So here some pick out bullets from the sides,
Some drive old oakum through each seam and rift:
Their left hand does the caulking iron guide,
The rattling mallet with the right they lift.

With boiling pitch another near at hand,

From friendly Sweden brought, the seams instops: Which, well paid o'er, the salt sea waves withstand, And shakes them from the rising beak in drops.

Some the gall'd ropes with dawby marline bind
Or sear-cloth masts with strong tarpawling coats:
To try new shrouds one mounts into the wind,
And one below their ease or stiffness notes.

Our careful monarch stands in person by,

His new-cast cannons' firmness to explore:
The strength of big-corn'd powder loves to try,
And ball and cartridge sorts for every bore.

Each day brings fresh supplies of arms and men,
And ships. which all last winter were abroad;
And such as fitted since the fight had been,
Or new from stocks, were fall'n into the road.

The goodly London in her gallant trim,

The Phenix, daughter of the vanish'd old, Like a rich bride does to the ocean swim, And on her shadow rides in floating gold.

Her flag aloft spread ruffling to the wind,

And sanguine streamers seem the flood to fire: The weaver, charm'd with what his loom design'd, Goes on to sea, and knows not to retire.

With roomy decks, her guns of mighty strength, Whose low-laid mouths each mounting billow

laves:

Deep in her draught, and warlike in her length,
She seems a sea-wasp flying on the waves.

This martial present, piously design'd,

The loyal city give their best-lov'd king: And with a bounty ample as the wind,

Built, fitted, and maintain’d, to aid him bring.

By viewing Nature, Nature's handmaid, Art, Makes mighty things from small beginnings grow: Thus fishes first to shipping did impart,

Their tail the rudder, and their head the prow.

Some log perhaps upon the waters swam,
An useless drift, which, rudely cut within,
And hollow'd first, a floating trough became,
And cross some rivulet passage did begin.

In shipping such as this, the Irish kern,

And untaught Indian on the stream did glide : Ere sharp-keel'd boats to stem the flood did learn, Or fin-like oars did spread from either side.

Add but a sail, and Saturn so appear'd,
When from lost empire he to exile went,
And with the golden age to Tyber steer'd,
Where coin and commerce first he did invent.

Rude as their ships was navigation then ;

No useful compass or meridian known; Coasting, they kept the land within their ken,

And knew no north but when the Pole-star shone.

Of all who since have us'd the open sea,

Than the bold English none more fame have won: Beyond the year, and out of Heaven's high way, They make discoveries where they see no Sun.

But what so long in vain, and yet unknown,
By poor mankind's benighted wit is sought,
Shall in this age to Britain first be shown,
And hence be to admiring nations taught.

The ebbs of tides and their mysterious flow,
We, as Art's elements, shall understand,
And as by line upon the ocean go,

Whose paths shall be familiar as the land.

Instructed ships shall sail to quick commerce,
By which remotest regions are ally'd;
Which makes one city of the universe,

Where some may gain, and all may be supply'd.

Then we upon our globe's last verge shall go,
And view the ocean leaning on the sky :
From thence our rolling neighbours we shall know,
And on the lunar world securely pry.

This I foretell from your auspicious care,

Who great in search of God and Nature grow; Who best your wise Creator's praise declare, Since best to praise his works is best to know.

O truly royal! who behold the law

And rule of beings in your Maker's mind:
And thence, like limbecs, rich ideas draw,
To fit the levell'd use of human kind.

But first the toils of war we must endure,

And from th' injurious Dutch redeem the seas: War makes the valiant of his right secure, And gives up fraud to be chastis'd with ease.

Already were the Belgians on our coast,

Whose fleet more mighty every day became By late success, which they did falsely boast, And now by first appearing seem'd to claim.

Designing, subtle, diligent, and close,

They knew to manage war with wise delay: Yet all those arts their vanity did cross,

And by their pride their prudence did betray.

Nor staid the English long; but well supply'd,
Appear as numerous as th' insulting foe:
The combat now by courage must be try'd,
And the success the braver nation show.

There was the Plymouth squadron now come in, Which in the Straits last winter was abroad; Which twice on Biscay's working bay had been, And on the midland sea the French had aw'd.

Old expert Allen, loyal all along,

Fam'd for his action on the Smyrna fleet :
And Holmes, whose name shall live in epic song,
While music numbers, or while verse has feet.

Holmes, the Achates of the general's fight;
Who first bewitch'd our eyes with Guinea gold:
As once old Cato in the Roman sight

The tempting fruits of Afric did unfold.

With him went Sprag, as bountiful as brave,
Whom his high courage to command had brought:
Harman, who did the twice-fir'd Harry save,
And in his burning ship undaunted fought.

Young Hollis on a Muse by Mars begot,
Born, Cæsar like, to write and act great deeds:
Impatient to revenge his fatal shot,

His right hand doubly to his left succeeds.

Thousands were there in darker fame that dwell, Whose deeds some nobler poem shall adorn : And though to me unknown, they sure fought well, Whom Rupert led, and who were British born.

Of every size an hundred fighting sail :

So vast the navy now at anchor rides, That underneath it the press'd waters fail,

And with its weight it shoulders off the tides.

Now, anchors weigh'd, the seamen shout so shrill, That Heaven and Earth and the wide Ocean

rings :

A breeze from westward waits their sails to fill,
And rests in those high beds his downy wings.

The wary Dutch this gathering storm foresaw,
And durst not bide it on the English coast:
Behind their treacherous shallows they withdraw,
And there lay snares to catch the British host.

So the false spider, when her nets are spread,
Deep ambush'd in her silent den does lie:
And feels far off the trembling of her thread,
Whose filmy cord should bind the struggling fly,