Classic Poem

The Dutch may now have Fishing free,
 And, whilst the Consternation lasts,
Like the proud Rulers of the Sea,
 Shew the full stature of their Masts;
Our English Neptune , deaf to all Alarms,
Now soundly sleeps in Deaths cold Arms,
And on his Ebon Altar has laid down
His awful Trident, and his Naval Crown.
 No more shall the tall Frigat dance
For joy she carrys this Victorious Lord,
 Who to the Capstain chain'd Mischance,
 Commanding on her lofty board.
 The Sea it self, that is all tears,
 Would weep her soundless Channel dry,
 Had she unhappily but Ears,
 To hear that Ossory could dye.
Ah, cruel Fate, thou never struck'st a blow.
 By all Mankind regretted so;
Nor can 't be said who should lament him most,
No Country such a Patriot e're could boast,
And never Monarch such a Subject lost.