77 He said, nor needed more to say: with haste To their known stations cheerfully they go; And all at once, disdaining to be last, Solicit every gale to meet the foe. 78 Nor did the encouraged Belgians long delay, But bold in others, not themselves, they stood: So thick, our navy scarce could steer their way, But seem'd to wander in a moving wood. 79 Our little fleet was now engaged so far, That, like the sword-fish in the whale, they fought: The combat only seem'd a civil war, Till through their bowels we our passage wrought. 80 Never had valour, no not ours, before Done aught like this upon the land or main, Where not to be o'ercome was to do more Than all the conquests former kings did gain. 81 The mighty ghosts of our great Harries rose, And armed Edwards look'd with anxious eyes, To see this fleet among unequal foes, By which fate promised them their Charles should rise. 82 Meantime the Belgians tack upon our rear, And raking chase-guns through our sterns they send: Close by their fire ships, like jackals appear Who on their lions for the prey attend. 83 Silent in smoke of cannon they come on: Such vapours once did fiery Cacus[42] hide: In these the height of pleased revenge is shown, Who burn contented by another's side. 84 Sometimes from fighting squadrons of each fleet, Deceived themselves, or to preserve some friend, Two grappling Ætnas on the ocean meet, And English fires with Belgian flames contend. 85 Now at each tack our little fleet grows less; And like maim'd fowl, swim lagging on the main: Their greater loss their numbers scarce confess, While they lose cheaper than the English gain. 86 Have you not seen, when, whistled from the fist, Some falcon stoops at what her eye design'd, And, with her eagerness the quarry miss'd, Straight flies at check, and clips it down the wind. 87 The dastard crow that to the wood made wing, And sees the groves no shelter can afford, With her loud caws her craven kind does bring, Who, safe in numbers, cuff the noble bird. 88 Among the Dutch thus Albemarle[43] did fare: He could not conquer, and disdain'd to fly; Past hope of safety, 'twas his latest care, Like falling Cæsar, decently to die. 89 Yet pity did his manly spirit move, To see those perish who so well had fought; And generously with his despair he strove, Resolved to live till he their safety wrought. 90 Let other muses write his prosperous fate, Of conquer'd nations tell, and kings restored; But mine shall sing of his eclipsed estate, Which, like the sun's, more wonders does afford.