Posting patriotic crap from Google Books is the final refuge of this lazy sod:
On the Duke of Ormond’s Success at Vigo, 1702.
Thro’ Storms of Wind, and swelling Seas which roar,
Our mighty Ormond has possest our Shore.
Fame ran before him like the Morning Star,
and told his Deeds and wondrous Feats in War;
How he with English Forces has subdu’d
The Gallick Ships, and Spanish Multitude:
Those on the Sea in Flames outvy’d
The Rising Sun, and Scorch’d the flowing Tide,
Th’ affrighted Fishes to the Ocean Swim,
And say, Great Ormond, we’re afraid of him.
See on the Shore the yielding Spaniards fly,
And see on Board their Ships the French-men die.
In vain they Bombs and Fortresses prepare
‘Gainst English Valour, and the Fate of War.
What weak Dependance has the Watry Fry?
On what Sea-God or Power can we rely?
See Neptune yonder the vast Ocean’s God,
At sight of Ormond hides his Head in Mud.
The Tritons, flouncing thro’ the Oase, repair
To Rocky Caverns from the Fate of War,
And all Sea-Monsters bellow from afar.
From Vigo’s Port to th’ Ocean all make way,
For here, alas! they dare no longer stay:
By burning Ships the Water’s made so hot,
Its Surface bubbles like a boiling Pot.
Half roasted Frenchmen, some o’er Gratings Broil’d
Do mix with Spaniards in the Sea parboil’d;
For Anjou’s Dinner here’s a pretty Dish;
I vow h’as made a Kettle fine of Fish.Welcome Great Ormond to the English Land,
With Laurels loaden from a foreign Strand:
Welcome to England, as to Sailors Day,
When Storms and Darkness had obscur’d their Way:
Welcome to us, as mighty William was,
When he restor’d us to our Rights and Laws.
With like Respect as th’ Senate thought your due,
An honest English Heart returns his Thanks to you.
By Anon, from A new [1705] collection of poems relating to state affairs, from Oliver Cromwell to this present time, by the greatest wits of the age …, the whole from their respective originals, without castration. There’s lots of delightfully outrageous stuff, and contributing author Mr Dryden suffers by both comparison and straightforward insult. Nowadays, as the Labour Party performs its final glorious trip over the bureaucratic molehill and prepares to be carted off to the mausoleum, Oliver Cromwell comparisons are flying, so it’s worth remembering that in the Ollie & Charlie aka Pedants & Poets show the competition wasn’t much to look up to either:
Restless he rolls about from Whore to Whore,
A merry Monarch, scandilous and poor.
Not that any of this would mean very much to David Cameron.
Posting will resume when all this life business gets sorted out. I’ve been reading about potwallopers and tinker bands, about which I am sure you dying are to hear.
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