An essay, or, A narrative of the two great fights at sea between the English and the Dutch, on the 1, 2, 3 and 4 of June, and on the 25 and 26 of July in the year of our Lord 1666

An ESSAY: OR, A NARRATIVE OF THE Two Great FIGHTS at SEA BETWEEN The ENGLISH and the DUTCH, on the 1, 2, 3, and 4. of June, and on the 25. and 26. of July, in the Year of our LORD 1666.

BE Calm ye Seas, Let a deep Silence creep O're all your Waves, and Lull the Winds asleep: Stand and admire the Greatness of each Fleet; Wonders expect, when such Great Navies meet; Where Conduct, and where Courage on each Side Command, and Act, and both in Triumph Ride. Where the sole Rule of the vast Ocean lies, At stake, and must become the Victors Prize. English and Dutch strugling at once to be Lords of the World, if Conquerours at Sea.

The Dutch Inrag'd with the last Summer's Blow, Resolv'd now to Revenge that Overthrow; And what they 'ld then have shun'd by secret Flight, They now Seek out, and Eager are to Fight. Flesht with the Princes Absence, who they hear'd, Off from our Fleet, 'bove Twenty Sail had steer'd, Found an Occasion better then they Sought, And were e'en Proud with Conquest e're they Fought.

So Cowards, when Advantage gives them Way, Dream nothing but to Conquer, Kill, and Slay.

The English (whom great Numbers never Daunt) Made up with Valour, what in Ships they want. Valour, Which in each English Brest dares more, Then Crowds of Dutch at Sea, or French on Shore. They scarce Discover'd where the Dutch Fleet lay, But were more Eager of the Fight, then They, More Full with Courage, then their Sails with Wind, Flew as they 'ld leave the Winds themselves behind, And as they Sail'd, loud Shouts of Conquest sent, To tell their Foes, that They their Ruine meant. Thinking their Ships yet still to Conquest Slowe, Breath'd as they went Destruction to their Foe.

The Sun now past his Height, the Fleets Ingage, Both Sides Resolv'd to Act th' Extreams of Rage. From the Ships sides the Dreadful Canons Rore, And on each hand Amaze the trembling Shore; And Rocks, and Shelves, with such Convulsions shook, As if they 'd been with some strange Earth-quake strook. Some ready are to Kill, and some to Dye, And Arms and Legs as well as Bullets Fly. Dark Clouds of Smoak arise, and Interpose 'Twixt Heav'n and Them, as if asham'd t' Expose To Heav'n a Sight so dreadful, or the Sun Should be Spectactor, whilst such Muscheif's done. The Seas and Winds both angry grow, and Swell, To see the Rage of Men should theirs Excell; Or to appear more Merciful then They, Strive by their Fury to appease this Fray: But all in vain. Too Res'lute are the Foes, The Battle hotter, and still hotter Grows. And now Ships all on Fire from each side are Sent, to Destroy what Bullets seem to spare.

Mean while the Duke (Brave Soul!) as Good as Great For others Safety did his own Forget; And midst a Crowd of Dangers did Out-do Souldier, and Seaman, and a General too.

His Tongue Directions gave, and his Own Hand Was still the First to Act his own Command. His Men (who knew farr better how to Dye, Then Coward-like, either to Yield or Fly.) Fought as they meant their Death (too slow) to Meet. Such was the Valour of our English Fleet.

The Enemy (whose Daring Humours Spring, Not from their Cause, but Numbers which they bring) Like the Great Turk, with Multitudes Oppress, These, and their Brandy, make them hope Success. Success, which on each Party Doubtful stood, Favour'd not Us, although Our Cause was Good; Nor Them, though fresh Recruits from Shore are sent At once their Strength and Courage to Augment. But both the Fleets still Fight, and still Persue Amazed Vict'ry, whilst from Each she Flew.

Two Days and Half the Fight still Greater Grows, Wounds are Return'd for Wounds, and Blows for Blows. At last the News (almost too slow) o'retook The Active Prince, who with Amazement shook. The Duke Ingag'd, and He not there? O Shame! What should He Do? Where should He lay the Blame? Through the Rough Seas He Cuts his Speedy Way, And Fears no Dangers now, but in Delay: Quarrels with Winds and Seas, as if too slow To make him fall Reveng'd upon the Foe. Spreads all his Sayls, uses all Art, that might Hast Him, if not to Conquer, yet to Fight. So Great his Valour is, so strangely High, It Dangers Courts, as well as Victorie; Dangers as Thick and Great, as Fire, and Sword, And Guns, and Rage of En'mies can afford: Nor Values he his Life, or Limbs, or Blood, Servants to 's Honour, and his Countries Good. Impatient, till he had at last Espy'd Where both the Fleets (almost quite Tir'd) Ride. Love and Revenge tells him He's now too Slow, Love to the Duke, Revenge upon the Foe.

Up then He bears, and swift as Thought he Flies To help the Duke, and Fight his Enemies.

He Came, He Saw, and had He Conquest wonne, He had done more then Caesar e're had done; Whose mighty Triumphs were o're Trembling Spears, Men void of Courage, and possest with Fears; Not over Guns, which Ships in pieces rent, Plow'd up the Seas, and shook the Firmament; Not over bold Batavians us'd to Toyl To Deaths, and Dangers, and to Rape, and Spoyl.

The Night draws on, Darkness both sides Releives, And Strength, and Courage, to each Navy Gives. To Act next Day the dreadful'st Scaene the Sun, And Seas e're saw since first the World begun.

The English Valour Watchful as the Morn Broke out next Day, as soon as Light was Born. Like sleepy Lyons rows'd, they rage, and rave, Nought but a Fighting Enemy they crave; Whom at a distance they at last Descry More ready to Engage again, then Fly. Proud with the sight their Squadrons up they drew, And hotter then before the Fight renew; So wondrous hot, you 'ld think the Day of Doome Was not to be Hereafter, but now Come. Such Lightnings were, such Thunders, and such Clouds, Death so Triumphant 'midst the wounded Crowds. The Sea with floating Carkasses so spread, As if it were Now to Give up its Dead. Destructive Balls from Fleet to Fleet are shot, Danger and Safety are by both forgot. Revenge and Honour make them both out-dare Those who snatch up a Courage from Despair.

Thus they continue, till the Dutch at last All Fighting, as all Hopes of Conquest past, To their own Coasts in great Confusion flee, Leaving us Masters of the Conquer'd Sea. Got Home, (as they are wont) they proudly Boast, And Brag, that We, not They, the Day had lost:

Through the wide World they strait disperse their Lyes: If they can't Get, they can Make Victories.

Mean while all Art, and speed, are by each side To Cure the Wounded Men and Ships apply'd. Fresh Men and Ships are sent from off each shore, To make up what the Fight destroy'd before.

The Dutch more hasty, then successful prove, And from their Coasts the New-Rigg'd Squadrons move, Men fill their Ships, Brandy and Pride their Men, Both fitted out to be Destroy'd agen. The Seas now clear of Foes, they venture o're, And leave their Own for a more fatal shore. Towards the English Coast with speed they made, Threatning, but yet not Daring to Invade; Where for a while they Rant and Domineer, Because they saw no Enemy Appear.

Our Fleet (which Care, not want of Courage stay'd) At last Hoyst up their Sails, and Anchors weigh'd. Towards their vap'ring Foes they make their way, And nothing fear'd, but that they would not stay. But stay they did, and when they saw our Fleet Resolv'd their Fate not to avoid, but meet. Both much alike in strength: The Difference was Ours had more Valour, and the better Cause.

Both now make out to Sea once more to try Which should or win, or loose the Victory. The Squadrons Ranged in Battalio stand, Ready to Act each Admiral's Command. And now the Sign is given, and Fight begun, Death and Destruction through both Navies run; All Instruments, all Arts of Ruine now Are us'd to work each others Overthrow; The fatal Bullets Ships and Men do wound, And scatter'd Limbs of both on Seas are found. Both Fire, and Sword, Noyse and Confusion Rage, Whilst Men with Men, and Ships with Ships Engage.

The Tyde now turns: The Courage of our Foe Begins to Ebb, ours more and more to Flow.

Two of their Squadrons Tack, and bid adieu To Vict'ry, Ours both It and Them Pursue. The Third (though Strength and Courage both abate,) Struggle yet still with their prevailing Fate. Safety at last alone in Flight they find, Leaving both Foes and Victory behind; Their Sails now full with Wind, themselves with fear, To their own Coast their flying Ships they steer. Where the Remainders of their Squadrons lay Shatter'd, and in as great Distress as they, Beholding to their Sands and Shelves to save, What else we'd then have had, and yet may have: Whilst Ours on their own Coast in Triumph Raign Victors o're them, and o're the Conquer'd Main.

Heav'n saw our Cause was Just, and was our Guide, Taught us to Fight, and to O'recome beside: And will in time teach the proud Dutch to know That Those who rais'd them High, can lay them Low.

FINIS.