Some are refolv'd not to find out the cheat,

But, cuckold-like, love them that do the feat.

What injuries foe'er upon us fall,

Yet ftil the fame religion anfwers all.

Religion wheedled us to civil war,

Drew English blood, and Dutchmen's now would fpare.
Be gull'd no longer; for you'll find it true,
They have no more religion, faith! than you.
Intereft's the god they worship in their state,
And we, I take it, have not much of that.
Well monarchies may own religion's name,
But states are atheists in their very frame.
They fhare a fin; and fuch proportions fall,
That, like a stink, 'tis nothing to them all.
Think on their rapine, falfhood, cruelty,

And that what once they were, they still would be.
To one well-born th' affront is worfe and more,
When he's abus'd and baffled by a boor.
With an ill grace the Dutch their mischiefs do;
They 've both ill nature and ill manners too.
Well may they boast themselves an ancient nation
For they were bred ere manners were in fashion:
And their new commonwealth has fet them free
Only from honour and civility.

Venetians do not more uncouthly ride,

Than did their lubber ftate mankind beftride.
Their fway became them with as ill a mien,
As their own paunches fwell above their chin.
Yet is their empire no true growth but humour,
And only two kings' touch can cure the tumour.

As

As Cato, fruits of Afric did display;
Let us before our eyes their Indies lay:
All loyal English will like him conclude;
Let Cæfar live, and Carthage be fubdued.

To her Royal Highnefs the DUTCHESS of YORK, on the memorable Victory gained by the DUKE over the HOLLANDERS, June the 3d, 1665. and on her Journey afterwards into the North.

MADAM,

WHEN, for our fakes, your hero you refign'd

To fwelling feas, and every faithlefs wind;

When you releas'd his courage, and set free

A valour fatal to the enemy;

You lodg'd your country's cares within your breaft
(The manfion where foft love fhould only reft:
And, ere our foes abroad were overcome,

The nobleft conqueft you had gain'd at home.
Ah, what concerns did both your fouls divide!
Your honour gave us what your love denied:
And 'twas for him much easier to fubdue
Thofe foes he fought with, than to part from you.
That glorious day, which two fuch navies faw,
As each unmatch'd might to the world give law.
Neptune, yet doubtful whom he should obey,
Held to them both the trident of the fea :

The winds were hufh'd, the waves in ranks were caft,
As awfully as when God's people past :

.

Thofe,

Thofe, yet uncertain on whofe fails to blow,

These, where the wealth of nations ought to flow.
Then with the duke your highness rul'd the day :
While all the brave did his command obey,
The fair and pious under you did pray.

How powerful are chafte vows! the wind and tide
You brib'd to combat on the English fide.
Thus to your much-lov'd lord you did convey
An unknown fuccour, fent the nearest way.
New vigour to his wearied arms you brought,
(So Mofes was upheld while Ifrael fought)
While, from afar, we heard the cannon play,
Like diftant thunder on a fhiny day.

For abfent friends we were afham'd to fear,
When we confider'd what you ventur'd there.
Ships, men, and arms, our country might reftore
But fuch a leader could fupply no more.
With generous thoughts of conqueft he did burn,
Yet fought not more to vanquish than return.
Fortune and victory he did pursue,

To bring them as his flaves to wait on you.
Thus beauty ravish'd the rewards of fame,
And the fair triumph'd when the brave o'ercame.
Then, as you meant to spread another way
By land your conquefts, far as his by fea,
Leaving our fouthern clime, you march'd along
The ftubborn North, ten thoufand Cupids ftrong.
Like commons the nobility refort,

In crowding heaps, to fill your moving court:

To

To welcome your approach the vulgar run,
Like fome new envoy from the distant sun,
And country beauties by their lovers go,
Bleffing themselves, and wondering at the show.
So when the new-born Phoenix firft is seen,
Her feather'd fubjects all adore their queen,
And while fhe makes her progrefs through the East,
From every grove her numerous train's increas'd:
Each Poet of the air her glory fings,

And round him the pleas'd audience clap their wings.

A N

ANNUS MIRABILIS:

THE

YEAR OF WONDERS,

MDCLXVI.

AN HISTORICAL POEM.