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While each from other in their churches vary,
And every sin there finds a sanctuary.
But yet, of all religions, they can't lett
Their people all turn Turks, lest Mahomet
The juicy grape might banish from their land,
And all their courage spoyle by one command :
Thus should they loose their wine and valour too,
And of themselves might make that maxime true
Which Bellarmine of Christians falsly spake,
That their religion did them cowards make.
But artificiall strenth can't now suffice,
W’have conquer'd them and made their wine our prize :
Victorious ore their courage, some are slaine,
And those escap'd dare not appear again.
Well did our learned Platonists prefix
Wondrous events to the year of sixty-six,
And now the world's climaterick fear,-
But sure I am 'tis no Platonick year.
For nere was itt, nor nere again must bee
A parellell to this grand victory.
And now th' amazed world at last must find
England to be the empire of mankind;
For when that nature did us first divide,
From all the vaster parts of earth beside,
What did she then intend us for to bee,
But as the greater world's epitome,
And that no forraign power beyond the sea
Should ere the British prowess oversway?
'Tis mighty Charles can dread and terror spake,
And with his nod at once three kingdoms shake;

The world's and faith's defender, and if wee
Admitt a god to rule the seas, 'tis hee.

Let him send forth blasts of his breath each way,
More powerfull than the blustering winds, the sea
Shall belch and vomitt out its precious foame,
And send it for a present to his home,
While storms and tempests rays'd about the maine
Shake down the clouds, and make them fall in raine,
Clere watery mountains, rowling ore and ore,
Hastening for to embrace trembling shore,
Shall undermine those hills whose heads are high
Involv'd in clouds and swimming in the sky.

can he make the ocean overflown,
Deluge whole kingdoms to enlarge his own;
Or let him smile, and dart a glorious ray
To guild those places which rere knew the day,
Their cristall rocks of ice shall disappear,
Hastening to melt, and run away for fear;
The frozen ocean lock'd att lenth shall bee,
And know no bounds when he has made it free.

Then let us all awhile astonish'd stand
To see such wonders wrought by sea and land.
Yet but a mortall pow'r who onely can
Doe less than Gods, and yet far more then man:
Then henceforth let these two in one agree,
And hee nor god nor man but both shall bee.

Finis. Fran. MUNDY, Jun. Fellow of New Coledge.



This is taken from a broadside in the British Museum. It appears to be a modern version of an old ballad by Martin Parker, entitled

Saylers for my Money ;” a copy of which is in the Pepysian Collection. In Ritson's “ English Songs,” vol. ii. p. 130, there is a much longer version of the present ballad.-E. F. R.

You gentlemen of England

Who live at home at ease,
How little do


On the dangers of the seas ;
While pleasure does surround you,

Our cares you cannot know,
Or the pain on the main,

When the stormy winds do blow.
Or the pain &c.

The sailor must have courage,

No danger he must shun;
In every kind of weather

His course he still must run :
Now mounted on the top-mast,

How dreadful 'tis below.
Then we ride as the tide,

When the stormy winds do blow.

Proud France again insulting

Does British valour dare,
Our flag we must support now

And thunder in the war:

To humble them come on lads,

And lay their lillies low, Clear the way, for the fray,

Tho' the stormy winds do blow.

Old Neptune shakes his trident,

The billows mount on high; Their shells the tritons sounding,

The flashing lightenings fly: The wat’ry grave now opens

All dreadful from below, When the waves move the seas,

And the stormy winds do blow.

But when the danger's over,

And safe we come on shore; The horrors of the tempest,

We think of then no more; The flowing bowl invites us,

And joyfully we go, All the day drink away,

Tho' the stormy winds do blow.


From “ Wit and Drollery,” 12mo. Lond. 1656.

WE seamen are the bonny boyes,

That feare no stormes nor rocks-a;
Whose musick is the canon's noise,

Whose sporting is with knocks-a.

Mars has no children of his owne,

But we that fight on land-a ;
Land-soldiers kingdomes up have blowne,

Yet they unshaken stand-a.

'Tis brave to see a tall ship saile,

With all her trim gear on-a ;
As though the devill were in her taile,

She for the winde will run-a.

Our maine battalia when it moves,

There's no such glorious thing-a;
Where leaders, like so many Joves,

Abroad their thunder fling-a.

Come let us reckon what ships are our's,

The Gorgon and the Dragon ;
The Lyon that in fight is bold,

The Bull with bloody flag on.

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