The prestmen wel mingl’d with stout voluntiers Did drink away dolor and fight away fears: Our small shot did stand to’t with valiant desire, Their guns spit and sparkl’d like bay-leaves in fire; Our cannons did roare They sunk and they tore, Thousands that heard them will nere hear them more. It is better far in a good cause to dye, Then with a bad conscience to live great and high: And in acts of honour there’s no better thing, Then dye a true martyr for God and the King. Our White and Red squadrons Du Ruiter engag’d Five hours, till at last his fierce fury aswaged, He fought as if he had been Mars his own son, From ten in the morning, till three afternoon. Our Red and our White Did dazel his sight, They made him to turn and to run away quite, For no other reason as some men suppose But courage did fall from his heart to his hose: Though bad men seek victory, and think to win it, It never will prosper, if God be not in it. Our frigots persued him, our canons did roare, Until they were come within two miles of shore: Our great ships persu’d, and continu’d the slaughter, So far till they were within six fathom water: They durst not look back, To see what we lack, But posting for life, to their harbors they tack; Their flags being struck, and not set up again, ’Tis thought that Van Trump and Du Ruiter is slain. He that doth protect us, will save us from evil, In spight of the Dutch, the Dane, or the Devil. Besides all the damage our shipping hath done To vessels and men, in their fight, and their run, Two very stout ships we have taken and fir’d, And in them five hundred and ninety men tyr’d, With tugging for that, They cannot get at To make England stoop to their pittyful state; When slaves are turn’d princes, no tyrant so evil, When beggers are mounted, they ride to the Devil, No souls so insulting as such sordid slaves, As climb to preferment on honest mens graves. Our gen’rals and navy, are all safe and sound, The Prince and the Duke have our foes in the pound; They in their own harbors are pris’ners at ease, The King of Great Brittain commands where he please. We ride on the ocean, And waite for the motion, To venter again they have no great devotion. Had they not crept in, they’d been burnt to a cinder And Holland by this time, had been turn’d to tinder. God bless King and Queen, with the Duke and all such, As are friends to Great Brittain, and foes to the Dutch. _A NEW BALLAD OF A FAMOUS GERMAN PRINCE AND A RENOWNED ENGLISH DUKE._