ENGLANDS Triumph
Over the FRENCH.
OR,
English Men Lords of the Ocean,
A New Song, upon the Great and Bloody Engagement between the Englis[h] [in] Conjunction
with the Dutch, against the whole Mannal Forces of the French King; E[nga]ged off the
Coast of Sussex, July the First, 1690.
To the Tune of, The Leggan Water. Licensed according to Order.
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SInce the Frenchmem durst come o'er,
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To brave us on the English shoar,
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The Thundring Cannons make them pay,
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And rue that e'er they saw the day.
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In Smoak and Fire their Fortunes drown'd,
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And Heaven their Plots does quite confound;
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In vain the Tyrants seek to fright
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Our English Courage that dares fight.
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Lords of the Ocean we will be,
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In spite of Lewis Cruelty;
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The Plague that so long vext the World,
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Shall by our Thunder down be hurl'd.
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Ambition in the briney Wave,
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By English Valour has its grave;
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In vain our Foes do Fight, in vain,
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When Heaven our Cause it does maintain.
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Bold Monsieur shall truckle under
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Brittish and the Belgick Thunder;
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The bloody Fight now makes them rue
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That ever near our Coast they drew.
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The Plots they thought to meet with here,
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Discover'd e're their comming were;
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And instead of Landing now,
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To Plunder us, and bring us low.
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Sword and Flames the Dastards find,
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And think devouring Seas too kind;
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To save them from the lowder Fire,
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That strives to pay them their due hire.
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For Battered by our Cannons they
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Seek to shift and run away:
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And down the Main Mast goes with speed,
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A Broad-side next the Fates decreed
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To Sink the Glory of their Fleet,
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Whilst here the Flaming Vessels meet
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The daring Frenchmen, and o'erthrow
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The Pride of our Insulting Foe.
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The Seas and Fire they do contend,
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Which first of all shall be their end:
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Blew Neptune in his watery Waves,
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Prepares them everlasting Graves.
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Blood the Ocean's face does dye,
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Whilst Bullets like to Hail do flye;
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And they for Quarters cry in vain,
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'Tis now too late for to complain:
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No mercy to a Cruel Foe
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The English or the Dutch will show;
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But What the Bullets will afford,
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In Complements, when Board, and Board.
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The True Religion is the Stke,
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Which Tyrant Rome now void wou'd make:
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Our Lives for its protection are
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Accounted never, never dear.
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Then God Protect our Noble King,
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And all his Foes to ruine bring;
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And as we now our Foes o're come,
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So let us Triumph over Rome.
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