As needy gallants in the scrivener's hands, Court the rich knave that gripes their mortgaged lands, The first fat buck of all the season's sent, And keeper takes no fee in compliment: The dotage of some Englishmen is such, To fawn on those who ruin them--the Dutch. They shall have all, rather than make a war With those who of the same religion are. The Straits, the Guinea trade, the herrings too, Nay, to keep friendship, they shall pickle you. 10 Some are resolved not to find out the cheat, But, cuckold-like, love him who does the feat: What injuries soe'er upon us fall, Yet, still the same religion answers all: Religion wheedled you to civil war, Drew English blood, and Dutchmen's now would spare: Be gull'd no longer, for you'll find it true, They have no more religion, faith--than you; Interest's the god they worship in their state; And you, I take it, have not much of that. 20 Well, monarchies may own religion's name, But states are atheists in their very frame. They share a sin, and such proportions fall, That, like a stink, 'tis nothing to them all. How they love England, you shall see this day; No map shows Holland truer than our play: Their pictures and inscriptions well we know; We may be bold one medal sure to show. View then their falsehoods, rapine, cruelty; And think what once they were, they still would he: 30 But hope not either language, plot, or art; 'Twas writ in haste, but with an English heart: And least hope wit; in Dutchmen that would be As much improper, as would honesty. * * * * * FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 46: 'Amboyna:' a play written against the Dutch.] * * * * * XII. EPILOGUE TO AMBOYNA. A Poet once the Spartans led to fight, And made them conquer in the muse's right; So would our poet lead you on this day, Showing your tortured fathers in his play. To one well born the affront is worse, and more, When he's abused 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 set them free, Only from honour and civility. Venetians do not more uncouthly ride, Than did their lubber state mankind bestride; Their sway became them with as ill a mien, As their own paunches swell above their chin: Yet is their empire no true growth, but humour, And only two kings' touch can cure the tumour. As Cato did his Afric fruits display, So we before your eyes their Indies lay: All loyal English will, like him, conclude, Let Cæsar live, and Carthage be subdued! * * * * * XIII. PROLOGUE. SPOKEN AT THE OPENING OF THE NEW HOUSE, MARCH 26, 1674.