134 This lucky hour the wise Batavian takes, And warns his tatter'd fleet to follow home; Proud to have so got off with equal stakes, Where 'twas a triumph not to be o'ercome. 135 The general's force, as kept alive by fight, Now not opposed, no longer can pursue: Lasting till heaven had done his courage right; When he had conquer'd he his weakness knew. 136 He casts a frown on the departing foe, And sighs to see him quit the watery field: His stern fix'd eyes no satisfaction show, For all the glories which the fight did yield. 137 Though, as when fiends did miracles avow, He stands confess'd e'en by the boastful Dutch: He only does his conquest disavow, And thinks too little what they found too much. 138 Return'd, he with the fleet resolved to stay; No tender thoughts of home his heart divide; Domestic joys and cares he puts away; For realms are households which the great must guide. 139 As those who unripe veins in mines explore, On the rich bed again the warm turf lay, Till time digests the yet imperfect ore, And know it will be gold another day: 140 So looks our monarch on this early fight, Th' essay and rudiments of great success; Which all-maturing time must bring to light, While he, like Heaven, does each day's labour bless. 141 Heaven ended not the first or second day, Yet each was perfect to the work design'd; God and king's work, when they their work survey, A passive aptness in all subjects find. 142 In burden'd vessels first, with speedy care, His plenteous stores do seasoned timber send; Thither the brawny carpenters repair, And as the surgeons of maim'd ships attend. 143 With cord and canvas from rich Hamburgh sent, His navy's molted wings he imps once more: Tall Norway fir, their masts in battle spent, And English oak, sprung leaks and planks restore. 144 All hands employ'd, the royal work grows warm: Like labouring bees on a long summer's day, Some sound the trumpet for the rest to swarm. And some on bells of tasted lilies play. 145 With gluey wax some new foundations lay Of virgin-combs, which from the roof are hung: Some arm'd, within doors upon duty stay, Or tend the sick, or educate the young. 146 So here some pick out bullets from the sides, Some drive old oakum through each seam and rift: Their left hand does the calking-iron guide, The rattling mallet with the right they lift. 147 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.