, gentle artist, o'er this shame.
Cashier the mem'ry of Du Tell, raised up
To taste, instead of death's, His Highness' cup.
And if the thing were true, yet paint it not,
How Berkeley (as he long deserved) was shot,
Though others that surveyed the corpse so clear
Say he was only petrified with fear;
And the hard statue, mummied without gum,
Might the Dutch balm have spared and English tomb.
Yet, if thou wilt, paint Myngs turned all to soul,
And the great Harman charked almost to coal,
And Jordan old, thy pencil's worthy pain,
Who all the way held up the ducal train.
But in a dark cloud cover Ayscue when
He quit the Prince t' embark in Lowestein,
And wounded ships, which we immortal boast,
Now first led captive to a hostile coast.
But most with story of his hand or thumb
Conceal (as Honor would) His Grace's bum,
When the rude bullet a large collop tore
Out of that buttock never turned before.
Fortune, it seemed, would give him by that lash
Gentle correction for his fight so rash,
But should the Rump perceiv't, they'd say that Mars
Had now revenged them upon Aumarle's arse.
The long disaster better o'er to veil,
Paint only Jonah three days in the whale,
Then draw the youthful Perseus all in haste
From a sea-beast to free the virgin chaste
(But neither riding Pegasus for speed,
Nor with the Gorgon shielded at his need);
For no less time did conqu'ring Ruyter chaw
Our flying gen'ral in his spongy jaw.
So Rupert the sea dragon did invade,
But to save George himself and not the maid,
And so arriving late, he quickly missed
E'en sails to fly, unable to resist.
Not Greenland seamen, that survive the fright
Of the cold chaos and half-eternal night,
So gladly the returning sun adore
Or run to spy their next year's fleet from shore,
Hoping yet once within the oily side
Of the fat whale again their spears to hide,
As our glad fleet with universal shout
Salute the prince and wish the second bout;
Nor winds, long pris'ners in earth's hollow vault,
The fallow seas so eagerly assault,
As fi'ry Rupert with revengeful joy
Does on the Dutch his hungry courage cloy,
But soon unrigged lay like a useless board
(As wounded in the wrist men drop the sword)
When a propitious cloud betwixt us stepped
And in our aid did Ruyter intercept.
Old Homer yet did never introduce,
To save his heroes, mist of better use.
Worship the sun who dwell where he does rise:
This mist does more deserve our sacrifice.
Now joyful fires and the exalted bell
And court-gazettes our empty triumph tell.
Alas, the time draws near when overturned
The lying bells shall through the tongue be burned;
Paper shall want to print that lie of state,
And our false fires true fires shall expiate.
Stay, Painter, here a while, and I will stay,
Nor vex the future times with nice survey.
Seest not the monkey duchess all undressed?
Paint thou but her, and she will paint the rest.
The sad tale found her in her outer room,
Nailing up hangings not of Persian loom,
Like chaste Penelope that ne'er did roam,
But made all fine against her George came home.
Upon a ladder, in her coat much shorter,
She stood with groom and porter for supporter,
And careless what they saw or what they thought,
With Hony-pensy honestly she wrought.
For in the gen'ral's breech none could, she knows,
Carry away the piece with eyes or nose.
One tenter drove, to lose no time nor place,
At once the ladder they remove, and grace.
While thus they her translate from north to east
In posture just of a four-footed beast,
She heard the news, but altered yet no more
Than that what was behind she turned before,
Nor would come down, but with a handkercher
(Which pocket foul did to her neck prefer)
She dried no tears, for she was too viraginous,
But only snuffling her trunk cartilaginous,
From scaling ladder she began a story
Worthy to be had in memento mori ,
Arraigning past, and present, and futuri ,
With a prophetic (if not spirit) fury.
Her hair began to creep, her belly sound,
Her eyes to startle, and her udder bound.
Half witch, half prophet, thus she-Albemarle,
Like Presbyterian sibyl, out did snarl:
" Traitors both to my lord, and to the king!
Nay, now it grows beyond all suffering!
One valiant man on land, and he must be
Commanded out to stop their leaks at sea.
Yet send him Rupert as a helper meet,
First the command dividing ere the fleet!
One may, if they be beat, or both, be hit,
Or if they overcome, yet honor's split,
But reck'ning George already knocked o' th' head,
They cut him out like beef ere he be dead.
Each for a quarter hopes: the first does skip,
But shall snap short, though at the gen'ralship;
Next, they for Master of the Horse agree;
A third the cockpit begs, not any me.
But they shall know, ay, marry, shall they do,
That who the cockpit has shall have me too.
" I told George first, as Calamy did me,
If the king these brought over, how 'twould be:
Men that there picked his pocket to his face
To sell intelligence or buy a place,
That their religion pawned for clothes, nor care
( " T has run so long) now to redeem 't, nor dare.
O what egregious loyalty to cheat!
O what fidelity it was to eat!
While Langdales, Hoptons, Glenhams starved abroad,
And here true roy'lists sunk beneath the load,
Men that did there affront, defame, betray
The king, and do so here, now who but they?
What, say I men? nay, rather monsters! men
Only in bed, nor to my knowledge then.
See how they home return in revel rout
With the same measures that they first went out:
Nor better grown, nor wiser all this while,
Renew the causes of their first exile,
As if (to show you fools what 'tis I mean)
I chose a foul smock when I might have clean.
" First, they for fear disband the army tame,
And leave good George a general's empty name:
Then bishops must revive and all unfix
With discontents to content twenty-six.
The Lords' House drains the houses of the Lord,
For bishops' voices silencing the Word.
O Barthol'mew, saint of their calendar!
What's worse, thy ejection or thy massacre?
Then Culp'per, Gloucester, ere the princess, died:
Nothing can live that interrupts an Hyde.
O more than human Gloucester! Fate did shew
Thee but to earth, and back again withdrew.
Then the fat scriv'ner durst begin to think
'Twas time to mix the royal blood with ink.
Berkeley, that swore as oft as she had toes,
Does kneeling now her chastity depose,
Just as the first French card'nal could restore
Maidenhead to his widow-niece and whore.
For portion, if she should prove light when weighed,
Four millions shall within three years be paid.
To raise it, we must have a naval war,
As if 'twere nothing but tara-tan-tar!
Abroad, all princes disobliging first,
At home, all parties but the very worst.
To tell of Ireland, Scotland, Dunkirk's sad,
Or the king's marriage, but he thinks I'm mad,
And sweeter creature never saw the sun,
If we the king wished monk, or queen a nun.
But a Dutch war shall all these rumors still,
Bleed out those humors, and our purses spill.
Yet after one day's trembling fight they saw
'Twas too much danger for a son-in-law;
Hire him to leave with six-score thousand pound,
As with the king's drums men for sleep compound.
Then modest Sandwich thought it might agree
With the state prudence to do less than he,
And to excuse their tim'rousness and sloth,
They've found how George might now do less than both.
" First, Smith must for Leghorn, with force enough
To venture back again, but not go through.
Beaufort is there, and to their dazzling eyes
The distance more the object magnifies.
Yet this they gain, that Smith his time shall lose,
And for my duke, too, cannot interpose,
But fearing that our navy, George to break,
Might yet not be sufficiently weak,
The secretary, that had never yet
Intelligence but from his own Gazette ,
Discovers a great secret, fit to sell,
And pays himself for't ere he would it tell:
Beaufort is in the Channel! Hixy, here!
Doxy, Toulon! Beaufort is ev'rywhere!
Herewith assembles the Supreme Divan,
Where enters none but Devil, Ned, and Nan,
And upon this pretence they straight designed
The fleet to sep'rate and the world to blind:
Monck to the Dutch, and Rupert (here the wench
Could not but smile) is destined to the French.
To write the order, Bristol's clerk they chose
(One slit in's pen, another in his nose)
For he first brought the news, and 'tis his place;
He'll see the fleet divided like his face,
And through that cranny in his gristly part
To the Dutch chink intell'gence may start.
" The plot succeeds; the Dutch in haste prepare,
And poor pilgarlic George's arse they share,
And now presuming of his certain wrack,
To help him late they write for Rupert back.
Officious Will seemed fittest, as afraid
Lest George should look too far into his trade.
On the first draught they pause with statesmen's care;
They write it fair, then copy 't out as fair,
Then they compare them, when at last 'tis signed.
Will soon his purse-strings but no seal could find.
At night he sends it by the common post,
To save the king of an express the cost.
Lord, what ado to pack one letter hence!
Some patents pass with less circumference.
" Well, George, in spite of them thou safe dost ride,
Lessened, I hope, in nought but thy backside,
For as to reputation, this retreat
Of thine exceeds their victories so great.
Nor shalt thou stir from thence by my consent,
Till thou hast made the Dutch and them repent.
'Tis true, I want so long the nuptial gift,
But (as I oft have done) I'll make a shift,
Nor with vain pomp will I accost the shore,
To try thy valor at the Buoy of th' Nore.
Fall to thy work there, George, as I do here:
Cherish the valiant up, cowards cashier,
See that the men have pay and beef and beer,
Find out the cheats of the four millioneer.
Out of the very beer they steal the malt,
Powder of powder, from powdered beef the salt.
Put thy hand to the tub; instead of ox,
They victual with French pork that has the pox:
Never such cotqueans by small arts to wring,
Ne'er such ill housewives in the managing.
Pursers at sea know fewer cheats than they;
Mar'ners on shore less madly spend their pay.
See that thou hast new sails thyself and spoil
All their sea market and their cable-coil.
Tell the king all, how him they countermine;
Trust not, till done, him with thy own design.
Look that good chaplains on each ship do wait,
Nor the sea diocese be impropriate.
Look to the pris'ners, sick, and wounded: all
Is prize; they rob even the hospital.
Recover back the prizes, too: in vain
We fight, if all be taken that is ta'en.
" Now by our coast the Dutchmen, like a flight
Of feeding ducks, morning and evening light.
How our land-Hectors tremble, void of sense,
As if they came straight to transport them hence!
Some sheep are stol'n, the kingdom's all arrayed,
And even Presbyt'ry's now called out for aid.
They wish e'en George divided to command,
One half of him the sea and one the land.
" What's that I see? Ha, 'tis my George again!
It seems they in sev'n weeks have rigged him then.
The curious Heav'n with lightning him surrounds
To view him, and his name in thunder sounds,
But with the same shaft gores their navy near
(As, ere we hunt, the keeper shoots the deer).
Stay, Heav'n, a while, and thou shalt see him sail
And how George, too, can lighten, thunder, hail!
Happy the time that I thee wedded George,
The sword of England and of Holland scourge!
Avaunt, Rotterdam dog! Ruyter avaunt!
Thou water rat, thou shark, thou cormorant!
I'll teach thee to shoot scissors! I'll repair
Each rope thou losest, George, out of this hair.
Ere thou shalt lack a sail and lie adrift
('Tis strong and coarse enough) I'll cut this shift.
Bring home the old ones; I again will sew
And darn them up to be as good as new.
What, twice disabled? Never such a thing!
Now, sov'reign, help him that brought in the king.
Guard thy posterior left, lest all be gone:
Though jury-masts, th' hast jury-buttocks none.
Courage! How bravely, whet with this disgrace,
He turns, and bullets spits in Ruyter's face!
They fly, they fly! Their fleet does now divide!
But they discard their Tromp; our trump is Hyde.
" Where are you now, De Ruyter, with your bears?
See how your merchants burn about your ears.
Fire out the wasps, George, from their hollow trees,
Crammed with the honey of our English bees.
Ay, now they're paid for Guinea: ere they steer
To the Gold Coast, they'll find it hotter here.
Turn their ships all to stoves ere they set forth,
To warm their traffic in the frozen north.
Ah, Sandwich! had thy conduct been the same,
Bergen had seen a less but richer flame,
Nor Ruyter lived new battle to repeat
And oft'ner beaten be than we can beat.
" Scarce has George leisure, after all this pain,
To tie his breeches: Ruyter's out again.
Thrice in one year! Why sure the man is wood:
Beat him like stockfish, or he'll ne'er be good.
I see them both prepared again to try:
They first shoot through each other with the eye,
Then — but that ruling Providence that must
With human projects play, as winds with dust,
Raises a storm (so constables a fray
Knock down) and sends them both well-cuffed away.
Plant now Virginian firs in English oak;
Build your ship-ribs proof to the cannon's stroke;
To get a fleet to sea exhaust the land;
Let longing princes pine for the command.
Strong marchpanes! Wafers light! So thin a puff
Of angry air can ruin all that huff.
So champions, having shared the lists and sun,
The judge throws down his warder, and they've done.
For shame, come home, George! 'Tis for thee too much
To fight at once with Heaven and the Dutch.
" Woe's me! what see I next? Alas, the fate
I see of England and its utmost date!
Those flames of theirs at which we fondly smile,
Kindled like torches our sepulchral pile.
War, fire, and plague against us all conspire;
We the war, God the plague, who raised the fire?
See how men all like ghosts, while London burns,
Wander and each over his ashes mourns!
Dear George, sad fate, vain mind, that me didst please
To meet thine with far other flames than these!
Cursed be the man that first begot this war,
In an ill hour, under a blazing star.
For others' sport two nations fight a prize;
Between them both religion wounded lies.
So of first Troy the angry gods unpaid
Razed the foundations which themselves had laid.
" Welcome, though late, dear George! Here hadst thou been,
We'd 'scap'd. Let Rupert bring the navy in.
Thou still must help them out when in the mire,
Gen'ral at land, at sea, at plague, at fire.
Now thou art gone, see, Beaufort dares approach,
And our whole fleet angling has catched a roach. "
Gibson, farewell, till next we put to sea:
Faith thou hast drawn her in effigie.

To the King

Great prince, and so much greater as more wise,
Sweet as our life, and dearer than our eyes,
What servants will conceal and couns'lers spare
To tell, the painter and the poet dare;
And the assistance of a heav'nly Muse
And pencil represents the crimes abstruse.
Here needs no sword, no fleet, no foreign foe:
Only let vice be damn'd and justice flow.
Shake but like Jove thy locks divine and frown —
Thy sceptre will suffice to guard thy crown.
Hark to Cassandra's song ere Fate destroy,
By thy own navy's wooden horse, thy Troy.
Us our Apollo from the tumult's wave
And gentle gales, though but in oars, will save.
So Philomel her sad embroid'ry strung,
And vocal silks tuned with her needle's tongue.
The picture dumb in colors loud revealed
The tragedies of court so long concealed
But when restored to voice, increased with wings,
To woods and groves, what once she painted, sings.