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ON ROBERT BLAKE
The civick, murall, and the navall crown
He has deserv'd, all due to his renown.
In peace he was a Seneca, in war
He out-did Mars, still prov'd a conqueror.
No chamber-musick squeaking in the night,
Nor noyce of vialls did him much delight;
The deep-mouth'd canons thundring in his eares
Was unto him the musick of the spheres :
Those bore the base, the whistling bullets they
Made up the treble on a fighting day ;
Small shot division play'd, whose nimble motion
Made many a soul drink up a sleepy potion :
This was the musick most did cheer his spirit,
And made him justly so much prayse to merit.
His noble, lively, active, vigorous fire
Ne're quencht in him untill he did expire.
Oh ! how my soul bemones my countryes losse,
Her onely genius gone ; oh ! 'tis a crosse
Beyond compare, now hardly felt, but when'
Our sins a war on us shall bring agen,
Who then shall stand i' th' gap ? His noble arme
Did quail our home-bred, forreign foes disarme.
May those succeed Elisha-like inherit
A double portion of Elijah's spirit.
The Hollander in bloudy lines can write
What harms he did them by the God of might;
The Portigalls, as every one doth know,
Their peace, their plenty, and their traffique owe
Unto his worth, when Rupert he was fain
To face about and get him home again ;
Loth to appear with his poor glow-worm light
When such a sun as this appear'd in sight.
The barbarous pirates upon Tunis strand
Felt the effects of his revenging hand.
The Spaniards lately fear'd the name of Blake,
As once their children did the name of Drake.
What shall I say? his last attempt so bold
At the Canaries, it cannot be told
Unto its worth ; that done with gallantry
He makes his exit with a plaudite;
And having done to Spaine abundant harms,
Comes home in peace and dyes free from allarms :
The George the first ship bore him out, and then
The moumfull she that brought him back agen.
Oh that some Virgil, for his greater glory,
Would please to write his everlasting story;