Classic Poem

Ruyter the while, that had our Ocean curb'd,
Sail'd now among our Rivers undisturb'd:
Survey'd their Crystal Streams, and Banks so green,
And Beauties ere this never naked seen.
Through the vain sedge the bashful Nymphs he ey'd;
Bosomes, and all which from themselves they hide.
The Sun much brighter, and the Skies more clear,
He finds the Air, and all things sweeter here.
The sudden change, and such a tempting sight,
Swells his old Veins with fresh Blood, fresh Delight.
Like am'rous Victors he begins to shave,
And his new Face looks in the English Wave.
His sporting Navy all about him swim,
And witness their complaisence in their trim.
Their streaming Silks play through the weather fair,
And with inveigling Colours Court the Air.
While the red Flags breathe on their Top-masts high
Terrour and War, but want an Enemy.
Among the Shrowds the Seamen sit and sing,
And wanton Boys on every Rope do cling.
Old Neptune springs the Tydes, and Water lent:
(The Gods themselves do help the provident.)
And, where the deep Keel on the shallow cleaves,
With Trident's Leaver, and great Shoulder heaves.
AEolus their Sails inspires with Eastern Wind,
Puffs them along, and breathes upon them kind.
With Pearly Shell the Tritons all the while
Sound the Sea-march, and guide to Sheppy Isle.

So have I seen, in April's bud, arise
A Fleet of Clouds, sailing along the Skies:
The liquid Region with their Squadrons fill'd,
The airy Sterns the Sun behind does guild;
And gentle Gales them steer, and Heaven drives,
When, all on sudden, their calm bosome rives
With Thunder and Lightning from each armed Cloud;
Shepherds themselves in vain in bushes shrowd.
Such up the stream the Belgick Navy glides,
And at Sheerness unloads it stormy sides.

There our sick Ships unrigg'd in Summer lay,
Like molting Fowl, a weak and easie Prey.
For whose strong bulk Earth scarce could Timber find,
The Ocean Water, or the Heavens Wind.
Those Oaken Gyants of the ancient Race,
That rul'd all Seas, and did our Channel grace.
The conscious Stag, so once the Forests dread,
Flies to the Wood, and hides his armless Head.
Ruyter forthwith a Squadron does untack,
They sail securely through the Rivers track.
And English Pilot too, (O Shame, O Sin!)
Cheated of Pay, was he that show'd them in.